Poems begining by I
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Italy : 3. St. Maurice
© Samuel Rogers
Still by the Leman Lake for many a mile,
Among those venerable trees I went,
Where damsels sit and weave their fishing-nets,
Singing some national song by the way-side.
If My Hands Could Defoliate translated from Si Mis Manos Pudieran Deshojar
© Federico Garcia Lorca
I pronounce your name,
in this dark night,
and your name sounds
more distant than ever.
More distant that all stars
and more doleful than a calm rain.
I: Why I Write Not To Love
© Benjamin Jonson
Some act of Love's bound to reherse,
I thought to bind him, in my verse:
Inscriptions In The Ground Of Coleorton, The Seat Of Sir George Beaumont, Bart., Leicestershire
© William Wordsworth
THE embowering rose, the acacia, and the pine,
Will not unwillingly their place resign;
If but the Cedar thrive that near them stands,
Planted by Beaumont's and by 's hands.
In The JuneTwilight
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
IN the June twilight, in the soft gray twilight,
The yellow sun-glow trembling through the rainy eve,
As my love lay quiet, came the solemn fiat,
"All these things forever--forever--thou must leave."
"I am cold. Transparent Spring dresses"
© Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
I
I am cold. Transparent Spring dresses
Petropolis in verdant down.
But like a medusa, the Neva's wave
Immortality
© John Liddell Kelly
Eternal life - a river gulphed in sands!
Undying fame - a rainbow lost in clouds!
What hope of immortality remains
But this: "Some soul that loves and understands
Shall save thee from the darkness that enshrouds";
And this: "Thy blood shall course in others' veins"?
In Adoration
© Sappho
Blest as the immortal gods is he,
The youth whose eyes may look on thee,
Whose ears thy tongue's sweet melody
May still devour.
I Continue To Dream
© Langston Hughes
I take my dreams and make of them a bronze vase
and a round fountain with a beautiful statue in its center.
And a song with a broken heart and I ask you:
Do you understand my dreams?
Imprisoned
© Celia Thaxter
LIGHTLY she lifts the large, pure, luminous shell,
Poises it in her strong and shapely hand.
II.--Death
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
THEN whence, O Death! thy dreariness? We know
That every flower the breeze's flattering breath
Wooes to a blush, and love-like murmuring low,
Dies but to multiply its bloom in death:
In The Garden VI: A Peach
© Edward Dowden
IF any sense in mortal dust remains
When mine has been refin'd from flower to flower,
I Met a Lady in the Wood
© Patrick Barrington
I met a lady in the wood.
No mortal maid, I knew, was she;
She was no thing of flesh and blood,
No child of human ancestry.
Inkerman. The Battle Field By Moonlight.
© Caroline Hayward
Above the vale of Inkerman,
Calmly the moon's rays fell,
Revealing as by light of day,
That deep and lonely dell;
"I was sad"
© Lesbia Harford
I was sad
Having signed up in a rebel band,
Having signed up to rid the land
Of a plague it had.
In Vain
© Rose Terry Cooke
PUT every tiny robe away!
The stitches all were set with tears,
Slow, tender drops of joys; to-day
Their rain would wither hopes or fears:
Bitter enough to daunt the moth
That longs to fret this dainty cloth.
