Poems begining by L
/ page 112 of 128 /Lost Kitten
© Robert William Service
Two men I saw reel from a bar
And stumble down the street;
Coarse and uncouth as workmen are,
They walked with wobbly feet.
Lip-Stick Liz
© Robert William Service
Oh Lip-Stick Liz was in the biz, That's the oldest known in history;
She had a lot of fancy rags, Of her form she made no myst'ry.
She had a man, a fancy man, His name was Alexander,
And he used to beat her up because he couldn't understand her.
Lucille
© Robert William Service
Oh, the Prince was glad, I could soon see that, and the Princess she was too;
And Lucille waltzed round on the tablecloth as she often used to do.
And the Prince pulled out a purse of gold, and he put it in my hand;
And he says: "It was worth all that, I'm told, to stay in that nasty land."
And then he turned with a sudden cry, and he clutched at his royal beard;
And the Princess screamed, and well she might -- for Lucille had disappeared.
Lottery Ticket
© Robert William Service
'A ticket for the lottery
I've purchased every week,' said she
'For years a score
Though desperately poor am I,
Oh how I've scrimped and scraped to buy
One chance more.
Lost
© Robert William Service
"Black is the sky, but the land is white--
(O the wind, the snow and the storm!)--
Father, where is our boy to-night?
Pray to God he is safe and warm."
Lowly Laureate
© Robert William Service
O Sacred Muse, my lyre excuse! -
My verse is vagrant singing;
Rhyme I invoke for simple folk
Of penny-wise upbringing:
Les Grands Mutiles
© Robert William Service
I saw three wounded of the war:
And the first had lost his eyes;
And the second went on wheels and had
No legs below the thighs;
Leaves
© Robert William Service
The leaves are falling three and three
Beneath the mothlike moon;
They flutter downward silverly
In muted rigadoon;
And russet dry remote they lie
From feathered tune.
Longevity
© Robert William Service
Said Brown: 'I can't afford to die
For I have bought annuity,
And every day of living I
Have money coming in to me:
While others toil to make their bread
I make mine by not being dead.'
Lobster For Lunch
© Robert William Service
His face was like a lobster red,
His legs were white as mayonnaise:
"I've had a jolly lunch," he said,
That Englishman of pleasant ways.
"Thy do us well at our hotel:
In England food is dull these days."
Laziness
© Robert William Service
Let laureates sing with rapturous swing
Of the wonder and glory of work;
Let pulpiteers preach and with passion impeach
The indolent wretches who shirk.
Lord Let Me Live
© Robert William Service
Lord, let me linger, just for this,--
To win to utterness of bliss;
To see in every dawn design
Proof of Your Providence divine;
With night to find ablaze above,
Assurance of Your love.
Little Brother
© Robert William Service
Wars have been and wars will be
Till the human race is run;
Battles red by land and sea,
Never peace beneath the sun.
Landscape of a Pissing Multitude
© Federico Garcia Lorca
The men kept to themselves:
they were waiting for the swiftness of the last cyclists.
The women kept to themselves:
they were expecting the death of a boy on a Japanese schooner.
Landscape of a Vomiting Multitude
© Federico Garcia Lorca
The fat lady went first
and the crowds kept looking for pharmacies
where the bitter tropics could be found.
Only when a flag went up and the first dogs arrived
did the entire city rush to the railings of the boardwalk.
Little Viennese Waltz
© Federico Garcia Lorca
In Vienna there are ten little girls,
a shoulder for death to cry on,
and a forest of dried pigeons.
There is a fragment of tomorrow
in the museum of winter frost.
There is a thousand-windowed dance hall.
La Casada Infiel
© Federico Garcia Lorca
Y que yo me la llev? al r?o
creyendo que era mozuela,
pero ten?a marido.
Fue la noche de Santiago
Lament For Ignacio Sanchez Mejias
© Federico Garcia Lorca
Tell the moon to come,
for I do not want to see the blood
of Ignacio on the sand.
La Guitarra
© Federico Garcia Lorca
Empieza el llanto
de la guitarra.
Se rompen las copas
de la madrugada.
Lover's Gifts XXXIX: There Is a Looker-On
© Rabindranath Tagore
There is a looker-on who sits behind my eyes. I seems he has seen
things in ages and worlds beyond memory's shore, and those
forgotten sights glisten on the grass and shiver on the leaves. He
has seen under new veils the face of the one beloved, in twilight