Poems begining by S
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Self-Portrait
© A. K. Ramanujan
I resemble everyone
but myself, and sometimes see
in shop-windows
despite the well-knownlaws
Shut Not Your Doors, andc
© Walt Whitman
SHUT not your doors to me, proud libraries,
For that which was lacking on all your well-fill’d shelves, yet needed most, I bring;
Sonnet XXXIV: Charm'd by Thy Suffrage
© Charlotte Turner Smith
Charm'd by thy suffrage, shall I yet aspire
(All inauspicious as my fate appears,
Sonnet XLVII: To Fancy
© Charlotte Turner Smith
Thee, Queen of Shadows! -- shall I still invoke,
Still love the scenes thy sportive pencil drew,
Sonnet XLIV: Press'd by the Moon
© Charlotte Turner Smith
Press'd by the Moon, mute arbitress of tides,
While the loud equinox its power combines,
Sonnet XLIII: The Unhappy Exile
© Charlotte Turner Smith
The unhappy exile, whom his fates confine
To the bleak coast of some unfriendly isle,
Sonnet XLII: Composed During a Walk
© Charlotte Turner Smith
The dark and pillowy cloud, the sallow trees,
Seem o'er the ruins of the year to mourn;
Sonnet VII: Sweet Poet of the Woods
© Charlotte Turner Smith
Sweet poet of the woods---a long adieu!
Farewel, soft minstrel of the early year!
Sonnet LXVII: On Passing over a Dreary Tract
© Charlotte Turner Smith
Swift fleet the billowy clouds along the sky,
Earth seems to shudder at the storm aghast;
Sonnet LXVI: The Night-Flood Rakes
© Charlotte Turner Smith
The night-flood rakes upon the stony shore;
Along the rugged cliffs and chalky caves
Sonnet LXIII: The Gossamer
© Charlotte Turner Smith
O'er faded heath-flowers spun, or thorny furze,
The filmy Gossamer is lightly spread;
Sonnet III: To a Nightingale
© Charlotte Turner Smith
Poor melancholy bird---that all night long
Tell'st to the Moon, thy tale of tender woe;
From what sad cause can such sweet sorrow flow,
And whence this mournful melody of song?
Sonnet I
© Charlotte Turner Smith
THE partial Muse, has from my earliest hours,
Smil'd on the rugged path I'm doom'd to tread,
Snow and Ice
© Quincy Troupe
ice sheets sweep this slick mirrored dark place
space as keys that turn in tight, trigger
Song of the Lotos-Eaters
© Alfred Tennyson
THERE is sweet music here that softer falls
Than petals from blown roses on the grass,
Shut Up And Eat Your Toad
© James Tate
The disorganization to which I currently belong
has skipped several meetings in a row
So What
© Ruth Stone
For me the great truths are laced with hysteria.
How many Einsteins can we tolerate?
I leap into the uncertainty principle.
After so many smears, you want to wash it off with a laugh.
Ha ha, you say. So what if it's a meltdown?
Last lines to poems I will write immediately.
