Poems begining by M
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Moreton Bay
© Anonymous
One Sunday morning, as I went walking,
By Brisbane waters I chanced to stray.
Mignon
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
KNOW'ST thou the land where the fair citron blows,
Where the bright orange midst the foliage glows,
Where soft winds greet us from the azure skies,
Where silent myrtles, stately laurels rise,
Know'st thou it well?
Marine Snow At Mid-Depths And Down
© Thomas Lux
As you descend, slowly, falling faster past
you this snow,
ghostly, some flakes bio-
luminescent (you plunge,
Motel Seedy
© Thomas Lux
The artisans of this room, who designed the lamp base
(a huge red slug with a hole
where its heart should be) or chose this print
of a butterscotch sunset,
Mine Host
© John McCrae
Within sit haggard men that speak no word,
No fire gleams their cheerful welcome shed;
No voice of fellowship or strife is heard
But silence of a multitude of dead.
"Naught can I offer ye," quoth Death, "but rest!"
And to his chamber leads each tired guest.
My Father He Was A Fisherman
© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
MY father he was a fisherman,
That wrought at the break o' day,
And hither and thither the long tides ran
I' the long blue bay.
Money
© William Henry Davies
When I had money, money, O!
I knew no joy till I went poor;
For many a false man as a friend
Came knocking all day at my door.
Marion
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
URCHIN of the Syrian face,
And half melancholy grace,
With a look in your dark eyes,
Sometimes deep and overwise;
Mycerinus
© Matthew Arnold
'Not by the justice that my father spurn'd,
Not for the thousands whom my father slew,
Altars unfed and temples overturn'd,
Cold hearts and thankless tongues, where thanks are due;
Fell this dread voice from lips that cannot lie,
Stern sentence of the Powers of Destiny.
Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland 1814 I. Suggested By A Beautiful Ruin Upon One Of The Islands Of Lo
© William Wordsworth
A PLACE CHOSEN FOR THE RETREAT OF A SOLITARY INDIVIDUAL, FROM WHOM THIS HABITATION ACQUIRED THE NAME OF THE BROWNIE'S CELL
I
To barren heath, bleak moor, and quaking fen,
Or depth of labyrinthine glen;
Morality
© Matthew Arnold
We cannot kindle when we will
The fire which in the heart resides;
The spirit bloweth and is still,
In mystery our soul abides.
But tasks in hours of insight will'd
Can be through hours of gloom fulfill'd.
Memorial Verses
© Matthew Arnold
Goethe in Weimar sleeps, and Greece,
Long since, saw Byron's struggle cease.
But one such death remain'd to come;
The last poetic voice is dumb--
We stand to-day by Wordsworth's tomb.
My Darling
© Adam Mickiewicz
When my sweetheart, in happy mood,
Sings, trills and chirrups like a bird,
I savour each sweet moment,
And dwell on each happy note.
I have no wish to interrupt;
I only want to listen, listen, listen.
Moscow Carol
© Joseph Brodsky
In such an inexplicable blue,
Upon the stonework to embark,
The little ship of glowing hue
Appears in Alexander Park.
Monte Carlo Memories
© Anastasia Clark
We took turns
Watching seagulls thereWalking on
A tilted shoreOf ancient waves
And modern shipsSparkling in a
Miss Killmansegg And Her Precious Leg. A Legend
© Thomas Hood
Who hath not felt that breath in the air,
A perfume and freshness strange and rare,
Morning After
© Langston Hughes
I was so sick last night I
Didnt hardly know my mind.
So sick last night I
Didnt know my mind.
I drunk some bad licker that
Almost made me blind.
My Shy Hand
© Wilfred Owen
My shy hand shades a hermitage apart, -
O large enough for thee, and thy brief hours.
Life there is sweeter held than in God's heart,
Stiller than in the heavens of hollow flowers.
Mediation
© Katharine Tynan
If Thou, Lord God, willest to judge
This, Thy very piteous clay
Which to save Christ did not grudge
His last dying, I shall say:
Lord, I interpose Christ's death
'Twixt these children and Thy wrath.
Mysterious doings
© Eugene Field
As once I rambled in the woods
I chanced to spy amid the brake
A huntsman ride his way beside
A fair and passing tranquil lake;
