Poems begining by O
/ page 71 of 137 /
Ornithogalum Dubium
© Roddy Lumsden
Lame again, I limp home along Lawn Terrace
with a flowering sun star in a paper wrap
Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood
© André Breton
The child is father of the man;
And I could wish my days to be
Over and Over Stitch
© Jorie Graham
Late in the season the world digs in, the fat blossoms
hold still for just a moment longer.
Nothing looks satisfied,
but there is no real reason to move on much further:
this isn’t a bad place;
why not pretend
On the Departure of the Nightingale
© Charlotte Turner Smith
Sweet poet of the woods, a long adieu!
Farewell soft mistrel of the early year!
Oft, in the Stilly Night (Scotch Air)
© Thomas Moore
Oft, in the stilly night,
Ere slumbers chain has bound me,
Obsessive
© Marvin Bell
It could be a clip, it could be a comb;
it could be your mother, coming home.
It could be a rooster; perhaps it’s a comb;
it could be your father, coming home.
It could be a paper; it could be a pin.
It could be your childhood, sinking in.
Opportunity
© Helen Hunt Jackson
I do not know if, climbing some steep hill,
Through fragrant wooded pass, this glimpse I bought,
On the Gift of a Book to a Child
© Hilaire Belloc
Child! do not throw this book about!
Refrain from the unholy pleasure
Of cutting all the pictures out!
Preserve it as your chiefest treasure.
On Gut
© Benjamin Jonson
Gut eats all day and lechers all the night;
So all his meat he tasteth over twice;
And, striving so to double his delight,
He makes himself a thoroughfare of vice.
Thus in his belly can he change a sin:
Lust it comes out, that gluttony went in.
On an Infant Dying as Soon as Born
© Charles Lamb
I saw where in the shroud did lurk
A curious frame of Nature's work.
On the Beach at Night Alone
© Walt Whitman
On the beach at night alone,
As the old mother sways her to and fro singing her husky song,
As I watch the bright stars shining, I think a thought of the clef of the universes and of the future.
Ode
© Henry Timrod
Sung on the occasion of decorating the graves of the Confederate dead, at Magnolia Cemetery, Charleston, S. C., 1866
Sleep sweetly in your humble graves,
Sleep, martyrs of a fallen cause!
Though yet no marble column craves
The pilgrim here to pause.
"Out of the rolling ocean the crowd"
© Walt Whitman
Out of the rolling ocean the crowd came a drop gently to me,
Whispering, I love you, before long I die,
I have travelld a long way merely to look on you to touch you,
For I could not die till I once lookd on you,
For I feard I might afterward lose you.
[Over a cup of coffee]
© Stephen Dobyns
Over a cup of coffee or sitting on a park bench or
walking the dog, he would recall some incident
from his youthnothing significantclimbing a tree
in his backyard, waiting in left field for a batter's
"Our sweet companions-sharing your bunk and your bed"
© Marina Tsvetaeva
Our sweet companions—sharing your bunk and your bed
The versts and the versts and the versts and a hunk of your bread
The wheels' endless round
The rivers, streaming to ground
The road. . .
O Captain! My Captain!
© Walt Whitman
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
