Poems begining by I

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If By Dull Rhymes Our English Must Be Chain'd

© John Keats

If by dull rhymes our English must be chain'd,
And, like Andromeda, the Sonnet sweet
Fetter'd, in spite of pained loveliness;
Let us find out, if we must be constrain'd,

In Drear-Nighted December

© John Keats

In drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy tree,
Thy branches ne'er remember
Their green felicity:

Is White a Color?

© John Matthew

White, pristine, unblemished
They say it is not a color
I love white mists, clouds
Lingering on blue mountains.

In a Churchyard

© Richard Wilbur

That flower unseen, that gem of purest ray,
Bright thoughts uncut by men:
Strange that you need but speak them, Thomas Gray,
And the mind skips and dives beyond its ken,

In the Smoking Car

© Richard Wilbur

The eyelids meet. He'll catch a little nap.
The grizzled, crew-cut head drops to his chest.
It shakes above the briefcase on his lap.
Close voices breathe, "Poor sweet, he did his best."

In the Dark Pine-Wood

© James Joyce

In the dark pine-wood
I would we lay,
In deep cool shadow
At noon of day.

I Would in That Sweet Bosom Be

© James Joyce

I would in that sweet bosom be
(O sweet it is and fair it is!)
Where no rude wind might visit me.
Because of sad austerities
I would in that sweet bosom be.

I Hear an Army Charging Upon the Land

I hear an army charging upon the land,
And the thunder of horses plunging, foam about their knees:
Arrogant, in black armour, behind them stand,
Disdaining the reins, with fluttering whips, the charioteers.

In the Days of the Golden Rod

© Lucy Maud Montgomery

Across the meadow in brooding shadow
I walk to drink of the autumn's wine
The charm of story, the artist's glory,
To-day on these silvering hills is mine;

In Port

© Lucy Maud Montgomery

Out of the fires of the sunset come we again to our own
We have girdled the world in our sailing under many an orient star;
Still to our battered canvas the scents of the spice gales cling,
And our hearts are swelling within us as we cross the harbor bar.

In Memory of Maggie

© Lucy Maud Montgomery

Sleek-suited in her velvet coat,
White-breasted and bright-eyed,
Feeling when she was praised and stroked
A very human pride;
A quiet nook was sure to please
Where she might take her cushioned ease.

In Lovers' Lane

© Lucy Maud Montgomery

I know a place for loitering feet
Deep in the valley where the breeze
Makes melody in lichened boughs,
And murmurs low love-litanies.

In an Old Town Garden

© Lucy Maud Montgomery

Shut from the clamor of the street
By an old wall with lichen grown,
It holds apart from jar and fret
A peace and beauty all its own.

In an Old Farmhouse

© Lucy Maud Montgomery

Outside the afterlight's lucent rose
Is smiting the hills and brimming the valleys,
And shadows are stealing across the snows;
From the mystic gloom of the pineland alleys.

If Mary Had Known

If Mary had known
When she held her Babe's hands in her own
Little hands that were tender and white as a rose,
All dented with dimples from finger to wrist,

I Feel (Verse Libre)

I feel
Very much
Like taking
Its unholy perpetrators

I'm Your Man

If you want a lover
I'll do anything you ask me to
And if you want another kind of love
I'll wear a mask for you

I Call And I Call

I call, I call: who do ye call?
The maids to catch this cowslip ball!
But since these cowslips fading be,
Troth, leave the flowers, and maids, take me!
Yet, if that neither you will do,
Speak but the word, and I'll take you,