Poems begining by J

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Jeanne Bras

© Dora Sigerson Shorter

Her ghost it still walks through the dark hours of night,
She sighs with the grief of the wind;
She holds in her hand a wax taper all white;
She seeks what she never will find.

James Whitcomb Riley

© Paul Laurence Dunbar

(From a Westerner's Point of View.)

No matter what you call it,

J. C. M.

© George Meredith

A fountain of our sweetest, quick to spring
In fellowship abounding, here subsides:
And never passage of a cloud on wing
To gladden blue forgets him; near he hides.

John Bede Polding

© Henry Kendall

With reverent eyes and bowed, uncovered head,
A son of sorrow kneels by fanes you knew;
But cannot say the words that should be said
To crowned and winged divinities like you.

John Brown

© James Whitcomb Riley

Writ in between the lines of his life-deed

We trace the sacred service of a heart

John Brown

© William Herbert Carruth

Had he been made of such poor clay as we,

Who, when we feel a little fire aglow

Jimmy

© Edgar Albert Guest

I NEVER knew him, for he never grew

Up as so many strong little ones do;

The laws of nature that he loved to trace
Have worked, at last, to veil from us his face;
The dear old elms and ivy-covered walls
Will miss his presence, and the stately halls
His trumpet voice. And in their joys
Sorrow will shadow those he called my boys!