Poems begining by I
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In Time Of Silver Rain
© Langston Hughes
In time of silver rain
The earth puts forth new life again,
Green grasses grow
And flowers lift their heads,
And over all the plain
The wonder spreads
Improvement
© Edgar Albert Guest
The joy of life is living it, or so it seems to me;
In finding shackles on your wrists, then struggling till you're free;
Innocence
© Patrick Kavanagh
But now I am back in her briary arms
The dew of an Indian Summer lies
On bleached potato-stalks
What age am I?
"I love to see"
© Lesbia Harford
I love to see
Her looking up at me,
Stretched on a bed
In her pink dressing gown,
In Praise Of A Maiden
© Confucius
O sweet maiden, so fair and retiring,
At the corner I'm waiting for you;
And I'm scratching my head, and inquiring
What on earth it were best I should do.
"Into old rhyme"
© Lesbia Harford
Into old rhyme
The new words come but shyly.
Here's a brave man
Who sings of commerce dryly.
In Spring
© Ernest Christopher Dowson
See how the trees and the osiers lithe
Are green bedecked and the woods are blithe,
In The High Leaves Of A Walnut
© Robert Laurence Binyon
In the high leaves of a walnut,
On the very topmost boughs,
A boy that climbed the branching bole
His cradled limbs would house.
In Error
© Rudyard Kipling
They burnt a corpse upon the sand-
The light shone out afar;
It guided home the plunging dhows
That beat from Zanzibar.
Spirit of Fire, where'er Thy altars rise,
Thou art the Light of Guidance to our eyes!
In An Old Garden
© Madison Julius Cawein
The Autumn pines and fades
Upon the withered trees;
And over there, a choked despair,
You hear the moaning breeze.
I Speak Not, I Trace Not, I Breathe Not Thy Name
© George Gordon Byron
I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name;
There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame;
Initiation
© Robert Laurence Binyon
The wind has fal'n asleep; the bough that tost
Is quiet; the warm sun's gone; the wide light
Sinks and is almost lost;
Yet the April day glows on within my mind
In The Harbour: At La Chaudeau. (From The French Of Charles Coran)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
At La Chaudeau,--'tis long since then:
I was young,--my years twice ten;
All things smiled on the happy boy,
Dreams of love and songs of joy,
Azure of heaven and wave below,
At La Chaudeau.
"I touched the heart that loved me as a player"
© Alice Meynell
The songs I knew not he resumes, set free
From my constraining love, alas for me!
His part in our tune goes with him; my part
Is locked in me for ever; I stand as mute
As one with full strong music in his heart
Whose fingers stray upon a shattered lute.
I Was Still A Child
© Margaret Widdemer
I WAS still a child
Till I came to you,
Child-eyes, child-heart,
Child-lips all too true;
Italy : 31. A Funeral
© Samuel Rogers
'Whence this delay?' "Along the crowded street
A Funeral comes, and with unusual pomp."
So I withdrew a little, and stood still,
While it went by. 'She died as she deserved,'
Inscriptions: IX: Me Tho' In Life's Sequester'd Vale
© Mark Akenside
Me tho' in life's sequester'd vale
The Almighty sire ordain'd to dwell,
In The Louvre
© Harriet Monroe
Queen Karomana, slim you stand,
In bronze with little flecks of gold
Queen Karomana.
O royal lady, lift your hand,
Shatter the stone museum cold,
Queen Karomana.
I Was Always Leaving by Jean Nordhaus : American Life in Poetry #224 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate
© Ted Kooser
When we're young, it seems there are endless possibilities for lives we might lead, and then as we grow older and the opportunities get fewer we begin to realize that the life we've been given is the only one we're likely to get. Here's Jean Nordhaus, of the Washington, D.C. area, exploring this process.
I Was Always Leaving
I was always leaving, I was
