Poems begining by O
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On the Welsh Language
© Katherine Philips
If honor to an ancient name be due,
Or riches challenge it for one that’s new,
Ox Cart Man
© Donald Hall
In October of the year,
he counts potatoes dug from the brown field,
counting the seed, counting
the cellar’s portion out,
and bags the rest on the cart’s floor.
O Summer Sun!
© Robert Laurence Binyon
O summer sun, O moving trees!
O cheerful human noise, O busy glittering street!
What hour shall Fate in all the future find,
Or what delights, ever to equal these:
Only to taste the warmth, the light, the wind,
Only to be alive, and feel that life is sweet?
On Parting
© Hristo Botev
1868
Don't cry, mother, don't grieve
that I grew up as an outlaw,
an outlaw, mother, a rebel,
Oktobermaand
© Christian Frederik Louis Leipoldt
Viooltjies in die voorhuis,
Viooltjies blou en rooi!
Viooltjies orals op die veld,
En orals, ai, so mooi!
Ode To Stephen Bowling Bots
© Mark Twain
And did young Stephen sicken,
And did young Stephen die?
And did the sad hearts thicken,
And did the mourners cry?
Oswald Spengler Watches the Sunset
© Stephen Edgar
The air is drenched with day, but one by one
The flowers close on cue,
On An Icicle That Clung To The Grass Of A Grave
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
I.
Oh! take the pure gem to where southerly breezes,
Waft repose to some bosom as faithful as fair,
In which the warm current of love never freezes,
October's Little Miseries
© Jules Laforgue
Every October I start to get upset.
The factories' hundred throats blow smoke to the sky.
The pullets are getting fat
for Christmas Day.
On Mother’s Day
© Grace Paley
Look! more trees on the block
forget-me-nots all around them
ivy lantana shining
and geraniums in the window
Out Of The Depths: Written After The Reformation Of A Brilliant And Talented Man
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Out of the midnight, rayless and cheerless,
Into the morning's golden light;
Oh, For a Bowl of Fat Canary
© John Lyly
Oh, for a bowl of fat Canary,
Rich Palermo, sparkling Sherry,
Some nectar else, from Juno’s dairy;
Oh, these draughts would make us merry!
On The Death Of Mrs. Throckmorton's Bullfinch
© William Cowper
Ye Nymphs, if e'er your eyes were red
With tears o'er hapless favourites shed,
Oh, share Maria's grief!
Her favourite, even in his cage,
(What will not hunger's cruel rage?)
Assassined by a thief.
Obituary
© Louis MacNeice
This poem originally appeared in the May 1940 issue of Poetry. See it in its original context.
"O little plum tree in the garden, you're"
© Lesbia Harford
O little plum tree in the garden, you're
Aflower again,
With memories of a million springs and my
Brief years of pain.
Ode I, 5: To Pyrrha
© Horace
What slender youth, bedew’d with liquid odors,
Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave,
On The Porch
© Harriet Monroe
As I lie roofed in, screened in,
From the pattering rain,
The summer rain
As I lie
Snug and dry,
And hear the birds complain:
Olney Hymn 54: Love Constraining To Obedience
© William Cowper
No strength of nature can suffice
To serve the Lord aright:
And what she has she misapplies,
For want of clearer light.
On the Lake (a child)
© Bai Juyi
A little child paddles a little boat,
Drifting about, and picking white lotuses.
He does not know how to hide his tracks,
And duckweed's opened up along his path.
