Poems begining by I

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In Wartime

© Stephan Stephansson

In Europe's reeking slaughter pen
They mince the flesh of murdered men
While swinish merchants, snout in trough
Drink all the bloody profits off!

If Stars Dropped Out Of Heaven

© Christina Georgina Rossetti

If stars dropped out of heaven,

And if flowers took their place,

I Know Moonrise

© Anonymous

I know moonrise, I know starrise,
Lay dis body down.
I walk in de moonlight, I walk in de starlight,
To lay dis body down.

Introductory Verses

© Felicia Dorothea Hemans

OH! blest art thou, whose steps may rove
Through the green paths of vale and grove,
Or, leaving all their charms below,
Climb the wild mountain's airy brow;

In Memoriam (Easter, 1915)

© Edward Thomas

The flowers left thick at nightfall in the wood
This Eastertide call into mind the men,
Now far from home, who, with their sweethearts, should
Have gathered them and will do never again.

Innocence

© Dora Sigerson Shorter

White rose must die all in the youth and beauty of the year,

Though nightingale should sing the whole night through,

Want quickens wit: Want's pupils needs must work,
O Diophantus: for the child of toil
Is grudged his very sleep by carking cares:
Or, if he taste the blessedness of night,
Thought for the morrow soon warns slumber off.

"I often shiver with cold"

© Osip Emilevich Mandelstam

I often shiver with cold --
I want to be mute as a thing!
There is, in the skies, dancing gold
Sending me commands to sing!

I'm Walking Backwards For Christmas

© Spike Milligan

I'm walking backwards for Christmas,
Across the Irish Sea,
I'm walking backwards for Christmas,
It's the only thing for me.

I had a little nut-tree,

© Roald Dahl

I had a little nut-tree,
Nothing would it bear.
I searched in all its branches,
But not a nut was there.

I am aliveI guess

© Emily Dickinson

I am aliveI guess
The Branches on my Hand
Are full of Morning Glory
And at my finger's end

I Was Not False To Thee

© Caroline Norton

I WAS not false to thee, and yet

My cheek alone looked pale;

Idyll XIX. Love Stealing Honey

© Theocritus

Once thievish Love the honeyed hives would rob,
When a bee stung him: soon he felt a throb
Through all his finger-tips, and, wild with pain,
Blew on his hands and stamped and jumped in vain.

Invitation To The Country

© George Meredith

Dry-fruited firs are dropping their cones,
And vista'd avenues of pines
Take richer green, give fresher tones,
As morn after morn the glad sun shines.

In Vita Minerva

VEX not the Muse with idle prayers,--
She will not hear thy call;
She steals upon thee unawares,
Or seeks thee not at all.

Inscriptions

I call as fly the irrevocable hours,
Futile as air or strong as fate to make
Your lives of sand or granite; awful powers,
Even as men choose, they either give or take.

Intimations

Is it uneasy moonlight,
On the restless field, that stirs?
Or wild white meadow-blossoms
The night-wind bends and blurs?

I know the night no longer

I know the night no longer, the terrible anonymity of death
A fleet of stars moors in the haven of my heart
O Hesperos, sentinel, that you may shine by the side
Of a skyblue breeze on an island which dreams