Poems begining by M

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Martins Tide

© William Barnes

Come, bring a log o' cleft wood, Jack,

An' fling en on ageän the back,

Cold moons withdraw, refusing to come to terms
with the pilot who dares all heaven's harms
to raid the zone where fate begins,
flings silver gauntlet of his plane at space,
demanding satisfaction; no duel takes place:
the mute air merely thins and thins.

Mourning in Andalusia

© Abu l-Hasan al-Husri

If white is the colour
of mourning in Andalusia,
it is a proper custom.

Mnais

© André Marie de Chénier

'Bergers, vous dont ici la chèvre vagabonde,

La brebis se traînant sous sa laine féconde,

Maternity

© Alice Meynell

One wept whose only child was dead,
New-born, ten years ago.
"Weep not; he is in bliss," they said.
She answered, "Even so,

Morality.

© Robert Crawford

Evil itself may be but good disguised,
As many a virtue now was once a vice,
Or held to be such by the moralists;
Or as even in the eyes of foreigners

My Comrade

© Edwin Markham

I NEVER build a song by night or day,
Of breaking ocean or of blowing whin,
But in some wondrous unexpected way,
Like light upon a road, my Love comes in.

Mutation.

© Robert Crawford

The peaceful years, and then the stormy time
When the perturbed Earth moans, and Death himself
Seems ready to seize all his prey, "to smite
Once and to smite no more." Not yet the end,

Maha-Bharata, The Epic Of Ancient India - Conclusion

© Romesh Chunder Dutt

The real Epic ends with the war and with the funerals of the deceased
warriors, as we have stated before, and Yudhishthir's Horse-Sacrifice
is rather a crowning ornament than a part of the solid edifice. What
follows the sacrifice is in no sense a part of the real Epic; it
consists merely of concluding personal narratives of the heroes who
have figured in the poem.

Mater Triumphalis

© William Stanley Braithwaite

To Louise Imogen Guiney

Foreseen in Eve's desire,

Menace

© Katharine Tynan

Oh, when the land is white as milk
With bloom that lets no leaf between,
When trees are clad in grass-green silk
And thrushes sing in a gold screen:
What is it ails Dark Rosaleen?

Morning Peace.

© Arthur Henry Adams

THE sudden sunbeams slant between the trees
Like solid bars of silver. moonlight kissed,
And strike the supine shadows where they rest
Stretched sleeping; while a timid, new-born Breeze

Mons Angelorum

© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall

Joshua O father of my soul, I cannot tell.
The burden of the Lord is heavy on me,
And I am broken beneath it.

May

© Madison Julius Cawein

The golden discs of the rattlesnake-weed,

That spangle the woods and dance-

More Strong Than Time

Since I have set my lips to your full cup, my sweet,

Since I my pallid face between your hands have laid,

May The Fruit Never Be Plucked

NEVER, never may the fruit be plucked from the bough

And gathered into barrels.

Magnolia Shoals

© Sylvia Plath

Up here among the gull cries
we stroll through a maze of pale
red-mottled relics, shells, claws

Mind.

Without us and within us mind is all;
The truth of life and knowledge still are one,
And though all be a dream, yet in the dream
All is true to the after and before,