Poems begining by I
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In Hospital
© Robert Laurence Binyon
I
Nothing of itself is in the still'd mind, only
A still submission to each exterior image,
Still as a pool, accepting trees and sky,
"I swear to you, Love, by your arrows"
© Gaspara Stampa
For theres a virtue born from suffering,
That dims and conquers the sense of pain,
So that its barely felt, seems scarcely hurting.
No! This, that torments soul and body again,
This is the real fear presaging my dying:
What if my fire be only straw and flame?
"I found an orchid in the valley fair"
© Lesbia Harford
I found an orchid in the valley fair,
And named it for us both,
And left it there.
Two flowers upon one stem, white-souled, alone.
I couldn't pull them up,
And bring them home.
Insomniac
© Sylvia Plath
The night is only a sort of carbon paper,
Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars
Imploring To Be Resigned At Death
© George Moses Horton
Let me die and not tremble at death,
But smile at the close of my day,
And then, at the flight of my breath,
Like a bird of the morning in May,
Go chanting away.
In The Tents Of Akbar
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
In the tents of Akbar
Are dole and grief to-day,
For the flower of all the Indies
Has gone the silent way.
"I hate work so"
© Lesbia Harford
I hate work so
That I have found a way
Of making one small task outlast the day.
I will not leave
In the Cathedral Close
© Edward Dowden
IN the Dean's porch a nest of clay
With five small tentants may be seen;
Five solemn faces, each as wise
As if its owner were a Dean.
Inscriptions: VIII: Ye Powers Unseen
© Mark Akenside
Ye powers unseen, to whom, the bards of Greece
Erected altars; ye who to the mind
Inscriptions For A Seat In The Groves Of Coleorton
© William Wordsworth
BENEATH yon eastern ridge, the craggy bound,
Rugged and high, of Charnwood's forest ground
Stand yet, but, Stranger! hidden from thy view,
The ivied Ruins of forlorn GRACE DIEU;
If I were to Own
© Edward Thomas
f I were to own this countryside
As far as a man in a day could ride,
In A Garden
© Sara Teasdale
THE world is resting without sound or motion,
Behind the apple tree the sun goes down
Painting with fire the spires and the windows
In the elm-shaded town.
I Loved Thee, Atthis, In The Long Ago
© Bliss William Carman
(Sappho XXIII)
I loved thee, Atthis, in the long ago,
When the great oleanders were in flower
In the broad herded meadows full of sun.
"I used to have dozens of handkerchiefs"
© Lesbia Harford
"I used to have dozens of handkerchiefs
Of finest lawn.
I used to have silk shirts and fine new suits."
He's like a faun
I'm sorry for the DeadToday
© Emily Dickinson
I'm sorry for the DeadToday
It's such congenial times
Old Neighbors have at fences
It's time o' year for Hay.
Idyll X. The Two Workmen
© Theocritus
What now, poor o'erworked drudge, is on thy mind?
No more in even swathe thou layest the corn:
Thy fellow-reapers leave thee far behind,
As flocks a ewe that's footsore from a thorn.
By noon and midday what will be thy plight
If now, so soon, thy sickle fails to bite?
It's Raining My Son
© Vahan Tekeyan
It's raining my son.... The autumn is wet,
Wet like the eyes of a poor beguiled love....
Go, close the window, and close the door,
Then come beside me, come, face me seated
In The Winter
© George MacDonald
In the winter, flowers are springing;
In the winter, woods are green,
In The Placid Summer Midnight
© William Ernest Henley
In the placid summer midnight,
Under the drowsy sky,
I seem to hear in the stillness
The moths go glimmering by.
I. On The Chivalry Of The Present Time
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
AH! foolish souls and false! Who loudly cried
"True chivalry no longer breathes in time."
Look round us now; how wondrous, how sublime
The heroic lives we witness; far and wide,
