Poems begining by L

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128

Lines Written Beneath An Elm In The Churchyard Of Harrow On The Hill, Sept. 2, 1807

© George Gordon Byron

Spot of my youth! whose hoary branches sigh,
Swept by the breeze that fans thy cloudless sky;
Where now alone I muse, who oft have trod,
With those I loved, thy soft and verdant sod;

Lines To Fanny

© John Keats

What can I do to drive away
Remembrance from my eyes? for they have seen,
Aye, an hour ago, my brilliant Queen!
Touch has a memory. O say, love, say,

L'oiseau bleu

© Mary Elizabeth Coleridge

The lake lay blue below the hill.
O'er it, as I looked, there flew
Across the waters, cold and still,
A bird whose wings were palest blue.

Love Well The Hour

© Edith Nesbit

HEART of my heart, my life and light,
If you were lost what should I do?
I dare not let you from my sight,
Lest Death should fall in love with you.

Love's Draft

© Paul Laurence Dunbar

THE draft of love was cool and sweet

You gave me in the cup,

LoveLoveYour hot lips tremble on my eyes.
You droop. You swoon in silence over me
Heaven, out of yours, my very eyelids sup.
The stars are running out of Paradise
I languish, perfumed with expectancy
Beloved, kiss me, for the moon is up.

Lament For The Two Brothers Slain By Each Other's Hand

© Aeschylus

Now do our eyes behold

The tidings which were told:

Love Song

© Rainer Maria Rilke

How can I keep my soul in me, so that

it doesn't touch your soul? How can I raise

La Nuit Blanche

© Rudyard Kipling

A much-discerning Public hold
The Singer generally sings
And prints and sells his past for gold.

Lines. "Serene and pure the fountain flowed"

© Frances Anne Kemble

AFTER A SUMMER'S WALK, IN WHICH MY COMPANION BENT OVER A CLEAR SPRING WHICH GREW TURBID WITHOUT ANY APPARENT CAUSE.

Lukannon

© Rudyard Kipling

I met my mates in the morning (and oh, but I am old!)
Where roaring on the ledges the summer ground-swell rolled;
I heard them lift the chorus that dropped the breakers' song --
The beaches of Lukannon -- two million voices strong!

Lord Roberts

© Rudyard Kipling

He passed in the very battle-smoke
Of the war that he had descried.
Three hundred mile of cannon spoke
When the Master-Gunner died.

Loot

© Rudyard Kipling

If you've ever stole a pheasant-egg be'ind the keeper's back,
If you've ever snigged the washin' from the line,
If you've ever crammed a gander in your bloomin' 'aversack,
You will understand this little song o' mine.

Lichtenberg

Smells are surer than sounds or sights
To make your heart-strings crack--
They start those awful voices o' nights
That whisper, " Old man, come back! "

L'Envoi

There's a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield,
And the ricks stand gray to the sun,
Singing: -- "Over then, come over, for the bee has quit the clover,
And your English summer's done."

Lord I Owe Thee a Death

Man pays the debt with new munificence,
Not piecemeal now, not slowly, by the old;
Not grudgingly, by the effaced thin pence,
But greatly and in gold.