Poems begining by M
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March
© Madison Julius Cawein
This is the tomboy month of all the year,
March, who comes shouting o'er the winter hills,
Music
© Stephen Vincent Benet
My friend went to the piano; spun the stool
A little higher; left his pipe to cool;
Meadowlarks
© Sara Teasdale
IN the silver light after a storm,
Under dripping boughs of bright new green,
I take the low path to hear the meadowlarks
Alone and high-hearted as if I were a queen.
Makin' It Natural
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
I'm gonna throw my grass out the window
Crumple up my papers too
Give away my speed, Cause all I'm gonna need
Is just a little bit of love from you
Mulla-Mulgars' Journey Song
© Walter de la Mare
That one, alone,
Who's dared and gone
To seek the Magic Wonderstone,
No fear, or care,
Or black despair
Shall heed until his journey's done.
Man's Knowledge - Ingorance in the Mysteries of God
© William Henry Drummond
Beneath a sable veil and shadows deep
Of inaccessible and dimming light,
My God, I thank Thee who hast made
© Adelaide Anne Procter
My God, I thank Thee who hast made
The earth so bright;
So full of splendour and of joy,
Beauty and light;
So many glorious things are here,
Noble and right!
Marianne's Dream
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
1.
A pale Dream came to a Lady fair,
And said, A boon, a boon, I pray!
I know the secrets of the air,
Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 XIV. Fly, Some Kind Haringer, To Grasmere-Dale
© William Wordsworth
FLY, some kind Harbinger, to Grasmere-dale!
Say that we come, and come by this day's light;
Fly upon swiftest wing round field and height,
But chiefly let one Cottage hear the tale;
Men And Women.
© Robert Crawford
It is not that I love you nay! and yet
Had I a lover, he would have your eyes,
Your lips, and be in all like you. Sir, see
This is a rose the winds have harried. Oh!
Mener du, at den har lykken fat,
© Peter Andreas Heiberg
Mener du, at den har lykken fat,
som i sin Haand holder snese Rigers Tømmer?
Melbourne
© Patrick Moloney
O sweet Queen-city of the golden South,
Piercing the evening with thy star-lit spires,
Mist And Rain
© Charles Baudelaire
Late autumns, winters, spring-times steeped in mud,
anaesthetizing seasons! You I praise, and love
for so enveloping my heart and brain
in vaporous shrouds, in sepulchres of rain.
Mama
© Attila Jozsef
On Mama now my thoughts have dawdled
all of a week. Clothes-basket cradled
creaked on her hip; she'd climb the stairway
up to the drying-attic's airway.
Mary Magdalene
© George Herbert
When blessed Marie wip'd her Saviour's feet,
(Whose precepts she had trampled on before)
And wore them for a jewell on her head,
Shewing his steps should be the street,
Wherein she thenceforth evermore
With pensive humblenesse would live and tread:
MacDonalds Raid.A.D. 1780.
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
I REMEMBER it well; 'twas a morn dull and gray,
And the legion lay idle and listless that day,
A thin drizzle of rain piercing chill to the soul,
And with not a spare bumper to brighten the bowl,
Madrigal: My Thoughts Hold Mortal Strife
© William Henry Drummond
My thoughts hold mortal strife,
I do detest my life,
