Poems begining by H

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Hymn 101

© Isaac Watts

Who can describe the joys that rise
Through all the courts of Paradise,
To see a prodigal return,
To see an heir of glory born?

Hymn 100

© Isaac Watts

Not to condemn the sons of men,
Did Christ, the Son of God, appear;
No weapons in his hands are seen,
No flaming sword nor thunder there.

Hymn 10

© Isaac Watts

How beauteous are their feet
Who stand on Zion's hill!
Who bring salvation on their tongues,
And words of peace reveal!

Hymn 1

© Isaac Watts

Behold the glories of the Lamb
Amidst his Father's throne;
Prepare new honors for his name,
And songs before unknown.

Hooray Say The Roses

© Charles Bukowski

hooray say the roses, today is Wednesday
and we bloom wher soldiers fell
and lovers too,
and the snake at the word.

There are sketches on the walls of men and women and ducks,
and outside a large green bus swerves through traffic like
insanity sprung from a waving line; Turgenev, Turgenev,
says the radio, and Jane Austin, Jane Austin, too.

Hot

© Charles Bukowski

she was hot, she was so hot
I didn't want anybody else to have her,
and if I didn't get home on time
she'd be gone, and I couldn't bear that-

How Is Your Heart?

© Charles Bukowski

during my worst times
on the park benches
in the jails
or living with

Here I Am ...

© Charles Bukowski

drunk again at 3 a.m. at the end of my 2nd bottle
of wine, I have typed from a dozen to 15 pages of
poesy
an old man

Hops

© Boris Pasternak

Beneath the willow wound round with ivy
we take cover from the worst
of the storm, with a greatcoat round
our shoulders and my hands around your waist.

Head of a White Woman Winking

She has one good bumblebee
which she leads about town
on a leash of clover.
It's as big as a Saint Bernard

Happy As The Day Is Long

I take the long walk up the staircase to my secret room.
Today's big news: they found Amelia Earhart's shoe, size 9.
1992: Charlie Christian is bebopping at Minton's in 1941.
Today, the Presidential primaries have failed us once again.

Helen of Tyre

What phantom is this that appears
Through the purple mist of the years,
Itself but a mist like these?
A woman of cloud and of fire;
It is she; it is Helen of Tyre,
The town in the midst of the seas.

Haroun Al Raschid

One day, Haroun Al Raschid read
A book wherein the poet said:-- "Where are the kings, and where the rest
Of those who once the world possessed? "They're gone with all their pomp and show,
They're gone the way that thou shalt go. "O thou who choosest for thy share