Poems begining by H
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Hymn Read At The Dedication Of The Oliver Wendell Holmes Hospital At Hudson, Wisconsin
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
ANGEL of love, for every grief
Its soothing balm thy mercy brings,
For every pang its healing leaf,
For homeless want, thine outspread, wings.
History
© Robert Lowell
History has to live with what was here,
clutching and close to fumbling all we had--
it is so dull and gruesome how we die,
unlike writing, life never finishes.
Homecoming
© Robert Lowell
What was is . . . since 1930;
the boys in my old gang
are senior partners. They start up
bald like baby birds
to embrace retirement.
Home Thoughts
© Claude McKay
Oh something just now must be happening there!
That suddenly and quiveringly here,
Amid the city's noises, I must think
Of mangoes leaning o'er the river's brink,
Heritage
© Claude McKay
I know the magic word, the graceful thought,
The song that fills me in my lucid hours,
The spirit's wine that thrills my body through,
And makes me music-drunk, are yours, all yours.
Hard Luck
© Edgar Albert Guest
Ain't no use as I can see
In sittin' underneath a tree
An' growlin' that your luck is bad,
An' that your life is extry sad;
How Are You Sanitary?
© Francis Bret Harte
Down the picket-guarded lane
Rolled the comfort-laden wain,
Human Life
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
If dead, we cease to be ; if total gloom
Swallow up life's brief flash for aye, we fare
As summer-gusts, of sudden birth and doom,
Whose sound and motion not alone declare,
How Rumplestilz Held Out In Vain For A Bonus
© Guy Wetmore Carryl
The Moral is: All said and done,
There's nothing new beneath the sun,
And many times before, a title
Was incapacity's requital!
Holy Ground
© Norman Rowland Gale
Shy maids have haunts of still delight,
The lover glades he never tells;
And one is mine where mass the bright
And odoured chimes of foxglove-bells.
How Rudeness And Kindness Were Justly Rewarded
© Guy Wetmore Carryl
The Moral of the tale is: Bah!
Nous avons change tout cela.
No clear idea I hope to strike
Of what our nicest girl is like,
But she whose best young man I am
Is not an oyster, nor a clam!
Home's Kid (For Glenn)
© Dale Harcombe
This time I know
I will never see him again.
For a time he played the game,
like a child experimenting with blocks,
Hans Huckebein part one
© Wilhelm Busch
Hier sieht man Fritz, den muntern Knaben,
Nebst Huckebein, dem jungen Raben.
Behold young Fritz, a lively lad,
Hannibal
© Robert Frost
Was there even a cause too lost,
Ever a cause that was lost too long,
Or that showed with the lapse of time to vain
For the generous tears of youth and song?
Home After Three Months Away
© Robert Lowell
Gone now the baby's nurse,
a lioness who ruled the roost
Home Burial
© Robert Frost
He saw her from the bottom of the stairs
Before she saw him. She was starting down,
Looking back over her shoulder at some fear.
She took a doubtful step and then undid it
Had You Wept
© Thomas Hardy
Had you wept; had you but neared me with a frail uncertain ray,
Dewy as the face of the dawn, in your large and luminous eye,
Hay-Carren
© William Barnes
'Tis merry ov a zummer's day,
When vo'k be out a-haulèn hay,
Where boughs, a-spread upon the ground,
Do meäke the staddle big an' round;
