Poems begining by J
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Jerusalem Delivered - Book 01 - part 06
© Torquato Tasso
LXXI
Aurora bright her crystal gates unbarred,
Jamie And His MotherIn The Tropics
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
O MOTHER, what country is that I see
Far over the stream and the boulders gray,
Where the wind-song pipes, and the curlews flee,
And the little brown squirrels dance and play
Through the boughs all day
MOTHER.
John Lackland
© George Meredith
A wicked man is bad enough on earth;
But O the baleful lustre of a chief
Jerusalem Delivered - Book 06 - part 04
© Torquato Tasso
XLIII
The Pagan ill defenced with sword or targe,
Jim
© Francis Bret Harte
Say there! P'r'aps
Some on you chaps
Might know Jim Wild?
Well,--no offense:
Thar ain't no sense
In gittin' riled!
John Ford: VI
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
HEW hard the marble from the mountains heart
Where hardest night holds fast in iron gloom
Joy Of My Life While Left Me Here!
© Henry Vaughan
Joy of my life while left me here!
And still my love!
Jolly Jack
© William Makepeace Thackeray
When fierce political debate
Throughout the isle was storming,
Jackdaw
© Padraic Colum
ALOOF from his tribe
On the elm-tree's top,
A jackdaw perched
A hand-reach up.
June Night
© Sara Teasdale
OH Earth, you are too dear to-night,
How can I sleep while all around
Floats rainy fragrance and the far
Deep voice of the ocean that talks to the ground?
John Bunny, Motion Picture Comedian
© Vachel Lindsay
Yorick is dead. Boy Hamlet walks forlorn
Beneath the battlements of Elsinore.
Where are those oddities and capers now
That used to set the table on a roar?
Jeckoyva
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
They made the warrior's grave beside
The dashing of his native time:
Jewish Wedding in Bombay
© Nissim Ezekiel
Her mother shed a tear or two but wasn't really
crying. It was the thing to do, so she did it
enjoying every moment. The bride laughed when I
sympathized, and said don't be silly.
John Burns Of Gettysburg
© Francis Bret Harte
So raged the battle. You know the rest:
How the rebels, beaten and backward pressed,
Broke at the final charge, and ran.
At which John Burnsa practical man
Shouldered his rifle, unbent his brows,
And then went back to his bees and cows.
Joy's City
© Isabella Valancy Crawford
Joy's City hath high battlements of gold;
Joy's City hath her streets of gem-wrought flow'rs;
She hath her palaces high reared and bold,
And tender shades of perfumed lily bowers;
But ever day by day, and ever night by night,
An Angel measures still our City of Delight.
James Russell Lowell
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
THOU shouldst have sung the swan-song for the choir
That filled our groves with music till the day
Lit the last hilltop with its reddening fire,
And evening listened for thy lingering lay.
