Poems begining by S

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Schoolmistress
Having, with bold Horatius, stamped her feet
And waved a final swashing arabesque
O'er the brave days of old, she ceased to bleat,
Slapped her Macaulay back upon the desk,
Resuned her calm gaze and her lofty seat.

Songs For The Soldiers

© Isabella Valancy Crawford

IF songs be sung let minstrels strike their harps
To large and joyous strains, all thunder-winged
To beat along vast shores. Ay, let their notes
Wild into eagles soaring toward the sun,

Sonnet XLIII

© George Santayana

For once, methinks, before the angels fell,
Thou, too, did follow the celestial seven
Threading in file the meads of asphodel.
And when thou comes here, lady, where I dwell,
The place is flooded with the light of heaven
And a lost music I remember well.

Spring Offensive [unfinished]

© Wilfred Owen

Halted against the shade of a last hill,
They fed, and lying easy, were at ease
And, finding comfortable chests and knees,
Carelessly slept. But many there stood still
To face the stark blank sky beyond the ridge,
Knowing their feet had come to the end of the world.

Sonnet I The Nightingale

© Cornelius Webb

Not farther than a fledgling's weak first flight,

In a low dell, standeth an antique grove;

Sister Saint Luke

© John Hay

She lived shut in by flowers and trees

And shade of gentle bigotries.

Somebody Else's Baby by Mary Jo Salter: American Life in Poetry #97 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2

© Ted Kooser

Though parents know that their children will grow up and away from them, will love and be loved by others, it's a difficult thing to accept. Massachusetts poet Mary Jo Salter emphasizes the poignancy of the parent/child relationship in this perceptive and compelling poem.
Somebody Else's Baby

From now on they always are, for years now
they always have been, but from now on you know
they are, they always will be,

Song #9.

© Robert Crawford

In the hour when Day reposes
Like a vision on the sea,
When thought his tired pinion closes,
One with hope and memory,

Song (Untitled #7)

© George Meredith

Thou to me art such a spring
As the Arab seeks at eve,
Thirsty from the shining sands;
There to bathe his face and hands,
While the sun is taking leave,
And dewy sleep is a delicious thing.

Sonnet. "Oh weary, weary world! how full thou art"

© Frances Anne Kemble

Oh weary, weary world! how full thou art

Of sin, of sorrow, and all evil things!

Sonnets of the Empire: Australia 1905

© Archibald Thomas Strong

Nor shall she wake and know her danger near
Till some high heart and true, her fated lord,
Shall kiss her lips, and all her will control,
And fill her wayward heart with holy fear,
And cross her forehead with his iron sword,
And bring her strength, and armour, and a soul.

Surgit Fama

© Ezra Pound

Once more in Delos, once more is the altar a-quiver.
Once more is the chant heard.
Once more are the never abandoned gardens
Full of gossip and old tales.

School Rhymes

O academic muse that hast for long
Charmed all the world with thy disciples song,
As myrtle bushes must give place to trees,
Our humbler strains can now no longer please.
Look down for once, inspire me in these lays.
In lofty verse to sing our Rector's praise.