Poems begining by P
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Poland - Italy - Hungary
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
In the great Darkness of the Passion, graves
Were oped, and many Saints which slept arose.
Polonius and the Ballad Singers
© Padraic Colum
A gaunt built woman and her son-in-law
A broad-faced fellow, with such flesh as shows
Pebbles
© Herman Melville
I
Though the Clerk of the Weather insist,
And lay down the weather-law,
Pintado and gannet they wist
That the winds blow whither they list
In tempest or flaw.
Pope And McDowell
© Anonymous
Pope and McDowell
Fighting for a town,
Up jumped General Lee
And knocked 'em both down.
Prisonnier d'un bureau, je connais le plaisir
© François Coppée
Prisonnier d'un bureau, je connais le plaisir
De goûter, tous les soirs, un moment de loisir.
Je rentre lentement chez moi, je me délasse
Aux cris des écoliers qui sortent de la classe ;
Psyche
© Jones Very
I SAW a worm, with many a fold;
It spun itself a silken tomb;
And there in winter time enrolled,
It heeded not the cold or gloom.
Preceito 1
© Gregorio de Matos Guerra
Que de quilombos que tenho
com mestres superlativos,
nos quais se ensinam de noite
os calundus, e feitiços.
Parliament Hill Fields
© Sylvia Plath
On this bald hill the new year hones its edge.
Faceless and pale as china
The round sky goes on minding its business.
Your absence is inconspicuous;
Nobody can tell what I lack.
Pessimoptimism
© James Russell Lowell
Ye little think what toil it was to build
A world of men imperfect even as this,
Prayer
© Alan Dugan
God, I need a job because I need money.
Here the world is, enjoyable with whiskey,
Paradise Regain'd : Book IV.
© John Milton
Perplexed and troubled at his bad success
The Tempter stood, nor had what to reply,
Discovered in his fraud, thrown from his hope
So oft, and the persuasive rhetoric
Ploughing Time
© Boris Pasternak
What is the matter with the landscape?
Familiar landmarks are not there.
Ploughed fields, like squares upon a chessboard,
Today are scattered everywhere.
Piccadilly
© Ezra Pound
Beautiful, tragical faces
Ye that were whole, and are so sunken;
And, O ye vile, ye that might have been loved,
That are so sodden and drunken,
Who hath forgotten you?
Practising The Anthem
© Ada Cambridge
A summer wind blows through the open porch,
And, 'neath the rustling eaves,
A summer light of moonrise, calm and pale,
Shines through a vale of leaves.
Pennsylvania Hall
© John Greenleaf Whittier
NOT with the splendors of the days of old,
The spoil of nations, and barbaric gold;
No weapons wrested from the fields of blood,
Where dark and stern the unyielding Roman stood,
Plenty In A Time Of Dearth
© John Newton
My soul once had its plenteous years,
And throve, with peace and comfort filled,
Like the fat kine and ripened ears,
Which Pharaoh in his dream beheld.
