Poems begining by O
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On Seeing An Officer's Widow Distracted
© Mary Barber
BRITAIN, for this impending Ruin dread;
Their Woes call loud for Vengeance on thy Head:
Nor wonder, if Disasters wait your Fleets;
Nor wonder at Complainings in your Streets:
Be timely wise; arrest th' uplifted Hand,
Ere Pestilence or Famine sweep the Land.
One Struggle More, And I Am Free
© George Gordon Byron
One struggle more, and I am free
From pangs that rend my heart in twain;
One last long sigh to love and thee,
Then back to busy life again.
Old Stone Chimney
© Henry Lawson
The rising moon on the peaks was blending
Her silver light with the sunset glow,
On A Viola D'Amore
© Mathilde Blind
A century of silence lay
On strings that had not spoken
Since powdered lords to ladies gay
Gave, for a lover's token,
Fans glowing fresh from Watteau's art,
Well worth a marchioness's heart.
Our little Kinsmenafter Rain
© Emily Dickinson
Our little Kinsmenafter Rain
In plenty may be seen,
A Pink and Pulpy multitude
The tepid Ground upon.
On William Sommers Of Bremhill
© William Lisle Bowles
When will the grave shelter thy few gray hairs,
O aged man! Thy sand is almost run,
On Hearing Of The Intention Of A Gentleman To Purchase The Poet's Freedom
© George Moses Horton
When on life's ocean first I spread my sail,
I then implored a mild auspicious gale;
And from the slippery strand I took my flight,
And sought the peaceful haven of delight.
Obedience
© George Herbert
My God, if writings may
Convey a Lordship any way
Whither the buyer and the seller please;
Let it not thee displease,
If this poore paper do as much as they.
Oh Albania, Poor Albania
© Pashko Vasa
Gather round, maidens, gather round, women
Who with your fair eyes know what weeping is,
Come, let us lament poor Albania,
Who is without honour and reputation,
She has become a widow, a woman with no husband,
She is like a mother who has never had a son!
Oliver Basselin. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The First)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
In the Valley of the Vire
Still is seen an ancient mill,
Ode On The Death Of A Lady, Who Lived One Hundred Years, And Died On Her Birthday, 1728 (Translation
© William Cowper
Ancient dame, how wide and vast
To a race like ours appears,
Rounded to an orb at last,
All thy multitude of years!
Oft Do I Dream
© Paul Verlaine
Oft do I dream this strange and penetrating dream:
An unknown woman, whom I love, who loves me well,
Who does not every time quite change, nor yet quite dwell
The same,-and loves me well, and knows me as I am.
On Seeing A Pupil Of Kung-sun Dance The Chien-ch`i
© Du Fu
Having found out about the pupil's antecedents, I now realized that what I had been watching was a faithful
reproduction of the great dancer's interpretation. The train of reflections set off by this discovery so moved me
that I felt inspired to compose a ballad on the chien-ch`i.
On ------ Embroydring
© Thomas Parnell
How justly art when Cælia aids so well
Contends her ms nature to excell
On The Receipt Of My Mother's Picture Out Of Norfolk
© William Cowper
Oh that those lips had language! Life has pass'd
With me but roughly since I heard thee last.
Those lips are thinethy own sweet smiles I see,
The same that oft in childhood solaced me
Of The Terrible Doubt Of Apperarances
© Walt Whitman
OF the terrible doubt of appearances,
Of the uncertainty after all-that we may be deluded,
On Donne's Poetry
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
With Donne, whose muse on dromedary trots,
Wreathe iron pokers into true-love knots;
Rhyme's sturdy cripple, fancy's maze and clue,
Wit's forge and fire-blast, meaning's press and screw.
