Poems begining by O
/ page 48 of 137 /
On Lord Thurlow's Poems
© George Gordon Byron
When Thurlow this damn'd nonsense sent
(I hope I am not violent),
Nor men nor gods knew what he meant.
On Finding A Fan
© George Gordon Byron
In one who felt as once he felt
This might, perhaps, have fann'd the flame;
But now his heart no more will melt,
Because that heart is not the same.
On Himself
© Walter Savage Landor
I STROVE with none, for none was worth my strife;
Nature I lovd, and next to Nature, Art;
I warmd both hands before the fire of life;
It sinks, and I am ready to depart.
Oft Have I Read That Innocence Retreats
© Thomas Parnell
Oft have I read that Innocence retreats
Where cooling streams salute ye summer Seats
On The Cackling Of A Hen
© John Bunyan
The hen, so soon as she an egg doth lay,
(Spreads the fame of her doing what she may.)
Old Man Throwing a Ball by David Baker : American Life in Poetry #258 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate
© Ted Kooser
This marks the fourth time we’ve published a poem by David Baker, one of my favorite writers. Baker lives in Granville, Ohio, and teaches at Denison University. He is also the poetry editor for the distinguished Kenyon Review.
Old Man Throwing a Ball
He is tight at first, stiff, stands there atilt
Ode XIV: To The Honourable Charles Townshend: From The Country
© Mark Akenside
I.
Say, Townshend, what can London boast
On Tweed River
© Sir Walter Scott
Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright,
Both current and ripple are dancing in light.
On a Spanish Cathedral
© Henry Kendall
DEEP under the spires of a hill, by the feet of the thunder-cloud trod,
I pause in a luminous, still, magnificent temple of God!
Ode For Ted
© Sylvia Plath
From under the crunch of my man's boot
green oat-sprouts jut;
he names a lapwing, starts rabbits in a rout
legging it most nimble
to sprigged hedge of bramble,
stalks red fox, shrewd stoat.
Old Letters
© Norman Rowland Gale
Last night some yellow letters fell
From out a scrip I found by chance;
On The Photograph Of A Corps Commander
© Herman Melville
Ay, man is manly. Here you see
The warrior-carriage of the head,
And brave dilation of the frame;
And lighting all, the soul that led
In Spottsylvania's charge to victory,
Which justifies his fame.
Old Fashioned Remedies
© Edgar Albert Guest
Seems the kitchen stove back then always had a pan or two
Brewing up a remedy for the ailments which we knew,
Something mother said we'd need surely in a little while,
Senna tea for stomach ills and its brother chamomile;
But I vow the worst of all remedies they gave to me
Was that gummy, sticky stuff known and served as flaxseed tea.
On Revisiting The Sea-Shore, After Long Absence, Under Strong Medical Recommendation Not To Bathe
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
God be with thee, gladsome Ocean!
How gladly greet I thee once more!
Ships and waves, and ceaseless motion,
And men rejoicing on thy shore.
Ode To A Butterfly
© Thomas Wentworth Higginson
Thou spark of life that wavest wings of gold,
Thou songless wanderer mid the songful birds,
On Board The '76
© James Russell Lowell
Our ship lay tumbling in an angry sea,
Her rudder gone, her mainmast o'er the side;
Her scuppers, from the waves' clutch staggering free,
Trailed threads of priceless crimson through the tide;
Sails, shrouds, and spars with pirate cannon torn,
We lay, awaiting morn.
On the Disastrous Spread of Aestheticism in all Classes
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Impetuously I sprang from bed,
Long before lunch was up,
That I might drain the dizzy dew
From the day's first golden cup.
On The Jail Steps
© Eleanor Agnes Lee
I've won the race.
Young man, I'm new!
Old Sallow-face
Good luck to you!
