Poems begining by I

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In the Garden the Chrysanthemums Were Dying...

© Kostas Karyotakis

In the garden the chrysanthemums were dying
like desires when you came. Calmly
you laughed, like little white flowers.
Silent, I made a sweetest song
out of the darkness deep within me
and the petals sing it up above you.

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"I hoped, that with the brave and strong..."

© Anne Brontë

I hoped, that with the brave and strong,
My portioned task might lie;
To toil amid the busy throng,
With purpose pure and high.

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If You Show Patience

© Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi

If you show patience, I'll rid you of this virtue.
If you fall asleep, I'll rub the sleep from your eyes.
If you become a mountain, I'll melt you in fire.
And if you become an ocean, I'll drink all your water.

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Idylls of the King: The Passing of Arthur (excerpt)

© Alfred Tennyson


  Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere,
 And whiter than the mist that all day long
 Had held the field of battle was the King:

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Into The World

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

Out over childhood's borders,
Manhood's brave banners unfurled,
Weighed down with precepts and orders
A boy has gone into the world.

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Indian Summer by Diane Glancy : American Life in Poetry #233 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-200

© Ted Kooser

Diane Glancy is one of our country’s Native American poets, and I recently judged her latest book, Asylum in the Grasslands, the winner of a regional competition.  Here is a good example of her clear and steady writing. Indian Summer

There’s a farm auction up the road.

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In Solitude

© Virna Sheard

He is not desolate whose ship is sailing
  Over the mystery of an unknown sea,
For some great love with faithfulness unfailing
  Will light the stars to bear him company.

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I Am Restless

© Rabindranath Tagore

I am  restless. I am athirst for far-away things.
My soul goes out in a longing to touch the skirt of the dim distance.
O Great Beyond, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that I have no wings to fly, that I am bound in this spot evermore.

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I Know You Little, I Love You Lots

© Sheldon Allan Silverstein

I know you little, I love you lots,
my love for you could fill ten pots,
fifteen buckets, sixteen cans,
three teacups, and four dishpans.

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It's spring, I leave a street where poplars...

© Boris Pasternak

It's spring, I leave a street where poplars are astonished,
Where distance is alarmed and the house fears it may fall.
Where air is blue just like the linen bundle
A discharged patient takes from hospital,

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I Am Part Of The Load

© Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi

I am part of the load
Not rightly balanced
I drop off in the grass,
like the old Cave-sleepers, to browse
wherever I fall.

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In Memoriam A. H. H.: 131

© Alfred Tennyson

  O true and tried, so well and long,
  Demand not thou a marriage lay;
  In that it is thy marriage day
  Is music more than any song.

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I Live, I Die, I Burn, I Drown

© Louise Labe

I live, I die, I burn, I drown
I endure at once chill and cold
Life is at once too soft and too hard
I have sore troubles mingled with joys

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Illegibility

© Paul Celan

Robust Clocks
agree the Cracked-Hour,
hoarsely.

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In The Harbour: The Four Lakes Of Madison

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Four limpid lakes,--four Naiades
Or sylvan deities are these,
  In flowing robes of azure dressed;
Four lovely handmaids, that uphold
Their shining mirrors, rimmed with gold,
  To the fair city in the West.

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I Stood Upon A Heaven-cleaving Turret

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

I stood upon a heaven-cleaving turret
Which overlooked a wide Metropolis--
And in the temple of my heart my Spirit
Lay prostrate, and with parted lips did kiss

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I’m an Older Man Than You

© Henry Lawson

WHEN you’ve managed with the tailor for a rig-out of a sort
And you find the coat or trousers are an inch or so too short,
Do not fret and swear and worry, make the tailor see you through—
I have been through many new suits, I’m an older man than you.

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Inasmuch As Ye Did It Not . . .

© Edith Nesbit

If Jesus came to London,

Came to London to-day,

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I Said To The Wanting-Creature Inside Me

© Kabir

I said to the wanting-creature inside me:
What is this river you want to cross?
There are no travelers on the river-road, and no road.
Do you see anyone moving about on that bank, or resting?

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I Shall Go Back

© Edna St. Vincent Millay

I shall go back again to the bleak shore

And build a little shanty on the sand