Poems begining by O
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Open, Time
© Louise Imogen Guiney
Open, Time, and let him pass
Shortly where his feet would be!
Like a leaf at Michaelmas
Swooning from the tree,
On The Flight Of Time
© Franklin Pierce Adams
Look not, Leuconoë, into the future;
Seek not to find what the answer may be;
Let no Chaldean clairvoyant compute your
Time of existence. . . . It irritates me!
Oh, What A Bump!
© George Ade
" That was the tackiest time I've had
In twenty years or more.
The crowd was jay and the tea was bad
And the whole affair a bore!"
On The Hurry Of This Time
© Henry Austin Dobson
With slower pen men used to write,
Of old, when "letters" were "polite";
In Anna's, or in George's days,
They could afford to turn a phrase,
Or trim a straggling theme aright.
Ode. Written On The Blank Page Before Beaumont And Fletcher's Tragi-Comedy 'The Fair Maid Of The In
© John Keats
Bards of Passion and of Mirth,
Ye have left your souls on earth!
Ye have souls in heaven too,
Double-lived in regions new!
Old Santeclaus
© Clement Clarke Moore
Old SANTECLAUS with much delight
His reindeer drives this frosty night,
Oer chimney-tops, and tracks of snow,
To bring his yearly gifts to you.
On The Neglect Of Homer
© William Cowper
Could Homer come himself, distressed and poor
And tune his harp at Rhedicina's door,
The rich old vixen would exclaim, (I fear,)
"Begone! no tramper gets a farthing here."
On Station Farewells
© Edgar Albert Guest
IN parting from a dear old friend for months, perhaps, or years,
There's bound to be some bitter sobs, an' generally tears,
On the Death of a Young Gentleman
© Phillis Wheatley
And thy full joys into their bosoms pour;
The raging tempest of their grief control,
And spread the dawn of glory through the soul,
To eye the path the saint departed trod,
And trace him to the bosom of his God.
Opusculum
© John Henry Newman
Fair Cousin, thy page
is small to encage
the thoughts which engage
the mind of a sage,
such as I am;
Of the Cuckoo
© John Bunyan
Thou booby, say'st thou nothing but cuckoo?
The robin and the wren can thee outdo.
They to us play thoróugh their little throats,
Not one, but sundry pretty tuneful notes.
On Death
© John Keats
1.
Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream,
And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by?
The transient pleasures as a vision seem,
And yet we think the greatest pain's to die.
October
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
IT is no joy to me to sit
On dreamy summer eves,
When silently the timid moon
Kisses the sleeping leaves,
On Monsieur's Departure
© Queen Elizabeth I
I grieve and dare not show my discontent,
I love and yet am forced to seem to hate,
Over And Undone
© Edith Nesbit
IF one might hope that when we say farewell
To life, we two might but be one at last!
Orchard Song
© Sappho
Cool murmur of water through apple-wood
Troughs without number
The whole orchard fills, whilst the leaves
Lend their music to slumber.
Oh That A Wind
© George MacDonald
Oh that a wind would call
From the depths of the leafless wood!
Oh that a voice would fall
On the ear of my solitude!
Olney Hymn 52: For The Poor
© William Cowper
When Hagar found the bottle spent
And wept o'er Ishmael,
A message from the Lord was sent
To guide her to a well.
