Poems begining by N

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55

Was it a lie that they told me,
Was it a pitiless hoax?
A sop for my soul and its longing
Only to cozen and coax?
And a voice came down through the night and rain:
"They lied; thou has trusted in vain."

Napoleon the Little

© Victor Marie Hugo

How well I knew this stealthy wolf would howl
When in the eagle talons ta'en in air!
A-glow, I snatched thee from thy prey, fowl!
I held thee, abject conqueror, just where

Nature

© Ralph Waldo Emerson

I.

Winters know

Nothing But The Blood

© Robert Wadsworth Lowry

What can wash away my sin?
Nothing but the blood of Jesus;
What can make me whole again?
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.

Non Sum Qualis eram Bonae Sub Regno Cynarae

© Ernest Christopher Dowson

Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

Nacogdoches Speaks

© Karle Wilson Baker

I was The Gateway. Here they came, and passed,

The homespun centaurs with their arms of steel

No Bobolinkreverse His Singing

© Emily Dickinson

No Bobolinkreverse His Singing
When the only Tree
Ever He minded occupying
By the Farmer be

Nocturne

© Gerald Griffin

Sleep that like the couched dove

Broods o'er the weary eye,

Nathan The Wise - Act III

© Gotthold Ephraim Lessing

And when this moment comes,
And when this warmest inmost of my wishes
Shall be fulfilled, what then? what then?

Niklas

© Gotthold Ephraim Lessing

Mein Esel sicherlich
Muss klueger sein, als ich.
Ja, klueger muss er sein!
Er fand sich selbst in Stall hinein,
Und kam doch von der Traenke.
Man denke!

Night

© Jones Very

I thank thee, Father, that the night is near

When I this conscious being may resign;

New Country

© Mary Hannay Foott

Conde had come with us all the way -
Eight hundred miles - but the fortnight's rest
Made him fresh as a youngster, the sturdy bay!
And Lurline was looking her very best.

New Things Are Best

What shall I tell you, child, in this new Sonnet?
Life's art is to forget, and last year's sowing
Cast in Time's furrow with the storm winds blowing
Bears me a wild crop with strange fancies on it.

No Man's Land

Not to an angel but a friend
He turned at the day's bitter end.
It was so comforting to feel
Some one was near, to see him kneel
By the deep shell-hole's edge: to know
He was not left to the fierce foe.