Poems begining by M
/ page 47 of 130 /Mourning Women
© Mathilde Blind
Most wretched women! whom your prophet dooms
To take love's penalties without its prize!
Yes; you shall bear the unborn in your wombs,
And water dusty death with streaming eyes,
And, wailing, beat your breasts among the tombs;
But souls ye have none fit for Paradise.
My Sweet Brown Gal
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
W'EN de clouds is hangin' heavy in de sky,
An' de win's 's a-taihin' moughty vig'rous by,
Marching Through Georgia
© Henry Clay Work
[Solo] Yes, and there were Union men who wept with joyful tears,
When they saw the honor'd flag they had not seen for years;
Hardly could they be restrained from breaking forth in cheers,
While we were marching through Georgia.
More Than Enough by Marge Piercy: American Life in Poetry #10 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-20
© Ted Kooser
The poet and novelist Marge Piercy has a gift for writing about nature. In this poem, springtime has a nearly overwhelming and contagious energy, capturing the action-filled drama of spring.
More Than Enough
The first lily of June opens its red mouth.
All over the sand road where we walk
multiflora rose climbs trees cascading
white or pink blossoms, simple, intense
the scene drifting like colored mist.
Men and Women
© James Kenneth Stephen
. IN THE BACKS.
As I was strolling lonely in the Backs,
I met a woman whom I did not like.
I did not like the way the woman walked:
Mattens
© George Herbert
I cannot ope mine eyes,
But thou art ready there to catch
My morning-soul and sacrifice:
Then we must needs for that day make a match.
Maenad
© Sylvia Plath
Once I was ordinary:
Sat by my father's bean tree
Eating the fingers of wisdom.
The birds made milk.
When it thundered I hid under a flat stone.
My Garden
© Emily Dickinson
New feet within my garden go
New fingers stir the sod
A Troubadour upon the Elm
Betrays the solitude.
Morning
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
O GRACIOUS breath of sunrise! divine air!
That brood'st serenely o'er the purpling hills;
O blissful valleys! nestling, cool and fair,
In the fond arms of yonder murmurous rills,
Messengers
© Madison Julius Cawein
The wind, that gives the rose a kiss
With murmured music of the south,
Hath kissed a sweeter thing than this,--
The wind, that gives the rose a kiss--
The perfume of her mouth.
Morning
© Emma Lazarus
GRAY-VESTED Dawn, with flameless, tranquil eye,
Cool hands, and dewy lips, is in the sky,
A sober nun, with starry rosary.
My Birthday
© John Henry Newman
Let the sun summon all his beams to hold
Bright pageant in his court, the cloud-paved sky
Magpies
© Judith Wright
Along the road the magpies walk
with hands in pockets, left and right.
They tilt their heads, and stroll and talk.
In their well-fitted black and white.
Marmion: Introduction to Canto VI.
© Sir Walter Scott
Heap on more wood! the wind is chill;
But let it whistle as it will,
Mary Called Him 'Mister'
© Henry Lawson
They'd parted but a year beforeshe never thought hed come,
She stammerd, blushed, held out her hand, and called him Mister Gum.
How could he know that all the while she longed to murmur John.
He called her Miss le Brook, and asked how she was getting on.