Poems begining by Q
/ page 4 of 7 /
Queen Victoria at Spithead. Written on the Occassion of the Review by Her Majesty -
© Alaric Alexander Watts
Queen Victoria at Spithead. Written on the Occassion of the Review by Her Majesty, of the Experimental Fleet Under the Command of Admiral Hyde Parker, Spithead, on the 21st of June, 1845.
âBritannia rules the waves!â
Questions
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
What is the secret of your life, browsing ox,
Ox the sweet grass eating?
Quieta Ne Movete II
© Edith Nesbit
IF one should wake one's frozen faith
In sunlight of her radiant eyes,
Queen and Huntress
© Benjamin Jonson
Queen and huntress, chaste and fair,
Now the sun is laid to sleep,
Seated in thy silver chair
State in wonted manner keep:
Hesperus entreats thy light,
Goddess excellently bright.
Quiquern
© Rudyard Kipling
The People of the Eastern Ice, they are melting like the snow-
They beg for coffee and sugar; they go where the white men go.
Quiet Joy.
© Robert Crawford
No Lethean ease, but such a mood as craves
For naught in earth and heaven, just to breathe
The simple air of our reality
Like creatures of the season, earthy, and
Queen Oriana's Dream
© Charles Lamb
On a bank with roses shaded,
Whose sweet scent the violets aided,
Quicksand Years.
© Walt Whitman
QUICKSAND years that whirl me I know not whither,
Your schemes, politics, faillines give waysubstances mock and elude me;
Only the theme I sing, the great and strong-possessd Soul, eludes not;
Ones-self must never give waythat is the final substancethat out of all
Queen Henrietta Maria
© Oscar Wilde
(To Ellen Terry)In the lone tent, waiting for victory,
She stands with eyes marred by the mists of pain,
Like some wan lily overdrenched with rain:
The clamorous clang of arms, the ensanguined sky,
Quantum Mutata
© Oscar Wilde
There was a time in Europe long ago
When no man died for freedom anywhere,
But England's lion leaping from its lair
Laid hands on the oppressor! it was so
Queen-Anne’s Lace
© William Carlos Williams
Her body is not so white as
anemony petals nor so smooth—nor
Quiet, Lord, My Froward Heart
© John Newton
Quiet, Lord, my froward heart,
Make me teachable and mild;
Upright, simple, free from art,
Make me as a weaned child;
From distrust and envy free,
Pleased with all that pleaseth Thee.
Quiet Dead!
© George MacDonald
Quiet, quiet dead,
Have ye aught to say
From your hidden bed
In the earthy clay?
"Quo Vadis"
© Madison Julius Cawein
It is as if imperial trumpets broke
Again the silence on War's iron height;
Questions And Answer
© Augusta Davies Webster
HAD I a heart till that day?
Who knows, who knows?
Ere the leaf burst upwards can any say
"Here is a green thing hidden away
In the lingering new year snows"?
