Poems begining by L
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Limerick: There was a Young Lady whose chin
© Edward Lear
There was a Young Lady whose chin,
Resembled the point of a pin;
So she had it made sharp,
And purchased a harp,
And played several tunes with her chin.
Like a Sentence
© John Ashbery
It was prettily said that “No man
hath an abundance of cows on the plain, nor shards
in his cupboard.” Wait! I think I know who said that! It was . . .
Look At All Those Monkeys!
© Spike Milligan
Look at all those monkeys
Jumping in their cage.
Why don't they all go out to work
And earn a decent wage?
Love Is Master Still
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Since that it may not be,
The thing my soul desires,
And that Love's tenderer fires
Are doomed to loss and Time's sterility,
Look to the Future
© Ruth Stone
To you born into violence,
the wars of the red ant are nothing;
you, in the heart of the eruption.
Limerick: There Was an Old Man in a Tree
© Edward Lear
There was an Old Man in a tree,
Who was horribly bored by a bee.
When they said "Does it buzz?"
He replied "Yes, it does!
It's a regular brute of a bee!"
Lenton Communion
© Katharine Tynan
Rest in a friend's house, Dear, I pray:
The way is long to Good Friday,
And very chill and grey the way.
Little Air
© Stéphane Mallarme
Any solitude
Without a swan or quai
Mirrors its disuse
In the look I abdicate
Love's Witness
© Aphra Behn
Slight unpremeditated Words are borne
By every common Wind into the Air;
Carelessly utterd, die as soon as born,
And in one instant give both Hope and Fear:
Breathing all Contraries with the same Wind
According to the Caprice of the Mind.
Lines On A Sleeping Child
© Frances Anne Kemble
O child! who to this evil world art come,
Led by the unseen hand of Him who guards thee,
Little Words
© Dorothy Parker
When you are gone, there is nor bloom nor leaf,
Nor singing sea at night, nor silver birds;
And I can only stare, and shape my grief
In little words.
Limerick: There was an Old Person of Tring
© Edward Lear
There was an Old Person of Tring,
Who embellished his nose with a ring;
Ha gazed at the moon
Every evening in June,
That ecstatic Old Person in Tring.
Love Is Enough: Songs I-IX
© William Morris
Love is enough: though the World be a-waning
And the woods have no voice but the voice of complaining,
Love Calls Us to the Things of This World
© Lola Ridge
The eyes open to a cry of pulleys,
And spirited from sleep, the astounded soul
Hangs for a moment bodiless and simple
As false dawn.
Outside the open window
The morning air is all awash with angels.
