Poems begining by M
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Memoriam A. H. H.: 72. Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again
© Alfred Tennyson
Who might'st have heaved a windless flame
Up the deep East, or, whispering, play'd
A chequer-work of beam and shade
Along the hills, yet look'd the same.
Memoriam A. H. H.: 67. When on my bed the moonlight fall
© Alfred Tennyson
And then I know the mist is drawn
A lucid veil from coast to coast,
And in the dark church like a ghost
Thy tablet glimmers to the dawn.
Memoriam A. H. H.: 44. How fares it with the happy dead?
© Alfred Tennyson
If such a dreamy touch should fall,
O turn thee round, resolve the doubt;
My guardian angel will speak out
In that high place, and tell thee all.
My Great Great Etc. Uncle Patrick Henry
© James Tate
There's a fortune to be made in just about everything
in this country, somebody's father had to invent
My Felisberto
© James Tate
My felisberto is handsomer than your mergotroid,
although, admittedly, your mergotroid may be the wiser of the two.
More Later, Less The Same
© James Tate
The common is unusually calm--they captured the storm
last night, it's sleeping in the stockade, relieved
My Friend
© Rabindranath Tagore
Art thou abroad on this stormy night
on thy journey of love, my friend?
The sky groans like one in despair.
My Mouth Hovers Across Your Breasts
© Adrienne Rich
My mouth hovers across your breasts
in the short grey winter afternoon
Moving in Winter
© Adrienne Rich
Their life, collapsed like unplayed cards,
is carried piecemeal through the snow;
Miracle Ice Cream
© Adrienne Rich
Miracle's truck comes down the little avenue,
Scott Joplin ragtime strewn behind it like pearls,
and, yes, you can feel happy
with one piece of your heart.
Modern Love XXXIV: Madam Would Speak With Me
© George Meredith
Madam would speak with me. So, now it comes:
The Deluge or else Fire! She's well, she thanks
Modern Love XXVI: Love Ere He Bleeds
© George Meredith
Love ere he bleeds, an eagle in high skies,
Has earth beneath his wings: from reddened eve
Modern Love XXII: What May the Woman
© George Meredith
What may the woman labour to confess?
There is about her mouth a nervous twitch.
Modern Love XX: I Am Not of Those
© George Meredith
I am not of those miserable males
Who sniff at vice and, daring not to snap,
Modern Love XVI: In Our Old Shipwrecked Days
© George Meredith
In our old shipwrecked days there was an hour,
When in the firelight steadily aglow,
Modern Love XLVI: At Last We Parley
© George Meredith
At last we parley: we so strangely dumb
In such a close communion! It befell
Modern Love XIV: What Soul Would Bargain
© George Meredith
What soul would bargain for a cure that brings
Contempt the nobler agony to kill?
