Poems begining by I

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In this world of ours,

© Matsuo Basho

In this world of ours,
We eat only to cast out,
Sleep only to wake,
And what comes after all that
Is simply to die at last.

I Keep Six Honest Serving Men

© Rudyard Kipling

I keep six honest serving-men
(They taught me all I knew);
Their names are What and Why and When
And How and Where and Who.

If you loved me I could trust you to your fancy's furthest bound
While the sun shone and the wind blew, and the world went round,
To the utmost of the meshes of the devil's strongest net . . .
If you loved me, if you loved me--but you do not love me yet!

Inscription For A Grammar

© Christopher Morley

There were two cheerful pronouns
And nought did them disturb:
Until they met, out walking.
A conjugative verb.

Indwelling

© Edward Thomas

If thou could'st empty all thyself of self,

Like to a shell dishabited,

I am only the house of your beloved

© Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi

"I am only the house of your beloved,

not the beloved herself:

It is the Muses

© Sappho

It is the Muses
who have caused me
to be honored: they
taught me their craft

I have been thinking

© Kabir

I have been thinking of the difference between water
and the waves on it. Rising,
water's still water, falling back,
it is water, will you give me a hint
how to tell them apart?

In Absence

© Edith Nesbit

WAKE, do you wake in the dark in the strange far place,
Window and door not set like the ones we knew,
Leaning your face through the dark for another face,
Stretching your arms to the arms that are far from you,
Even as I, through the depth of this darkness, do?

In Allusion To The French Song. N'entendez Vous Pas Ce Lang

© Richard Lovelace

CHORUS.
THEN UNDERSTAND YOU NOT (FAIR CHOICE)
THIS LANGUAGE WITHOUT TONGUE OR VOICE?

I Explain A Few Things

© Pablo Neruda

You are going to ask: and where are the lilacs?
and the poppy-petalled metaphysics?
and the rain repeatedly spattering
its words and drilling them full
of apertures and birds?
I'll tell you all the news.

It Was Winter

© Czeslaw Milosz

This is not a place where you sit under a café awning
On a marble piazza, watching the crowd,
Or play the flute at a window over a narrow street
While childrens sandals clatter in the vaulted entryway.

I'd Rather Be A Failure

© Edgar Albert Guest

I'd rather be a failure than the man who's never tried;
I'd rather seek the mountain-top than always stand aside.
Oh, let me hold some lofty dream and make my desperate fight,
And though I fail I still shall know I tried to serve the right.

In Memory: James T. Fields

As a guest who may not stay
Long and sad farewells to say
Glides with smiling face away,

IX: Song: To Celia

Drink to me, only, with thine eyes,

And I will pledge with mine;

Interlude

© Amy Lowell

When I have baked white cakes

And grated green almonds to spread on them;

I would I were the glow-worm, thou the flower,
That I might fill thy cup with glimmering light;
I would I were the bird, and thou the bower,
To sing thee songs throughout the summer night.