Poems begining by M
/ page 67 of 130 /
Marlowe
© John Le Gay Brereton
The spell of Shakespeare fills the heart
With earthly music loud and low;
But Marlowe drives the clouds apart,
And through their thundering rifts we go.
Minuscule Things
© William Matthews
There’s a crack in this glass so fine we can’t see it,
and in the blue eye of the candleflame’s needle
there’s a dark fleck, a speck of imperfection
My Sister's Sleep
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
She fell asleep on Christmas Eve:
At length the long-ungranted shade
Of weary eyelids overweigh'd
The pain nought else might yet relieve.
"Many in aftertimes will say of you"
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Vien dietro a me e lascia dir le genti. Dante
Contando i casi della vita nostra. Petrarca
Modern Love: VIII
© George Meredith
Yet it was plain she struggled, and that salt
Of righteous feeling made her pitiful.
"My northern blood exults to face"
© Alfred Austin
My northern blood exults to face
The rapture of this rough embrace,
Glowing in every vein to feel
The cordial caress of steel
From spear-blue air and sword-blue sea,
Armour of England's liberty.
Meditation
© David St. John
after Baudelaire
Quiet now, sorrow; relax. Calm down, fear ...
You wanted the night? It’s falling, here,
Like a black glove onto the city,
Giving a few some peace ... but not me.
Misgivings
© Arvind Krishna Mehrotra
When ocean-clouds over inland hills
Sweep storming in late autumn brown,
My Bride That Is To Be
© James Whitcomb Riley
O soul of mine, look out and see
My bride, my bride that is to be!
Morning
© Billy Collins
Why do we bother with the rest of the day,
the swale of the afternoon,
the sudden dip into evening,
Meeting
© Boris Pasternak
The snow will dust the roadway,
And load the roofs still more.
I'll stretch my legs a little:
You're there outside the door.
Marys Wedding
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
The future I read in toil's guerdon,
You will read in your children's eyes:
The past--the same past with either--
Is to you a delightsome scene,
But I cannot trace it clearly
For the graves that rise between.
Merry Andrew
© Matthew Prior
A reverend prelate stopp'd his couch-and-six
To laugh a little at our Andrew's tricks:
But when he heard him give this golden rule,
Drive on (he cried) this fellow is no fool.
[Murmurs from the earth of this land?]
© Katha Pollitt
Murmurs from the earth of this land, from the caves and craters,
from the bowl of darkness. Down watercourses of our
Middle Age
© Amy Lowell
Like black ice
Scrolled over with unintelligible patterns
by an ignorant skater
Is the dulled surface of my heart.
Mailboxes in Late Winter
© Jeffrey Harrison
It’s a motley lot. A few still stand
at attention like sentries at the ends
Meeting the Mountains
© Gary Snyder
He crawls to the edge of the foaming creek
He backs up the slab ledge
