Poems begining by S
/ page 102 of 287 /
Sonnet 39: Come Sleep
© Sir Philip Sidney
Come Sleep; O Sleep! the certain knot of peace,
The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe,
Sonnet IV. To Charles Diodati. (Translated From Milton)
© William Cowper
Charles--and I say it wond'ring--thou must know
That I who once assum'd a scornful air,
Sonnet VIII: Love's Lovers
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Some ladies love the jewels in Love's zone,
And gold-tipped darts he hath for painless play
Sonnet: On The Death Of Prince Henry
© George Wither
Methought his royal person did foretell
A kingly stateliness, from all pride clear;
Song #4.
© Robert Crawford
They have been here and had this light
Who in their graves are lying,
And e'en the youngest life to-night
Is gradually dying.
Snooping 'Round
© Edgar Albert Guest
But there he stood and hung his head; the rascal knew it wasn't fair.
"I jes' was wonderin'," he said, "jes' what it was that's under there.
It's somepin' all wrapped up an' I thought mebbe it might be a sled,
Becoz I saw a piece of wood 'at's stickin' out all painted red."
"If mother knew," I said to him, "you'd get a licking, I'll be bound,
But just clear out of here at once, and don't you ever snoop around."
'Soeur Monique'
© Alice Meynell
But two words, and this sweet air.
Soeur Monique,
Had he more, who set you there?
Was his music-dream of you
Of some perfect nun he knew,
Or of some ideal, as true?
Sporadic Fiction
© Franklin Pierce Adams
"Because--and yet I ought not say
The wherefore of my sudden whim."
Here Archibald looked at Eusta-
Cia, and Eustacia looked at him.
Spring In Canada
© William Wilfred Campbell
SEASON of life's renewal, love's rebirth,
And all hope's young espousals; in your dream,
I feel once more the ancient stirrings of Earth.
Sugar Weather
© Peter McArthur
WHEN snow-balls on the horses' hoofs
And the wind from the south blows warm,
Shakespeare's Kingdom
© Alfred Noyes
When Shakespeare came to London
He met no shouting throngs;
He carried in his knapsack
A scroll of quiet songs.
September
© Madison Julius Cawein
The bubbled blue of morning-glory spires,
Balloon-blown foam of moonflowers, and sweet snows
Sonnet XXIII: Time, Cruel Time
© Samuel Daniel
Time, cruel Time, come and subdue that brow
Which conquers all but thee, and thee, too, stays
Sweet Love Is Dead
© Alfred Austin
Sweet Love is dead:
Where shall we bury him?
In a green bed,
With no stone at his head,
And no tears nor prayers to worry him.
Summer Noontide
© Madison Julius Cawein
The slender snail clings to the leaf,
Gray on its silvered underside:
And slowly, slowlier than the snail, with brief
Bright steps, whose ripening touch foretells the sheaf,
Her warm hands berry-dyed,
Comes down the tanned Noontide.
Soul Ferry
© Richard Rowe
High and dry upon the shingle lies the fisher's boat to-night;
From his roof-beam dankly drooping, raying phosphorescent light,
Spectral in its pale-blue splendour, hangs his heap of scaly nets,
And the fisher, lapt in slumber, surge and seine alike forgets.
Spring in New Zealand
© Hubert Church
Thou wilt come with suddenness,
Like a gull between the waves,
Slow Through The Dark
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
Slow moves the pageant of a climbing race;
Their footsteps drag far, far below the height,
