Poems begining by I

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Incident Characteristic Of A Favorite Dog

© William Wordsworth

ON his morning rounds the Master
Goes to learn how all things fare;
Searches pasture after pasture,
Sheep and cattle eyes with care;

Imitation of The Olden Poets

© Edward Lear

Time is a taper waning fast!
Use it, man, well whilst it doth last:
Lest burning downwards it consume away,
Before thou hast commenced the labour of the day.

Il Cinque Maggio

© Alessandro Manzoni

Ei fu. Siccome immobile,

dato il mortal sospiro,

Impartiality

© James Russell Lowell

I cannot say a scene is fair
Because it is beloved of thee
But I shall love to linger there,
For sake of thy dear memory;
I would not be so coldly just
As to love only what I must.

In After Years

© Augusta Davies Webster

LOVE is dying. Why then, let it die.

Trample it down, that it die more fast.

In The Firelight

© John Hay

My dear wife sits beside the fire

With folded hands and dreaming eyes,

In Exile

© Emma Lazarus

Twilight is here, soft breezes bow the grass,

Day's sounds of various toil break slowly off,

I

© Louise Labe

Not Ulysses, no, nor any other man

however astute his mind, ever longed for

I Am Visited By An Editor And A Poet

© Charles Bukowski

I had just won $115 from the headshakers and

was naked upon my bed

In a Subway Station

© Sara Teasdale

After a year I came again to the place;

The tireless lights and the reverberation,

In Time of Pestilence

© Thomas Nashe

Adieu, farewell earth's bliss,
This world uncertain is;
Fond are life's lustful joys,
Death proves them all but toys,

In Imitation Of Anacreon

© Matthew Prior

Let 'em Censure: what care I?

The Herd of Criticks I defie.

In England, there are wrongs no doubt,
Which should be righted; so men say,
Who seek to weed earth's garden out,
And give the roses right of way;
Yes, right of way, to fruit and rose,
Where now but poison ivy grows.

Ibant Obscur?

© Edward Thomas

To-night I saw three maidens on the beach,
Dark-robed descending to the sea,
So slow, so silent of all speech,
And visible to me
Only by that strange drift-light, dim, forlorn,
Of the sun's wreck and clashing surges born.

I bended unto me a Bough

I bended unto me a bough of May,That I might see and smell:It bore it in a sort of way,It bore it very well

If Thou Could'st Empty All Thyself Of Self

If thou could'st empty all thyself of self,
Like to a shell dishabited,
Then might He find thee on the ocean shelf,
And say, "This is not dead,"
And fill thee with Himself instead.

In November (2)

With loitering step and quiet eye,
Beneath the low November sky,
I wandered in the woods, and found
A clearing, where the broken ground

In Memoriam A. H. H.: 96

He fought his doubts and gather'd strength,
He would not make his judgment blind,
He faced the spectres of the mind
And laid them: thus he came at length