Poems begining by I

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I have become very hairy all over my body.
I'm afraid they'll start hunting me because of my fur.My multicolored shirt has no meaning of love --
it looks like an air photo of a railway station.At night my body is open and awake under the blanket,
like eyes under the blindfold of someone to be shot.Restless I shall wander about;

I Want To Die In My Own Bed

© Yehuda Amichai

The sun stood still in Gibeon. Forever so, it's willing
to illuminate those waging battle and killing.
I may not see My wife when her blood is shed,
But I want to die in My own bed.

Infirmity

© Theodore Roethke

In purest song one plays the constant fool
As changes shimmer in the inner eye.
I stare and stare into a deepening pool
And tell myself my image cannot die.
I love myself: thats my one constancy.
Oh, to be something else, yet still to be!

I Don't Know If History Repeats Itself

© Yehuda Amichai

I remember that city was didvided
Not only between Jews and Arabs,
But Between me and you,
When we were there together.

I know where Wells growDroughtless Wells

© Emily Dickinson

I know where Wells growDroughtless Wells
Deep dugfor Summer days
Where Mosses go no more away
And Pebblesafely plays

In Praise Of England

© Alfred Austin

From tangled brake and trellised bower

Bring every bud that blows,

Indifference

© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay

A BIRD, a wild-flower and a tree--

I care for them, not they for me.

I've a Pain in my Head

© Jane Austen

'I've a pain in my head'
Said the suffering Beckford;
To her Doctor so dread.
'Oh! what shall I take for't?'

In the Park

© Maxine Kumin

and no choosing what to come back as.
When the grizzly bear appears, he lies/lays down
on atheist and zealot.In the pitch-dark
each of us waits for him in Glacier Park.

I would to heaven that I were so much clay

© Lord Byron

I would to heaven that I were so much clay,
As I am blood, bone, marrow, passion, feeling -
Because at least the past were passed away -
And for the future - (but I write this reeling,

I Would I Were a Careless Child

© Lord Byron

I would I were a careless child,
Still dwelling in my highland cave,
Or roaming through the dusky wild,
Or bounding o'er the dark blue wave;

"Innocent child and snow-white flower!"

© William Cullen Bryant

Innocent child and snow-white flower!
Well are ye paired in your opening hour.
Thus should the pure and the lovely meet,
Stainless with stainless, and sweet with sweet.

In High Noon's Heat

In high noon's heat in a Caucasian valley
I lay quite still, a bullet in my breast;
The smoke still rose from my deep wound,
As drop by drop my blood flowed out.

It Is the Hour

© Lord Byron

It is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingale's high note is heard;
It is the hour -- when lover's vows
Seem sweet in every whisper'd word;

I Saw Thee Weep

© Lord Byron

I saw thee weep---the big bright tear
Came o'er that eye of blue;
And then methought it did appear
A violet dropping dew:

I Speak Not

© Lord Byron

I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name;
There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame;
But the tear that now burns on my cheek may impart
The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart.