Poems begining by M
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Morte d'Arthur
© Alfred Tennyson
To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere:
"It is not meet, Sir King, to leave thee thus,
Aidless, alone, and smitten thro' the helm.
A little thing may harm a wounded man.
Yet I thy hest will all perform at full,
Watch what I see, and lightly bring thee word."
May-Bloom
© Henry Cuyler Bunner
Oh, for You that I never knew !
Now that the Spring is swelling,
And over the way is a whitening may,
In the yard of my neighbors dwelling.
My Emmaleen
© George Ade
Lovey, my dovey dove
Ham-bone can't compaih.
Peppehmint and wintergreen
Not so sweet as Emmaleen.
My Grave
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
If, when I die, I must be buried, let
No cemetery engulph me — no lone grot,
Methought I saw my late espousèd saint
© Patrick Kavanagh
Methought I saw my late espousèd saint
Brought to me like Alcestus from the grave,
My Son the Man
© Sharon Olds
Suddenly his shoulders get a lot wider,
the way Houdini would expand his body
Mates
© Ada Cambridge
What brains these fragile webs enmesh!
What soaring thought they tie!
What energies of soul and flesh
Maud XVIII: I have led her Home, my love, my only friend
© Alfred Tennyson
I have led her home, my love, my only friend,
There is none like her, none.
And never yet so warmly ran my blood
And sweetly, on and on
Calming itself to the long-wished-for end,
Full to the banks, close on the promised good.
Modern Love: L
© George Meredith
Thus piteously Love closed what he begat:
The union of this ever-diverse pair!
Memory As a Hearing Aid
© Tony Hoagland
Somewhere, someone is asking a question,
and I stand squinting at the classroom
with one hand cupped behind my ear,
trying to figure out where that voice is coming from.
Modern Love: XXXIV
© George Meredith
Madam would speak with me. So, now it comes:
The Deluge or else Fire! She's well, she thanks
Moon Fairies
© Madison Julius Cawein
THE moon, a circle of gold,
O'er the crowded housetops rolled,
And peeped in an attic, where,
'Mid sordid things and bare,
Meet Me in the Green Glen
© John Clare
Love, meet me in the green glen,
Beside the tall elm-tree,
Where the sweetbriar smells so sweet agen;
There come with me.
Meet me in the green glen.
Meditation at Lagunitas
© Robert Hass
All the new thinking is about loss.
In this it resembles all the old thinking.
Mare Rubrum
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
The billows swirl above my trembling limbs,
And almost chill my anxious heart to doubt
And disbelief, long conquered and defied.
But tho' the music of my hopeful hymns
Is drowned by curses of the raging rout,
No voice yet bids th' opposing waves divide!
Matins
© Denise Levertov
Stir the holy grains, set
the bowls on the table and
call the child to eat.
Men Say They Know Many Things
© Henry David Thoreau
Men say they know many things;
But lo! they have taken wings, —
The arts and sciences,
And a thousand appliances;
The wind that blows
Is all that any body knows.
My Uncle’s Favorite Coffee Shop
© Naomi Shihab Nye
My uncle slid into his booth.
I cannot tell you—how I love this place.
He drained the water glass, noisily clinking his ice.
My uncle hailed from an iceless region.
He had definite ideas about water drinking.
I cannot tell you—all the time. But then he’d try.
Mists In Autumn
© James Thomson
Now, by the cool, declining year condescend,
Descend the copious exhalations, check'd,
As up the middle sky unseen they stole,
And roll the doubling fogs around the hill.
