Poems begining by M
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Marching Men
© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
Under the level winter sky
I saw a thousand Christs go by.
They sang an idle song and free
As they went up to calvary.
Molecular Evolution
© James Clerk Maxwell
At quite uncertain times and places,
The atoms left their heavenly path,
Morningis the place for Dew
© Emily Dickinson
Morningis the place for Dew
Cornis made at Noon
After dinner lightfor flowers
Dukesfor Setting Sun!
Milken Time
© William Barnes
'Twer when the busy birds did vlee,
Wi' sheenèn wings, vrom tree to tree,
Mild is the Parting Year
© Heather Fuller
Mild is the parting year, and sweet
The odour of the falling spray;
Life passes on more rudely fleet,
And balmless is its closing day.
May
© Jonathan Galassi
The backyard apple tree gets sad so soon,
takes on a used-up, feather-duster look
within a week.
Magnitudes
© Howard Nemerov
Earth’s Wrath at our assaults is slow to come
But relentless when it does. It has to do
Mary Had A Little Frog
© Ellis Parker Butler
Mary had a little frog
And it was water-soaked,
But Mary did not keep it long
Because, of course, it croaked!
Mugging (I)
© Allen Ginsberg
I
Tonite I walked out of my red apartment door on East tenth street’s dusk—
Michael: A Pastoral Poem
© William Wordsworth
Thus in his Father's sight the Boy grew up:
And now, when he had reached his eighteenth year,
He was his comfort and his daily hope.
Myrrha to the Source
© Heather McHugh
O fluent one, o muscle full of hydrogen,
o stuff of grief, whom the Greeks
accuse of spoiling souls,
Monday In Whitsun-Week
© John Keble
Since all that is not Heaven must fade,
Light be the hand of Ruin laid
Upon the home I love:
With lulling spell let soft Decay
Steal on, and spare the giant sway,
The crash of tower and grove.
Midnight
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
The moon, a ghost of her sweet self,
And wading through a watery cloud,
Which wraps her lustre like a shroud,
Creeps up the gray, funereal sky,
Wearily! how wearily!
Modern Love XXX
© George Meredith
What are we first? First, animals; and next
Intelligences at a leap; on whom
My Mother-Land
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
Death! What of death?--
Can he who once drew honorable breath
In liberty's pure sphere,
Foster a sensual fear,
When death and slavery meet him face to face,
