Poems begining by S
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Stones from Ashbourn Churchyard
© Reibetanz John
Jesse Quantrill, MillerThe toll taken, the grist drest:Here the bran, the flour with Christ.
Squirrel
© Reibetanz John
All around him November rainhisses like a thousand snakes -- around himand on him and almost through him untilhe is little more than a knotted skeinof sodden hair.
Stans Puer ad Mensam
© Raleigh Walter Alexander
Attend my words, my gentle knave, And you shall learn from meHow boys at dinner may behave With due propriety.
Song of Myself
© Raleigh Walter Alexander
I was a Poet!But I did not know it,Neither did my Mother,Nor my Sister nor my Brother
Sestina Otiosa
© Raleigh Walter Alexander
Our great work, the Otia Merseiana,Edited by learned Mister Sampson,And supported by Professor Woodward,Is financed by numerous Bogus MeetingsHastily convened by Kuno MeyerTo impose upon the Man of Business
Soliloquy of a Maiden Aunt
© Radford Dollie
The ladies bow, and partners set,And turn around and pirouette And trip the Lancers.
Song
© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
I shall not go with painWhether you hold me, whether you forgetMy little loss and my immortal gain.O flower unseen, O fountain sealed apart!Give me one look, one look remembering yet,Sweet heart.
Song
© John Howard Payne
'Mid pleasures and palaces, though we may roam,Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home
Song: Yes, Mary Ann, I Freely Grant
© Amelia Opie
Yes, Mary Ann, I freely grant, The charms of Henry's eyes I see;But while I gaze, I something want, I want those eyes -- to gaze on me.
Song for a Fishing Party near Burlington, on the Delaware, in 1776
© Odell Jonathan
How sweet is the season, the sky how serene;On Delaware's banks how delightful the scene;The Prince of the Rivers, his waves all asleep,In silence majestic glides on to the Deep.
She Clothed Herself in Dreams
© Nicholls Marjory
She clothed herself in dreams all magical--Did ever Princess in a tale of oldShow half so daintily and rare as sheA lily exquisite--all white and gold?
Song of the Sewing-Machine
© Morris George Pope
I'm the Iron Needle-Woman! Wrought of sterner stuff than clay;And, unlike the drudges human, Never weary night or day;Never shedding tears of sorrow, Never mourning friends untrue,Never caring for the morrow, Never begging work to do
Suburb
© Harold Monro
Dull and hard the low wind creaksAmong the rustling pampas plumes.Drearily the year consumesIts fifty-two insipid weeks.
Sonnet XXIII: Methought I Saw my Late Espoused Saint
© John Milton
Methought I saw my late espoused saint Brought to me, like Alcestis, from the grave, Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband gave, Rescu'd from death by force, though pale and faint
Sonnet XXII: To Cyriack Skinner
© John Milton
Cyriack, this three years' day these eyes, though clear To outward view of blemish or of spot, Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot; Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appearOf sun or moon or star throughout the year, Or man or woman
Sonnet XIX: When I Consider How my Light is Spent
© John Milton
When I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bentTo serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he returning chide, "Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?" I fondly ask
Sonnet XII: I did but Prompt the Age to Quit their Clogs
© John Milton
I did but prompt the age to quit their clogs By the known rules of ancient liberty, When straight a barbarous noise environs me Of owls and cuckoos, asses, apes and dogs:As when those hinds that were transform'd to frogs Rail'd at Latona's twin-born progeny Which after held the sun and moon in fee
Sonnet VII: How soon hath Time, the Subtle Thief of Youth
© John Milton
How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, Stol'n on his wing my three-and-twentieth year! My hasting days fly on with full career, But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th
