Poems begining by I
/ page 37 of 145 /
"I thought I heard something move in the house"
© Lesbia Harford
I thought I heard something move in the house
When I was alone in bed.
And I was afraid . . . and I was afraid . . .
I layI quaked for dread.
In David's "Child's Garden Of Verses"
© Sara Teasdale
The dearest child in all the world,
Should have the dearest songs,
And that is why this little book
To David-Boy belongs.
I must remember now
© Robert Nichols
I must remember now how once I woke
To find the harsh lamplight stream upon her bed,
I Am The Only Being Whose Doom
© Emily Jane Brontë
I am the only being whose doom
No tongue would ask no eye would mourn
I never caused a thought of gloom
A smile of joy since I was born
In New Orleans
© Eugene Field
'Twas in the Crescent City not long ago befell
The tear-compelling incident I now propose to tell;
So come, my sweet collector friends, and listen while I sing
Unto your delectation this brief, pathetic thing-
No lyric pitched in vaunting key, but just a requiem
Of blowing twenty dollars in by nine o'clock a.m.
In Summer
© Madison Julius Cawein
When in dry hollows, hilled with hay,
The vesper-sparrow sings afar;
Impromptu In The Assize Court, Nottingham
© Horace Smith
Thanks for an hour of laughing
In a world that is growing old;
In the street I met while walking
© Sophus Niels Christen Claussen
In the street I met while walking
Death ... a sight that pleased me so,
auburn locks that told of summer
fair maids skin as white as snow.
Let me live I death requested
in my young hearts pangs of woe!
In The Harbour: Chimes
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Sweet chimes! that in the loneliness of night
Salute the passing hour, and in the dark
I Apprehend You...
© Alexander Blok
I apprehend You. The years pass by -
Yet in constant form, I apprehend You.
If The Sun Could Tell Us Half
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
If the sun could tell us half
That he hears and sees,
I Shall Soon Fall Prey To Rot
© Nikolay Alekseyevich Nekrasov
I shall soon fall prey to rot.
Though it's hard to die, it's good to die;
I shall ask for no one's pity,
And there's no one who would pity me.
In Memoriam 3: O Sorrow, Cruel Fellowship
© Alfred Tennyson
O Sorrow, cruel fellowship,
O Priestess in the vaults of Death,
O sweet and bitter in a breath,
What whispers from thy lying lip?
In Nineveh.
© Robert Crawford
As he of Joppa sought to 'scape
The utterance of the given word,
And dared to get him from the Lord
In a ship down to Tarshish, know
It is not seemly to be famous...
© Boris Pasternak
It is not seemly to be famous:
Celebrity does not exalt;
There is no need to hoard your writings
And to preserve them in a vault.
In Imitation of Cowley : The Garden
© Alexander Pope
Fain would my Muse the flow'ry Treasures sing,
And humble glories of the youthful Spring;
In Memory of my Dear Grandchild Anne Bradstreet, who deceased June 20, 1669, being Three Years and S
© Anne Bradstreet
With troubled heart and trembling hand I write.
The heavens have changed to sorrow my delight.
Invitation
© Friedrich Rückert
Thou, thou art rest
And peace of soul--
Thou woundst the breast
And makst it whole.
I've Got My Fief
© Walther von der Vogelweide
I've got my fief, you world! A fief at last!
I shall not fear the February blast,
and petty barons can be flattered less.
