Poems begining by P
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Prayer Answered By Crosses
© John Newton
I ask'd the Lord, that I might grow
In faith, and love, and ev'ry grace,
Might more of his salvation know,
And seek more earnestly his face.
Pippa Passes: Part IV: Night
© Robert Browning
Thanks, friends, many thanks! I chiefly desire life now, that I may recompense every one of you. Most I know something of already. What, a repast prepared?Benedicto benedicatur . . . ugh, ugh! Where was I? Oh, as you were remarking, Ugo, the weather is mild, very unlike winter-weather: but I am a Sicilian, you know, and shiver in your Julys here. To be sure, when 't was full summer at Messina, as we priests used to cross in procession the great square on Assumption Day, you might see our thickest yellow tapers twist suddenly in two, each like a falling star, or sink down on themselves in a gore of wax. But go, my friends, but go! [To the Intendant]
Not you, Ugo! [The others leave the apartment]
I have long wanted to converse with you, Ugo.
Poem 8
© Kabir
THE river and its waves are one
surf: where is the difference between the river and its waves?
When the wave rises, it is the water; and when it falls, it is the same water again. Tell me, Sir, where is the distinction?
Because it has been named as wave, shall it no longer be considered as water?
"Pat wasn't Pat last night at all."
© Lesbia Harford
Pat wasn't Pat last night at all.
He was the rain,
The Spring,
Young Dionysus, white and warm,
Lilac and everything.
Prelude: The Troops
© Siegfried Sassoon
Dim, gradual thinning of the shapeless gloom
Shudders to drizzling daybreak that reveals
Perdita
© Jean Ingelow
I go beyond the commandment.'
So be it. Then mine be the blame,
The loss, the lack, the yearning, till life's last sand be run,-
I go beyond the commandment, yet honour stands fast with her claim,
And what I have rued I shall rue; for what I have done-I have done.
Phyrne
© Alexander Pope
Phryne had talents for mankind,
Open she was, and unconfin'd,
Like some free port of trade:
Merchants unloaded here their freight,
And Agents from each foreign state,
Here first their entry made.
Phoebe
© James Russell Lowell
Ere pales in Heaven the morning star,
A bird, the loneliest of its kind,
Hears Dawn's faint footfall from afar
While all its mates are dumb and blind.
Psalm CL.
© Henry King
Praise ye the Lord, your Songs address
To praise His Holynes:
O praise Him in His pow'rs extent,
Who rules the firmament.
Poem 2 From Pierce Penilesse
© Thomas Nashe
Perusing yesternight with idle eyes,
The Fairy Singers stately tuned verse:
And viewing after Chap-mens wonted guise,
What strange contents the title did rehearse.
Peace Restored
© James Shirley
You virgins, that did late despair
To keep your wealth from cruel men,
Pan Beniowski - Final Part Of Canto Five
© Juliusz Slowacki
Surging like a vast current of salmon or sheatfish,
Coiling up and down like an iron serpent
Possession
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
THERE is a cloud above the sunset hill,
That wends and makes no stay,
Petrarch to Laura
© Mary Darby Robinson
"Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state,
"How often must it love, how often hate,
"How often hope, despair, resent, regret,
"Conceal, disdain, do all things, but forget."
Prologue from Preparatory Meditations Before My Approach to The Lord's Supper
© Edward Taylor
Lord, can a crumb of dust the earth outweigh,
Outmatch all mountains, nay the crystal sky?
Imbosom in't designs that shall display
And trace into the boundless deity?
Yea, hand a pen whose moisture doth gild o'er
Eternal glory with a glorious glore.
Pray But One Prayer For Us
© William Morris
Pray but one prayer for me twixt thy closed lips,
Think but one thought of me up in the stars.
Poetry: A Metrical Essay, Read Before the Phi Beta Kappa Society, Harvard
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
Scenes of my youth! awake its slumbering fire!
Ye winds of Memory, sweep the silent lyre!
Ray of the past, if yet thou canst appear,
Break through the clouds of Fancyâs waning year;
Chase from her breast the thin autumnal snow,
If leaf or blossom still is fresh below!
Present And Future
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Look, as a mother bending o'er her boy,
The sleeping boy that in her bosom lies,
Gazes upon him in a trance of joy
With earnest, infinitely tender eyes,
