Poems begining by M

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Margaret's Bridal Eve

© George Meredith

The old grey mother she thrummed on her knee:
There is a rose that's ready;
And which of the handsome young men shall it be?
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

"My heart is a pomegranate full of sweet fancies"

© Lesbia Harford

My heart is a pomegranate full of sweet fancies,
To crimson with sunshine and swell with the dew.
Warmed by your smile and besprent by your glances
See, it has opened for you!

My Plan

© Edgar Albert Guest

When I wanted something I couldn't buy,

A suit of clothes or a Sunday tie,

Mrs Jaypher

© Edward Lear

Mrs Jaypher found a wafer

Which she stuck upon a note;

Monument Mountain

© William Cullen Bryant

Thou who wouldst see the lovely and the wild
Mingled in harmony on Nature's face,
Ascend our rocky mountains. Let thy foot
Fail not with weariness, for on their tops

Morns like thesewe parted

© Emily Dickinson

Morns like thesewe parted
Noons like theseshe rose
Fluttering firstthen firmer
To her fair repose.

My Wife Is A Most Knowing Woman

© Stephen C. Foster

My wife is a most knowing woman,

She always is finding me out,

Murmurings

© Annie McCarer Darlington

Falling, falling-gently falling,
Pattering on the window pane,
Like a weird spirit calling
Come the heavy drops of rain.

Marseillasen

© Peter Andreas Heiberg

Op, I brave Marseillaner,

Op at kæmpe hver Galliens Mand,

Machinist's Song

© Lesbia Harford

The foot of my machine
Sails up and down
Upon the blue of this fine lady's gown.
Sail quickly, little boat,
With gifts for me,
Night and the goldy streets and liberty.

My Vocation

© Toru Dutt

A waif on this earth,

Sick, ugly and small,

Many will love you; you were made for love;
For the soft plumage of the unruffled dove
Is not so soft as your caressing eyes.
You will love many; for the winds that veer
Are not more prone to shift their compass, dear,
Than your quick fancy flies.

Meeting In Winter

© William Morris

Winter in the world it is,
Round about the unhoped kiss
Whose dream I long have sorrowed oer;
Round about the longing sore,
That the touch of thee shall turn
Into joy too deep to burn.

Macer : A Character

When simple Macer, now of high renown,

First fought a Poet's Fortune in the Town,

Music

Something of heavens ever burns in it,
I like to watch its wondrous facets' growth.
It speaks with me in fate's non-seldom fits,
When others fear to approach close.