Poems begining by M
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Morituri Salutamus: Poem for the Fiftieth Anniversary of the Class of 1825 in Bowdoin College
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Tempora labuntur, tacitisque senescimus annis,
Et fugiunt freno non remorante dies.
Ovid, Fastorum, Lib. vi.
"O Cæsar, we who are about to die
Salute you!" was the gladiators' cry
In the arena, standing face to face
With death and with the Roman populace.
Mould and Vase [GREEK POTTERY OF AREZZO.]
© Edith Wharton
HERE in the jealous hollow of the mould,
Faint, light-eluding, as templed in the breast
Mine - by the Right of the White Election! (411)
© Emily Dickinson
Mine - by the Right of the White Election!
Mine - by the Royal Seal!
Mine - by the sign in the Scarlet prison -
Bars - cannot conceal!
Medusa
© Sylvia Plath
Dragging their Jesus hair.
Did I escape, I wonder?
My mind winds to you
Old barnacled umbilicus, Atlantic cable,
Keeping itself, it seems, in a state of miraculous
repair.
My Soul
© Stevie Smith
Oh feed to the golden fish his egg
Where he floats in his captive bowl,
To the cat his kind from the womb born blind,
And to the Lord my soul.
Mont Blanc
© Richard Monckton Milnes
Mount! I have watcht thee, at the fall of dew,
Array thee in thy panoply of gold,--
And then cast over it thy rosy vest,--
And last that awful robe that looks so cold,
Thy ghastly spectre--dress of nameless hue:
Then thou art least of earth, and then I love thee best.
Miscegenation
© Natasha Trethewey
In 1965 my parents broke two laws of Mississippi;
they went to Ohio to marry, returned to Mississippi.
Middle-Aged
© Ezra Pound
A STUDY IN AN EMOTION
"'Tis but a vague, invarious delight.
As gold that rains about some buried king.
Music For The Dying
© Robert Fuller Murray
Ye who will help me in my dying pain,
Speak not a word: let all your voices cease.
Let me but hear some soft harmonious strain,
And I shall die at peace.
Me-Stew
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
I have nothing to put in my stew, you see,
Not a bone or a bean or a black-eyed pea,
Mr. Housman's Message
© Ezra Pound
O woe, woe,
People are born and die,
We also shall be dead pretty soon
Therefore let us act as if we were
dead already.
Man
© Walter Savage Landor
IN his own image the Creator made,
His own pure sunbeam quickend thee, O man!
Thou breathing dial! since thy day began
The present hour was ever markd with shade!
Meganom
© Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
1
Still far the asphodels,
grey-transparent Spring.
Meanwhile, the sand rustles,
My Last Farewell To Stirling
© Robert Burns
Nae lark in transport mounts the sky
Or leaves wi' early plaintive cry,
But I will bid a last good-bye,
My last farewell to Stirling O.
Middlesex
© John Betjeman
Gaily into Ruislip Gardens
Runs the red electric train,
With a thousand Ta's and Pardon's
Daintily alights Elaine;
Metamorphoses: Book The Thirteenth
© Ovid
The End of the Thirteenth Book.
Translated into English verse under the direction of
Sir Samuel Garth by John Dryden, Alexander Pope, Joseph Addison,
William Congreve and other eminent hands
