Poems begining by O
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Orpheus
© Robert Herrick
Orpheus he went, as poets tell,
To fetch Eurydice from hell;
And had her, but it was upon
This short, but strict condition;
Of Love: A Sonnet
© Robert Herrick
How Love came in, I do not know,
Whether by th'eye, or ear, or no;
Or whether with the soul it came,
At first, infused with the same;
Overheard Through The Walls Of The Invisible City
© Frank Bidart
. . . telling those who swarm around him his desire
is that an appendage from each of them
fill, invade each of his orifices,
Out of White Lips
© Carl Sandburg
OUT of white lips a question: Shall seven million dead ask for their blood a little land for the living wives and children, a little land for the living brothers and sisters?
Out of white lips:Shall they have only air that sweeps round the earth for breath of their nostrils and no footing on the dirt of the earth for their battle-drabbed, battle-soaked shoes?
Ossawatomie
© Carl Sandburg
I DONT know how he came,
shambling, dark, and strong.
He stood in the city and told men:
On the Way
© Carl Sandburg
You have heard the mob laughed at?
I ask you: Is not the mob rough as the mountains are
rough?
And all things human rise from the mob and relapse and
rise again as rain to the sea.
On The Breakwater
© Carl Sandburg
On the breakwater in the summer dark, a man and a
girl are sitting,
She across his knee and they are looking face into face
Talking to each other without words, singing rythms in
silence to each other.
Omaha
© Carl Sandburg
RED barns and red heifers spot the green
grass circles around Omahathe farmers
haul tanks of cream and wagon loads of cheese.
Old-fashioned Requited Love
© Carl Sandburg
I HAVE ransacked the encyclopedias
And slid my fingers among topics and titles
Looking for you.
Old Woman
© Carl Sandburg
THE owl-car clatters along, dogged by the echo
From building and battered paving-stone.
The headlight scoffs at the mist,
And fixes its yellow rays in the cold slow rain;
Against a pane I press my forehead
And drowsily look on the walls and sidewalks.
Old Timers
© Carl Sandburg
I AM an ancient reluctant conscript.
On the soup wagons of Xerxes I was a cleaner of pans.
Old Osawatomie
© Carl Sandburg
JOHN BROWNS body under the morning stars.
Six feet of dust under the morning stars.
And a panorama of war performs itself
Over the six-foot stage of circling armies.
Room for Gettysburg, Wilderness, Chickamauga,
On a six-foot stage of dust.
Onion Days
© Carl Sandburg
MRS. GABRIELLE GIOVANNITTI comes along Peoria Street
every morning at nine o'clock
With kindling wood piled on top of her head, her eyes
looking straight ahead to find the way for her old feet.
Our Prayer of Thanks
© Carl Sandburg
For the gladness here where the sun is shining at
evening on the weeds at the river,
Our prayer of thanks.
Off the Turnpike
© Amy Lowell
Good ev'nin', Mis' Priest.
I jest stepped in to tell you Good-bye.
Yes, it's all over.
All my things is packed
On Carpaccio's Picture: The Dream of St. Ursula
© Amy Lowell
Swept, clean, and still, across the polished floor
From some unshuttered casement, hid from sight,
The level sunshine slants, its greater light
Quenching the little lamp which pallid, poor,
Obligation
© Amy Lowell
Hold your apron wide
That I may pour my gifts into it,
So that scarcely shall your two arms hinder them
From falling to the ground.
Over The Land Is April
© Robert Louis Stevenson
OVER the land is April,
Over my heart a rose;
Over the high, brown mountain
The sound of singing goes.
On Now, Although The Year Be Done
© Robert Louis Stevenson
ON now, although the year be done,
Now, although the love be dead,
Dead and gone;
Hear me, O loved and cherished one,
Give me still the hand that led,
Led me on.
O Dull Cold Northern Sky
© Robert Louis Stevenson
O DULL cold northern sky,
O brawling sabbath bells,
O feebly twittering Autumn bird that tells
The year is like to die!
