Poems begining by O
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On My Thirty-Third Birthday, January 22, 1821
© George Gordon Byron
Through life's dull road, so dim and dirty,
I have dragg'd to three-and-thirty.
What have these years left to me?
Nothing--except thirty-three.
On Ye Bishop Of Meaths Death
© Thomas Parnell
Mourn widdowd Iland, Mourn, your Pan is dead.
Mourn ye unhappy flocks your Sheapherd Pan is fled;
On Such a Day
© Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
Some hang above the tombs,
Some weep in empty rooms,
I, when the iris blooms,
Remember.
On a Fair Morning as I Came by the Way
© Thomas Morley
On a fair morning, as I came by the way,
Met I with a merry maid in the merry month of May,
When a sweet love sings his lovely lay,
And every bird upon the bush bechirps it up so gay.
Old Ghosts
© Madison Julius Cawein
CLOVE-SPICY pinks and phlox that fill the sense
With drowsy indolence;
And in the evening skies
Interior splendor, pregnant with surprise,
Olney Hymn 7: Vanity of the World
© William Cowper
God gives his mercies to be spent;
Your hoard will do your soul no good.
Gold is a blessing only lent,
Repaid by giving others food.
On Hearing That The Students Of Our New University Have Joined The Agitation Against Immoral Literat
© William Butler Yeats
Where, where but here have pride and Truth,
That long to give themselves for wage,
To shake their wicked sides at youth
Restraining reckless middle-age?
On A Symphony Of Beethoven
© Frances Anne Kemble
Terrible music, whose strange utterance
Seemed like the spell of some dread conscious trance;
One Hundred and Three
© Henry Lawson
They shut a man in the four-by-eight, with a six-inch slit for air,
Twenty-three hours of the twenty-four, to brood on his virtues there.
And the dead stone walls and the iron door close in as an iron band
On eyes that followed the distant haze far out on the level land.
Old Mother Laidinwool
© Rudyard Kipling
Old Mother Laidinwool had nigh twelve months been dead.
She heard the hops was doing well, an' so popped up her head
For said she: "The lads I've picked with when I was young and fair,
They're bound to be at hopping and I'm bound to meet 'em there!"
Our Souls Have Touched Each Other
© Mathilde Blind
Our souls have touched each other,
Two fountains from one jet;
Like children of one mother
Our leaping thoughts have met.
On Time
© Jonathan Swift
Ever eating, never cloying,
All-devouring, all-destroying,
Never finding full repast,
Till I eat the world at last.
On The Road To Waterloo: 17 October (En Vigilante, 2 Hours)
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
It is grey tingling azure overhead
With silver drift. Beneath, where from the green
Only a Matter of Time
© Christopher Morley
It cannot be. The runnel slips away:
The clear smooth downward sluice begins again,
More brightly slanting for that trembling pause,
Leaving the sense its conscious vague unease
As when a sonnet flashes on the mind,
Trembles and burns an instant, and is gone.
One Whisper of the Beloved
© Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
Lovers share a sacred decree
to seek the Beloved.
They roll head over heels,
rushing toward the Beautiful One
like a torrent of water.
Our Canadian Woods In Early Autumn
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
I have passed the day mid the forest gay,
In its gorgeous autumn dyes,
Opus Null
© Jean Hans Arp
Ich bin der lange Lebenslang
der zwölfte Sinn im Eierstock
der insgesamte Augustin
im lichten Zelluloserock.
On The Death Of Pushkin
© Mikhail Lermontov
"Hence is he, hence! His song out-rung,
The Singer even as the song he sung;
Who of a hot, heroic mood,
In death disgraceful shed his blood!"
