Poems begining by O
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On Teaching the Young
© Yvor Winters
The young are quick of speech.
Grown middle-aged, I teach
Corrosion and distrust,
Exacting what I must.
On Bishop Atterbury's Burying The Duke Of Buckingham, 1721
© Matthew Prior
I have no hopes, the Duke he says, and dies.
In sure and certain hopes - the prelate cries:
Our Hired Girl
© James Whitcomb Riley
Our hired girl, she's 'Lizabuth Ann;
An' she can cook best things to eat!
On Seeing The Captives, Lately Redeem'd From Barbary By His Majesty.
© Mary Barber
A sight like this, who can unmov'd survey?
Impartial Muse, can'st thou with--hold thy Lay?
See the freed Captives hail their native Shore,
And tread the Land of Liberty once more:
See, as they pass, the crouding People press,
Joy in their Joy, and their Dellv'rer bless.
Of Robert Frost
© Gwendolyn Brooks
There is a little lightning in his eyes.
Iron at the mouth.
His brows ride neither too far up nor down.
Our Casuarina Tree
© Toru Dutt
LIKE a huge Python, winding round and round
The rugged trunk, indented deep with scars,
On Playwright
© Benjamin Jonson
Playwright, convict of public wrongs to men,
Takes private beatings and begins again.
Two kinds of valor he doth show at once:
Active in ’s brain, and passive in his bones.
Our Native Earth
© Anna Akhmatova
We do not carry it in lockets on the breast,
And do not cry about it in poems,
It does not wake us from the bitter rest,
And does not seem to us like Eden promised.
On The Plains.
© Arthur Henry Adams
ALONE with the silence, the sun and sky,
Full length on the tussocky plain I lie:
An ocean of yellow from east to west
Still rolling and sweeping, far crest on crest;
Our Valley
© Philip Levine
We don't see the ocean, not ever, but in July and August
when the worst heat seems to rise from the hard clay
On the Great Atlantic Rainway
© Kenneth Koch
I set forth one misted white day of June
Beneath the great Atlantic rainway, and heard:
O Me! O Life!
© Walt Whitman
Answer.
That you are here—that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.
On the Metro
© C. K. Williams
On the metro, I have to ask a young woman to move the packages beside her to make room for me;
she’s reading, her foot propped on the seat in front of her, and barely looks up as she pulls them to her.
Our God, Our Help
© Isaac Watts
Our God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Our shelter from the stormy blast,
And our eternal home:
