Poems begining by I

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I have been tricked by flying too close

© Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi

I have been tricked by flying too close

to what I thought I loved.

Inscription

© Alaric Alexander Watts

Stranger! if from the crowded walks of life

Thou lovest to stray, and woo fair Solitude

In France I Saw A Hill

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

In France I saw a hill-a gentle slope
Rising above old tombs to greet the gleam
From soft spring skies. Beyond these skies dwells hope,
But those green graves bespeak a broken dream.

I Climb the Western Tower In Silence

I climb the western tower in silence, the moon like a sickle.
Clear autumn is locked in the deep courtyard, where a wutong tree stands lonely.
Sorrowful parting has cut, but not severed our ties; my mind is still wild.
Separation is just like a taste in head and heart.

I'll Not Confer With Sorrow

© Thomas Bailey Aldrich

I'll not confer with Sorrow
Till to-morrow;
But Joy shall have her way
This very day.

Iota Subscript

© Robert Frost

Seek not in me the bit I capital,
Not yet the little dotted in me seek.
If I have in me any I at all,
'Tis the iota subscript of the Greek.

I had no time to hate, because

© Emily Dickinson

I had no time to hate, because
The grave would hinder me,
And life was not so ample I
Could finish enmity.

Ireland, Ireland

© Sir Henry Newbolt

Down thy valleys, Ireland, Ireland,
Down thy valleys green and sad,
Still thy spirit wanders wailing,
Wanders wailing, wanders mad.

In The Twilight

© James Russell Lowell

Men say the sullen instrument,

That, from the Master's bow,

Italy : 37. The Fire-Fly

© Samuel Rogers

There is an Insect, that, when Evening comes,
Small though he be, scarcely distinguishable,
Like Evening clad in soberest livery,
Unsheaths his wings and thro' the woods and glades

In Spring, Santa Barbara

© Sara Teasdale

I HAVE been happy two weeks together,
My love is coming home to me,
Gold and silver is the weather
And smooth as lapis is the sea.

In The Harbour: The Poet's Calendar

Janus am I; oldest of potentates;
Forward I look, and backward, and below
I count, as god of avenues and gates,
The years that through my portals come and go.