Poems begining by P
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Parable For A Certain Virgin
© Dorothy Parker
Oh, ponder, friend, the porcupine;
Refresh your recollection,
And sit a moment, to define
His means of self-protection.
Pray To What Earth Does This Sweet Cold Belong
© Henry David Thoreau
Pray to what earth does this sweet cold belong,
Which asks no duties and no conscience?
Preparatory Meditations - First Series: 32
© Edward Taylor
Thy grace, dear Lord, 's my golden wrack, I find,
Screwing my fancy into ragged rhymes,
Tuning Thy praises in my feeble mind
Until I come to strike them on my chimes.
Were I an angel bright, and borrow could
King David's harp, I would them play on gold.
Paraphrases From Scriptures.
© Helen Maria Williams
Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should
not have compassion on the son of her womb? Yea,
they may forget, yet will I not forget thee.
Passing through the world
© Matsuo Basho
Passing through the world
Indeed this is just
Sogi's rain shelter
Paradise Lost : Book VIII.
© John Milton
The Angel ended, and in Adam's ear
So charming left his voice, that he a while
Para Tus Dedos Agiles y Finos
© Ramon Lopez Velarde
Doy a los cuatro vientos los loores
De tus dedos de clásica finura
Que preparan el pan sin levadura
Para el banquete de nuestros amores.
Proverbs of Chaucer
© Geoffrey Chaucer
What should these clothes thus manifold,
Lo! this hot summer's day?
Princeton, May, 1917
© Alfred Noyes
Here Freedom stood by slaughtered friend and foe,
And, ere the wrath paled or that sunset died,
Looked through the ages; then, with eyes aglow,
Laid them to wait that future, side by side.
Passage
© Giovanni Pascoli
The swan sings. From deep in the marshes,
its voice chimes sharp and clear
like the striking of copper cymbals.
Picture Of An Old Man
© William Lisle Bowles
Old man, I saw thee in thy garden chair
Sitting in silence 'mid the shrubs and trees
Portrait Of A Baby
© Stephen Vincent Benet
He lay within a warm, soft world
Of motion. Colors bloomed and fled,
Panthea
© Oscar Wilde
. NAY, let us walk from fire unto fire,
From passionate pain to deadlier delight,-
I am too young to live without desire,
Too young art thou to waste this summer night
Asking those idle questions which of old
Man sought of seer and oracle, and no reply was told.
Pigeon Post
© Katharine Lee Bates
White wing, white wing,
Lily of the air,
What word dost bring,
On whose errand fare?
