Poems begining by M

/ page 116 of 130 /

Order by :

1
. . .
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
. . .
130

My Last Duchess

© Robert Browning

That's my last duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive. I call
That piece a wonder, now: Frà Pandolf's hands
Worked busily a day, and there she stands.

Mischief

© Jane Taylor

Let those who're fond of idle tricks,
Of throwing stones, and hurling bricks,
And all that sort of fun,
Now hear a tale of idle Jim,
That warning they may take by him,
Nor do as he has done.

March

© Alfred Edward Housman

The Sun at noon to higher air,
Unharnessing the silver Pair
That late before his chariot swam,
Rides on the gold wool of the Ram.

I saw the hawk ride updraft in the sunset over Wyoming.
It rose from coniferous darkness, past gray jags
Of mercilessness, past whiteness, into the gloaming
Of dream-spectral light above the lazy purity of snow-snags.

MacDougal Street

© Edna St. Vincent Millay

AS I went walking up and down to take the evening air,
(Sweet to meet upon the street, why must I be so shy?)
I saw him lay his hand upon her torn black hair;
("Little dirty Latin child, let the lady by!")

My Most Distinguished Guest And Learned Friend

© Edna St. Vincent Millay

My most Distinguished Guest and Learned Friend,
The pallid hare that runs before the day
Having brought your earnest counsels to an end
Now have I somewhat of my own to say:

Make Bright The Arrows

© Edna St. Vincent Millay

Make bright the arrows
Gather the shields:
Conquest narrows
The peaceful fields.

Memorial To D.C.

© Edna St. Vincent Millay

O, loveliest throat of all sweet throats,
Where now no more the music is,
With hands that wrote you little notes
I write you little elegies!

Mist In The Valley

© Edna St. Vincent Millay

These hills, to hurt me more,
That am hurt already enough,
Having left the sea behind,
Having turned suddenly and left the shore
That I had loved beyond all words, even a song's words, to
convey,

Midnight Oil

© Edna St. Vincent Millay

Cut if you will, with Sleep's dull knife,
Each day to half its length, my friend,
The years that Time take off my life,
He'll take from off the other end!

Menses

© Edna St. Vincent Millay

(He speaks, but to himself, being aware how it is with her)
Think not I have not heard.
Well-fanged the double word
And well-directed flew.

Mariposa

© Edna St. Vincent Millay

Butterflies are white and blue
In this field we wander through.
Suffer me to take your hand.
Death comes in a day or two.

Modern Declaration

© Edna St. Vincent Millay

That I shall love you always.
No matter what party is in power;
No matter what temporarily expedient combination of allied
interests wins the war;
Shall love you always.

"Me thinks this heart..."

© Emily Jane Brontë

Me thinks this heart should rest awhile
So stilly round the evening falls
The veiled sun sheds no parting smile
Nor mirth nor music wakes my Halls

My Faith

Which religion do I acknowledge? None that thou namest.
"None that I name? And why so?"--Why, for religion's own sake?

My Antipathy

I have a heartfelt aversion for crime,--a twofold aversion,
Since 'tis the reason why man prates about virtue so much.
"What! thou hatest, then, virtue?"--I would that by all it were practised,
So that, God willing, no man ever need speak of it more.

Melancholy -- To Laura

Laura! a sunrise seems to break
Where'er thy happy looks may glow.
Joy sheds its roses o'er thy cheek,
Thy tears themselves do but bespeak

Majestas Populi

Majesty of the nature of man! In crowds shall I seek thee?
'Tis with only a few that thou hast made thine abode.
Only a few ever count; the rest are but blanks of no value,
And the prizes are hid 'neath the vain stir that they make.