Poems begining by O
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Ode
© David Lehman
People in the middle ages didn't think they were living
Between two more important and enlightened eras;
Our Crown Of Praise
© Katharine Lee Bates
A PRAISE beyond all other praise of ours
This nation holds in jealous trust for him
Of Glory not a Beam is left (1685)
© Emily Dickinson
Of Glory not a Beam is left
But her Eternal House –
The Asterisk is for the Dead,
The Living, for the Stars –
Olney Hymn 68: Light Shining Out Of Darkness
© William Cowper
God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.
On Scratchbury Camp
© Siegfried Sassoon
Along the grave green downs, this idle afternoon,
Shadows of loitering silver clouds, becalmed in blue,
Bring, like unfoldment of a flower, the best of June.
October And May
© Henry James Pye
ADDRESSED TO SAMUEL JAMES ARNOLD, Esq.
: "Behold, with mild and matron mien,
One Day's Command
© Anonymous
The plumed staff officer gallops
Along the swaying line,
That shakes as, beaten by hailstones,
Shakes the loaded autumn vine;
And the earth beneath is reddened,
But not with the stain of wine.
Old Bones
© Gary Snyder
Out there walking round, looking out for food,
a rootstock, a birdcall, a seed that you can crack
of De Witt Williams on his way to Lincoln Cemetery
© Gwendolyn Brooks
He was born in Alabama.
He was bred in Illinois.
He was nothing but a
Plain black boy.
“oh antic God”
© Paul Celan
I can barely recall her song
the scent of her hands
though her wild hair scratches my dreams
at night. return to me, oh Lord of then
and now, my mother’s calling,
her young voice humming my name.
On a Piece of Tapestry
© George Santayana
Hold high the woof, dear friends, that we may see
The cunning mixture of its colours rare.
O. W. Holmes On His Eightieth Birth-Day
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Climbing a path which leads back never more
We heard behind his footsteps and his cheer;
On the Death of the Late Earl of Rochester
© Aphra Behn
Mourn, mourn, ye Muses, all your loss deplore,
The young, the noble Strephon is no more.
Oh, Heavy, Heavy My Despair
© Paul Verlaine
Oh, heavy, heavy my despair,
Because, because of One so fair.
October 1973
© John Betjeman
Last night I dreamed I ran through the streets of New York
Looking for help for you, Nicanor.
On Torture: A Public Singer
© Hilaire Belloc
Torture will give a dozen pence or more
To keep a drab from bawling at his door.
The public taste is quite a different thing-
Torture is positively paid to sing.
On The Downs
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
A faint sea without wind or sun;
A sky like flameless vapour dun;
A valley like an unsealed grave
That no man cares to weep upon,
Bare, without boon to crave,
Or flower to save.
