Poems begining by H
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Having The Flu And With Nothing Else To Do
© Charles Bukowski
I read a book about John Dos Passos and according to
the book once radical-communist
John ended up in the Hollywood Hills living off investments
and reading the
Wall Street Journal
How Sleep the Brave
© Walter de la Mare
Nay, nay, sweet England, do not grieve!
Not one of these poor men who died
But did within his soul believe
That death for thee was glorified.
How Much Earth
© Philip Levine
Torn into light, you woke wriggling
on a woman's palm. Halved, quartered,
shredded to the wind, you were the life
that thrilled along the underbelly
of a stone. Stilled in the frozen pond
you rinsed heaven with a sigh.
House Of Silence
© Philip Levine
The winter sun, golden and tired,
settles on the irregular army
of bottles. Outside the trucks
jostle toward the open road,
Heaven
© Philip Levine
If you were twenty-seven
and had done time for beating
our ex-wife and had
no dreams you remembered
Holding On
© Philip Levine
Green fingers
holding the hillside,
mustard whipping in
the sea winds, one blood-bright
Hunter's Song
© Sir Walter Scott
The toils are pitched, and the stakes are set,
Ever sing merrily, merrily;
The bows they bend, and the knives they whet,
Hunters live so cheerily.
Heres a Health to King Charles
© Sir Walter Scott
Bring the bowl which you boast,
Fill it up to the brim;
Tis to him we love most,
And to all who love him.
Harp of the North, Farewell!
© Sir Walter Scott
Harp of the North, farewell! The hills grow dark,
On purple peaks a deeper shade descending;
In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her spark,
The deer, half-seen, are to the covert wending.
How Oft Has the Benshee Cried
© Thomas Moore
How oft has the Benshee cried,
How oft has death untied
Bright links that Glory wove,
Sweet bonds entwined by Love.
How Dear to Me the Hour
© Thomas Moore
How dear to me the hour when daylight dies,
And sunbeams melt along the silent sea,
For then sweet dreams of other days arise,
And memory breathes her vesper sigh to thee.
Has Sorrow Thy Young Days Shaded
© Thomas Moore
Has sorrow thy young days shaded,
As clouds o'er the morning fleet?
Too fast have those young days faded
That, even in sorrow, were sweet?
H. Baptism
© George Herbert
As he that sees a dark and shady grove,
Stays not, but looks beyond it on the sky;
So when I view my sins, mine eyes remove
More backward still, and to that water fly,
H. Baptism II
© George Herbert
Since, Lord, to thee
A narrow way and little gate
Is all the passage, on my infancy
Thou didst lay hold, and antedate
My faith in me.
Hoppity
© Alan Alexander Milne
Christopher Robin goes
Hoppity, hoppity,
Hoppity, hoppity, hop.
Whenever I tell him
Politely to stop it, he
Says he can't possibly stop.
Hear the Voice
© William Blake
HEAR the voice of the Bard,
Who present, past, and future, sees;
Whose ears have heard
The Holy Word
That walk'd among the ancient trees;
