Poems begining by I

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But he left their wigwams and their love.
By the hour of dawn he was proud and stark,
Kissed the Indian babes with a sigh,
Went forth to live on roots and bark,
Sleep in the trees, while the years howled by--

I Am Athirst, But Not For Wine

© Mathilde Blind

I am athirst, but not for wine;
The drink I long for is divine,
Poured only from your eyes in mine.

In The Harbour: Decoration Day

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Sleep, comrades, sleep and rest
On this Field of the Grounded Arms,
Where foes no more molest,
Nor sentry's shot alarms!

In Memory Of Col. Charles Young

© Countee Cullen

Along the shore the tall thin grass,
That fringes that dark river,
While sinuously soft feet pass
Beings to bleed and quiver.

I Mol

© Jeppe Aakjaer

Jeg rev min Haand i Flænger

paa Verdens Tjørnehæk;

If Those Who Love Us

© Edgar Albert Guest

F those who love us find us true
And kind and gentle, and are glad
When each grim working day is through
To have us near them, why be sad?

I'm My Own Grandpa

© Sheldon Allan Silverstein

It was many many years ago when I was twenty-three,
I was married to a widow, she's as pretty as can be.
This widow had a grown-up daughter who had hair of red,
my father fell in lover with her, and soon these two were wed.

Instinct

© Cesare Pavese

From the door of his house in the gentle sunshine
the old man, disillusioned with everything,
watches the dog and the bitch as they follow instinct.

I Have But One Rose In The World

© Christina Georgina Rossetti

I have but one rose in the world,
And my one rose stands a-drooping:
Oh, when my single rose is dead
There'll be but thorns for stooping.

In The East

© Georg Trakl

Thorny wilderness surrounds the town.
From steps that bleeds the moon
Drives off dumbfounded women.
Wild wolves have burst through the gate.

In The Fog

© Giovanni Pascoli

I stared into the valley: it was gone
wholly submerged! A vast flat sea remained,
gray, with no waves, no beaches; all was one.

Idyll XXIX. Loves

© Theocritus

Mindful of this, be gentle, is my prayer,
And love me, guileless, ev'n as I love thee;
So when thou has a beard, such friends as were
Achilles and Patroclus we may be."

In The Winter Woods

© Frederick George Scott

WINTER forests mutely standing
Naked on your bed of snow,
Wide your knotted arms expanding
To the biting winds that blow,
Nought ye heed of storm or stress,
Stubborn, silent, passionless.

If I Should Die

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

If I should die, how kind you all would grow!
In that strange hour I would not have one foe.
There are no words too beautiful to say
Of one who goes forevermore away

I Wonder Where My Papa Is?

I wonder where my papa is,

Oh, where could he have gone,

I Shall Forget You Presently, My Dear

I shall forget you presently, my dear,

So make the most of this, your little day,

In July

WHY do I make no poems? Good my friend

Now is there silence through the summer woods,

In My Mother's House by Gloria g. Murray: American Life in Poetry #31 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate

© Ted Kooser

All of us have known tyrants, perhaps at the office, on the playground or, as in this poem, within a family. Here Long Island poet Gloria g. Murray portrays an authoritarian mother and her domain. Perhaps you've felt the tension in a scene like this.