Poems begining by M
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May The Limner
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
When May is painting with her colours gay
The landscape sketched by April her sweet twin...
My Heart Is Like A Withered Nut!
© Caroline Norton
MY heart is like a withered nut,
Rattling within its hollow shell;
You cannot ope my breast, and put
Any thing fresh with it to dwell.
Moods
© Sara Teasdale
I am the still rain falling,
Too tired for singing mirth-
Oh, be the green fields calling,
Oh, be for me the earth!
My Psalm
© John Greenleaf Whittier
I mourn no more my vanished years
Beneath a tender rain,
An April rain of smiles and tears,
My heart is young again.
Morn
© Helen Hunt Jackson
In what a strange bewilderment do we
Awake each morn from out the brief night's sleep.
May Colven
© Andrew Lang
False Sir John a wooing came
To a maid of beauty fair;
May Colven was this lady's name,
Her father's only heir.
Meditation Upon The Day Before The Sun Rising
© John Bunyan
But all this while, where's he whose golden rays
Drives night away and beautifies our days?
My Playmate
© John Greenleaf Whittier
The pines were dark on Ramoth hill,
Their song was soft and low;
The blossoms in the sweet May wind
Were falling like the snow.
My Frost-King - Song II
© Louisa May Alcott
Brighter shone the golden shadows;
On the cool wind softly came
Marching Feet
© Katharine Lee Bates
THESE August nights, hushed but for drowsy peep
Of fledglings, tremble with a strange vibration,
Making Cider
© Victoria Mary Sackville-West
And framed within the latticed-panes,
Above the cluttered sill,
Saw rooks upon the stubble hill
Seeking forgotten grains;
March
© William Cullen Bryant
The stormy March is come at last,
With wind, and cloud, and changing skies,
I hear the rushing of the blast,
That through the snowy valley flies.
Mon Reve Familier
© Paul Verlaine
Oft do I dream this strange and penetrating dream:
An unknown woman, whom I love, who loves me well,
Who does not every time quite change, nor yet quite dwell
The same,--and loves me well, and knows me as I am.
Moon-Light
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
COME, gentle muse! now all is calm,
The dew descends, the air is balm;
Unruffled is the glassy deep,
While moon-beams o'er its bosom sleep;
Mystic
© Sylvia Plath
The air is a mill of hooks -
Questions without answer,
Glittering and drunk as flies
Whose kiss stings unbearably
In the fetid wombs of black air under pines in summer.
My Studio
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
I LOVE it, yet I hardly can tell why
My studio with its window to the sky,
Far up above the noises of the street,
The rumbling carts, the ceaseless tramp of feet;
Mrs. Dingleys Lap-Dog
© Jonathan Swift
Pray steal me not; I'm Mrs. Dingley's,
Whose heart in this four-footed thing lies.
