Poems begining by O
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Ode to Eloquence
© Mary Darby Robinson
Oft, by thy thrilling voice subdued,
The meagre fiend INGRATITUDE
Her treach'rous fang conceals;
Pale ENVY hides her forked sting;
And CALUMNY, beneath the wing
Of dark oblivion steals.
Ode to Despair
© Mary Darby Robinson
TERRIFIC FIEND! thou Monster fell,
Condemn'd in haunts profane to dwell,
Why quit thy solitary Home,
O'er wide Creation's paths to roam?
Ode to Della Crusca
© Mary Darby Robinson
ENLIGHTEN'D Patron of the sacred Lyre?
Whose ever-varying, ever-witching song
Revibrates on the heart
With magic thrilling touch,
Ode to Beauty
© Mary Darby Robinson
EXULTING BEAUTY,phantom of an hour,
Whose magic spells enchain the heart,
Ah ! what avails thy fascinating pow'r,
Thy thrilling smile, thy witching art ?
Ode on Adversity
© Mary Darby Robinson
WHERE o'er my head, the deaf'ning Tempest blew,
And Night's cold lamp cast forth a feeble ray;
Where o'er the woodlands, vivid light'nings flew,
Cleft the strong oak, and scorch'd the blossom'd spray;
Oberon to the Queen of the Fairies
© Mary Darby Robinson
My OBERON, with ev'ry sprite
"That gilds the vapours of the night,
"Shall dance and weave the verdant ring
"With joy that mortals thus can sing;
Out of Town
© Amy Levy
Out of town the sky was bright and blue,
Never fog-cloud, lowering, thick, was seen to frown;
Nature dons a garb of gayer hue,
Out of town.
On the Wye in May
© Amy Levy
Now is the perfect moment of the year.
Half naked branches, half a mist of green,
Vivid and delicate the slopes appear;
The cool, soft air is neither fierce nor keen,
On the Threshold
© Amy Levy
O God, my dream! I dreamed that you were dead;
Your mother hung above the couch and wept
Whereon you lay all white, and garlanded
With blooms of waxen whiteness. I had crept
Oh, Is It Love?
© Amy Levy
O is it Love or is it Fame,
This thing for which I sigh?
Or has it then no earthly name
For men to call it by?
Our Lady
© Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
MOTHER of God! no lady thou:
Common woman of common earth
Our Lady ladies call thee now,
But Christ was never of gentle birth;
A common man of the common earth.
On Beauty
© James Thomson
Beauty deserves the homage of the muse:
Shall mine, rebellious, the dear theme refuse?
No; while my breast respires the vital air,
Wholly I am devoted to the fair.
Oscar Wilde
© Dorothy Parker
If, with the literate, I am
Impelled to try an epigram,
I never seek to take the credit;
We all assume that Oscar said it.
On The Death Of Rebecca
© George Moses Horton
Thou delicate blossom; thy short race is ended,
Thou sample of virtue and prize of the brave!
No more are thy beauties by mortals attended,
They now are but food for the worms and the grave.
Of The Nature Of Things: Book IV - Part 03 - The Senses And Mental Pictures
© Lucretius
Bodies that strike the eyes, awaking sight.
From certain things flow odours evermore,
On The Christening Of A Friend's Child
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
This day among the faithful placed,
And fed with fontal manna,
O with maternal title graced
Dear Anna's dearest Anna!--
Obermann Once More
© Matthew Arnold
Glion?--Ah, twenty years, it cuts
All meaning from a name!
White houses prank where once were huts.
Glion, but not the same!
On Mr Pope Drawing D: Swifts Picture
© Thomas Parnell
One authour has anothers head begun
Lett no man say it might be better don
For since they both are Witts Ime very glad
To find he has not drawn him twice as bad.
On the Guangchang Road
© Mao Zedong
The whole wide world is white,
Through the snow eagerly we press on.
Crags loom above our heads,
We cross the great pass, red flags waving in the wind.
