Poems begining by P
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Poet's Path
© Robert William Service
My garden hath a slender path
With ivy overgrown,
A secret place where once would pace
A pot all alone;
Playboy
© Robert William Service
I greet the challenge of the dawn
With weary, bleary eyes;
Into the sky so ashen wan
I wait the sun to rise;
Politeness
© Robert William Service
The English and the French were met
Upon the field of future battle;
The foes were formidably set
And waiting for the guns to rattle;
Poor Kid
© Robert William Service
Mumsie and Dad are raven dark
And I am lily blonde.
''Tis strange,' I once heard nurse remark,
'You do not correspond.'
And yet they claim me as their own,
Born of their flesh and bone.
Patches
© Robert William Service
So each boy asked his Ma to match
With bluer blue my super-patch,
And when to school they came en masse,
It was the emblem of our class,
Admired by every bonnie lass.
Pullman Porter
© Robert William Service
The porter in the Pullman car
Was charming, as they sometimes are.
He scanned my baggage tags: "Are you
The man who wrote of Lady Lou?"
Pragmatic
© Robert William Service
When young I was an Atheist,
Yea, pompous as a pigeon
No opportunity I missed
To satirize religion.
Premonition
© Robert William Service
'Twas a year ago and the moon was bright
(Oh, I remember so well, so well);
I walked with my love in a sea of light,
And the voice of my sweet was a silver bell.
Poor Peter
© Robert William Service
Blind Peter Piper used to play
All up and down the city;
I'd often meet him on my way,
And throw a coin for pity.
Profane Poet
© Robert William Service
Oh how it would enable me
To titillate my vanity
If you should choose to label me
A Poet of Profanity!
Perfection
© Robert William Service
If I could practise what I preach,
Of fellows there would few be finer;
If I were true to what I teach
My life would be a lot diviner.
Portent
© Robert William Service
Courage mes gars:
La guerre est proche.I plant my little plot of beans,
I sit beneath my cyprus tree;
I do not know what trouble means,
Prelude
© Robert William Service
They say that rhyme and rhythm are
Outmoded now.
I do not know, for I am far
From high of brow.
Prelude to an Evening
© John Crowe Ransom
Do not enforce the tired wolf
Dragging his infected wound homeward
To sit tonight with the warm children
Naming the pretty kings of France.
Piazza Piece
© John Crowe Ransom
-- I am a lady young in beauty waiting
Until my truelove comes, and then we kiss.
But what grey man among the vines is this
Whose words are dry and faint as in a dream?
Back from my trellis, Sir, before I scream !
I am a lady young in beauty waiting.
Painted Head
© John Crowe Ransom
By dark severance the apparition head
Smiles from the air a capital on no
Column or a Platonic perhaps head
On a canvas sky depending from nothing;
Preciosa Y El Aire
© Federico Garcia Lorca
Ni?a, deja que levante
tu vestido para verte.
Abre en mi dedos antiguos
la rosa azul de tu vientre.
Purity
© Rabindranath Tagore
Life of my life, I shall ever try to keep my body pure, knowing
that thy living touch is upon all my limbs. I shall ever try to keep all untruths out from my thoughts, knowing
that thou art that truth which has kindled the light of reason in my mind. I shall ever try to drive all evils away from my heart and keep my
love in flower, knowing that thou hast thy seat in the inmost shrine of my heart. And it shall be my endeavour to reveal thee in my actions, knowing it
Prisoner
© Rabindranath Tagore
`It was my master,' said the prisoner.
`I thought I could outdo everybody in the world in wealth and power,
and I amassed in my own treasure-house the money due to my king.
When sleep overcame me I lay upon the bed that was for my lord,
and on waking up I found I was a prisoner in my own treasure-house.'
