Poems begining by O
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O Jeune Adolescent!
© André Marie de Chénier
O jeune adolescent! tu rougis devant moi.
Vois mes traits sans couleurs; ils pâlissent pour toi:
Old Age
© Edmund Waller
The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er;
So calm are we when passions are no more.
For then we know how vain it was to boast
Of fleeting things, so certain to be lost.
Clouds of affection from our younger eyes
Conceal that emptiness which age descries.
Occasioned By The Battle Of Waterloo February 1816
© William Wordsworth
INTREPID sons of Albion! not by you
Is life despised; ah no, the spacious earth
Our Saviour And The Samaritan Woman At The Well
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Close beside the crystal waters of Jacobs far-famed well,
Whose dewy coolness gratefully upon the parched air fell,
Reflecting back the bright hot heavens within its waveless breast,
Jesus, foot-sore and weary, had sat Him down to rest.
Ode to Fear
© William Taylor Collins
Epode
In earliest Greece, to thee, with partial choice,
The grief-full muse addrest her infant tongue;
The maids and matrons, on her awful voice,
Silent and pale, in wild amazement hung.
Otho
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
I.
Thou wert not, Cassius, and thou couldst not be,
Last of the Romans, though thy memory claim
From Brutus his own glory--and on thee
On A Sea Wall
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
I sit upon the old sea wall,
And watch the shimmering sea,
Where soft and white the moonbeams fall,
Till, in a fantasy,
Some pure white maiden's funeral pall
The strange light seems to me.
On The Difficulty Of Conjuring Up A Dryad
© Sylvia Plath
Ravening through the persistent bric-à-brac
Of blunt pencils, rose-sprigged coffee cup,
Postage stamps, stacked books' clamor and yawp,
Neighborhood cockcrowall nature's prodigal backtalk,
On A Miser (From The Greek)
© William Cowper
They call thee rich -- I deem thee poor,
Since, if thou darest not use thy store,
But savest only for thine heirs,
The treasure is not thine, but theirs.
On the Death of Dr. Robert Levet
© Samuel Johnson
Condemn'd to Hope's delusive mine,
As on we toil from day to day,
By sudden blasts or slow decline,
Our social comforts drop away.
Old Adam, The Carrion Crow
© Thomas Lovell Beddoes
Old Adam, the carrion crow,
The old crow of Cairo;
On Burning Some Old Letters
© James Russell Lowell
Rarest woods were coarse and rough,
Sweetest spice not sweet enough,
Too impure all earthly fire
For this sacred funeral-pyre;
These rich relics must suffice
For their own dear sacrifice.
Of The Boy and The Butterfly
© John Bunyan
Behold how eager this our little boy
Is for this Butterfly, as if all joy,
Once More
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
"Will I come?" That is pleasant! I beg to inquire
If the gun that I carry has ever missed fire?
And which was the muster-roll-mention but one--
That missed your old comrade who carries the gun?
Of Blessed Memory
© Eugene Field
I often wonder mother loves to creep
Up to the garret where a cupboard stands,
And sit upon the musty floor and weep,
Holding a babys dresses in her hands.
Ode XII: On Recovering From A Fit Of Sickness, In the Country
© Mark Akenside
I.
Thy verdant scenes, O Goulder's hill,
Our Country
© John Greenleaf Whittier
WE give thy natal day to hope,
O Country of our love and prayer!
Thy way is down no fatal slope,
But up to freer sun and air.
One by One
© Adelaide Anne Procter
One by one the sands are flowing,
One by one the moments fall:
Some are coming, some are going;
Do not strive to grasp them all.
