Poems begining by O
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On the Shortness of Time
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
If I could live without the thought of death,Forgetful of time's waste, the soul's decay,I would not ask for other joy than breath,With light and sound of birds and the sun's ray
Oh, Dem Golden Slippers!
© Bland James A.
Oh, my golden slippers am laid away,Kase I don't 'spect to wear 'em till my weddin' day,And my long-tail'd coat, dat I loved so well,I will wear up in de chariot in de morn;And my long, white robe dat I bought last June,I'm gwine to get changed kase it fits too soon,And de ole grew hoss dat I used to drive,I will hitch him up to de chariot in de morn
On Hygiene
© Hilaire Belloc
Of old when folk lay sick and sorely tried,The doctors gave them medicine and they died.Here is an happier age, for now we knowBoth how to make men sick and keep them so.
On his Books
© Hilaire Belloc
When I am dead, I hope it may be said:"His sins were scarlet, but his books were read."
On a Sleeping Friend
© Hilaire Belloc
Lady, when your lovely headDroops to sink among the Dead,And the quiet places keepYou that so divinely sleep;Then the dead shall blessèd beWith a new solemnity,For such Beauty, so descending,Pledges them that Death is ending
On a Dead Hostess
© Hilaire Belloc
Of this bad world the loveliest and the bestHas smiled and said "Good Night," and gone to rest.
On Day and Night
© Arthur James
And as the neighbors' guests retire, coaxing their carsinto the snow (we're gazing through the curtaininto winter's pale hub) two girls gaze up
Omnivore
© Arthur James
I eat what's put in front of me,as all great men do. Should you eat shark? I know
Oh, the Sexual Life of the Camel
© Anonymous
Oh, the sexual life of the camelIs stranger than anyone thinks.In moments of amorous passion,He frequently buggers the Sphinx.
Occidit Miserum Crambe Repetita Pupillum
© Anonymous
This is the play that Bill wrote --This is the Dane who was off his headWho appears in the play that Bill wrote --This is the book the Professor readAbout the Dane who was off his headWho appears in the play that Bill wrote --This is the gent of German descentWho wrote the book the Professor readAbout the Dane who was off his headWho appears in the play that Bill wrote --These are the notes the Professor embodiedTo use in his lectures, when once he'd studiedIn an English translation the explanation(An awfully cute 'un) the learned TeutonEvolved of the Dane who was not quite saneWho appears in the play that Bill wrote --This is the Prof
O Death, O Death, Rock Me Asleep
© Anonymous
O Death, O Death, rock me asleep,Bring me to quiet rest;Let pass my weary guiltless ghostOut of my careful breast
Ode to the Country Gentlemen of England
© Mark Akenside
Thou, heedless Albion, what, alas, the while Dost thou presume? O inexpert in arms, Yet vain of freedom, how dost thou beguile, With dreams of hope, these near and loud alarms? Thy splendid home, thy plan of laws renown'd, The praise and envy of the nations round, What care hast thou to guard from fortune's sway? Amid the storms of war, how soon may all The lofty pile from its foundations fall,Of ages the proud toil, the ruin of a day!
No: thou art rich, thy streams and fertile vales Add industry's wise gifts to nature's store: And every port is crowded with thy sails, And every wave throws treasure on thy shore
Ode
© Joseph Addison
The spacious firmament on high,With all the blue ethereal sky,And spangled heav'ns, a shining frame,Their great original proclaim:Th' unwearied Sun, from day to day,Does his Creator's power display,And publishes to every landThe work of an Almighty Hand
O Judge Me, Lord, for Thou art Just
© Adams John Quincy
O judge me, Lord, for thou art just; Thy statutes are my pride;In thee alone I put my trust; I therefore shall not slide:O prove me, try my reins and heart; Thy mercies, Lord, I know;I never took the scorner's part, Nor with the vain will go
On My Songs
© Wilfred Owen
Though unseen Poets, many and many a time,
Have answered me as if they knew my woe,
On The Wedding Of The Aeronaut
© Ambrose Bierce
Aeronaut, you're fairly caught,
Despite your bubble's leaven: Out of the skies a lady's eyes
Have brought you down to Heaven!
O God! Thou art my God alone;
© James Montgomery
O God! Thou art my God alone;
Early to Thee my soul shall cry;
A pilgrim in a land unknown,
A thirsty land whose springs are dry.
Of The Nature Of Things: Book V - Part 03 - The World Is Not Eternal
© Lucretius
Is rendered back; and since, beyond a doubt,
Earth, the all-mother, is beheld to be
Likewise the common sepulchre of things,
Therefore thou seest her minished of her plenty,
And then again augmented with new growth.
