Poems begining by O
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One Art
© Elizabeth Bishop
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
On a Forenoon of Spring
© William Allingham
I stoop in sunshine to our circling net
From the black gunwale; tend these milky kine
Up their rough path; sit by yon cottage-door
Plying the diligent thread; take wings and soar--
O hark how with the season's laureate
Joy culminates in song! If such a song were mine!
Oh, They have Robbed Me of The Hope
© Anne Brontë
Well, let them seize on all they can: --
One treasure still is mine, --
A heart that loves to think on thee,
And feels the worth of thine.
One Third Of The Calendar
© Ogden Nash
In January everything freezes.
We have two children. Both are she'ses.
This is our January rule:
One girl in bed, and one in school.
One From One Leaves Two
© Ogden Nash
Higgledy piggledy, my black hen,
She lays eggs for gentlemen.
Gentlemen come every day
To count what my black hen doth lay.
Old Men
© Ogden Nash
People expect old men to die,
They do not really mourn old men.
Old men are different. People look
At them with eyes that wonder when
People watch with unshocked eyes;
But the old men know when an old man dies.
Old Dr. Valentine To His Son
© Ogden Nash
Your hopeless patients will live,
Your healthy patients will die.
I have only this word to give:
Wonder, and find out why
Oh To Be Odd!
© Ogden Nash
Hypochondriacs
Spend the winter at the bottom of Florida and the summer on top of
the Adirondriacs.
You go to Paris and live on champagne wine and cognac
On Looking Up By Chance At The Constellations
© Robert Frost
You'll wait a long, long time for anything much
To happen in heaven beyond the floats of cloud
Optimism
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Talk happiness. The world is sad enough
Without your woes. No path is wholly rough;
Look for the places that are smooth and clear,
And speak of those, to rest the weary ear
Of Earth, so hurt by one continuous strain
Of human discontent and grief and pain.
On The Dead
© Walter Savage Landor
Yes, in this chancel once we sat alone,
O Dorothea! thou wert bright with youth,
On the Anthropic Principle
© Craig Erick Chaffin
Here at the spoke-ends of our galaxy
it is easy to forget the central axle
moving insensibly slow, still
the silvery-white dispersion of stars
soothes randomly until we impose a pattern,
like the Magi, like the Greeks.
Our Hands Have Met
© William Morris
Our hands have met, our lips have met
Our souls - who knows when the wind blows
How light souls drift mid longings set,
If thou forget'st, can I forget
The time that was not long ago?
Ophelia
© Elinor Wylie
My locks are shorn for sorrow
Of love which may not be;
Tomorrow and tomorrow
Are plotting cruelty.
October
© Elinor Wylie
Beauty has a tarnished dress,
And a patchwork cloak of cloth
Dipped deep in mournfulness,
Striped like a moth.
Oysters
© Jonathan Swift
Charming oysters I cry:
My masters, come buy,
So plump and so fresh,
So sweet is their flesh,
On Stella's Birth-Day 1719
© Jonathan Swift
Stella this Day is thirty four,
(We shan't dispute a Year or more)
However Stella, be not troubled,
Although thy Size and Years are doubled,
Ode for the Keats Centenary
© Duncan Campbell Scott
Where, searching through the ferny breaks,
The moose-fawns find the springs;
Where the loon laughs and diving takes
Her young beneath her wings;
