Poems begining by M
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Marriage Songs
© George MacDonald
"They have no more wine!" she said.
But they had enough of bread;
And the vessels by the door
Held for thirst a plenteous store:
Yes, enough; but Love divine
Turned the water into wine!
Mad River, In The White Mountains
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
TRAVELLER
Why dost thou wildly rush and roar,
Mad River, O Mad River?
Wilt thou not pause and cease to pour
Thy hurrying, headlong waters o'er
This rocky shelf forever?
Melody To A Scene Of Former Times
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Art thou indeed forever gone,
Forever, ever, lost to me?
Must this poor bosom beat alone,
Or beat at all, if not for thee?
Mountain Moss
© Henry Kendall
IT LIES amongst the sleeping stones,
Far down the hidden mountain glade;
And past its brink the torrent moans
For ever in a dreamy shade.
Morning In The Hospital Solarium
© Sylvia Plath
Sunlight strikes a glass of grapefruit juice,
flaring green through philodendron leaves
in this surrealistic house
of pink and beige, impeccable bamboo,
Muerte De Antoñito El Camborio
© Federico Garcia Lorca
Voces de muerte sonaron
cerca del Guadalquivir.
My Symphony
© William Ellery Channing
To live content with small means.
To seek elegance rather than luxury,
and refinement rather than fashion.
To be worthy not respectable,
Music's Duel
© Richard Crashaw
Now westward Sol had spent the richest beams
Of noon's high glory, when, hard by the streams
My Chinee Cook.
© James Brunton Stephens
THEY who say the bush is dull are not so very far astray,
For this eucalyptic cloisterdom is anything but gay;
Midsummer Vigil
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Night smiles on me with her stars,
Mystic, pure, enchanted, lone.
Light, that only heaven discloses,
Is in heaven that no cloud mars;
Here, through murmuring darkness blown,
Comes the scent of unseen roses.
Maternal Grief
© William Wordsworth
DEPARTED Child! I could forget thee once
Though at my bosom nursed; this woeful gain
Thy dissolution brings, that in my soul
Is present and perpetually abides
Madonna Of The Evening Flowers
© Amy Lowell
Then I see you,
Standing under a spire of pale blue larkspur,
With a basket of roses on your arm.
You are cool, like silver,
And you smile.
I think the Canterbury bells are playing little tunes.
Mariana in the Moated Grange
© Alfred Tennyson
With blackest moss the flower-plots
Were thickly crusted, one and all:
Madrigal #1.
© Robert Crawford
What needs it, then, we stand so long a-gazing,
And do not our lips mingle,
Since our hearts, so long single,
Have married as if in a dream amazing?
Our lips in such a joy should follow suit,
And on each other feed as on Love's fruit.
Movement
© Arthur Rimbaud
Car de la causerie parmi les appareils, - le sang ; les fleurs, le feu, les bijoux -
Des comptes agités à ce bord fuyard,
- On voit, roulant comme une digue au delà de la route hydraulique motrice,
Monstrueux, s'éclairant sans fin, - leur stock d'études ;
Eux chassés dans l'extase harmonique,
Et l'héroïsme de la découverte.
Minority Poem
© Nissim Ezekiel
In my room, I talk
to my invisible guests:
they do not argue, but wait
