Poems begining by S
/ page 155 of 287 /Song Of Slaves In The Desert
© John Greenleaf Whittier
WHERE are we going? where are we going,
Where are we going, Rubee?
Lord of peoples, lord of lands,
Look across these shining sands,
Sympathy
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
Sonnet: On seeing Miss Helen Maria Williams weep at a tale of distress
© William Wordsworth
She wept.--Life's purple tide began to flow
In languid streams through every thrilling vein;
Sonnets from the Portuguese 35: If I Leave all for thee
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange
And be all to me? Shall I never miss
Sonnet To Lake Leman
© George Gordon Byron
Rousseau -- Voltaire -- our Gibbon -- De Staël --
Leman! these names are worthy of thy shore,
Song Of Four Faries
© John Keats
Salamander.
Sweet Dusketha! paradise!
Off, ye icy Spirits, fly!
Frosty creatures of the sky!
Sonnets from the Portuguese 44: Beloved, thou has brought me many flowers
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers
Plucked in the garden, all the summer through
Spring, the sweet spring
© Thomas Nashe
Spring, the sweet spring, is the years pleasant king,
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing:
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
Song XIII. - Winter
© William Shenstone
No more, ye warbling birds! rejoice:
Of all that cheer'd the plain,
Echo alone preserves her voice,
And she-repeats my pain.
Success
© Madison Julius Cawein
How some succeed who have least need,
In that they make no effort for!
And pluck, where others pluck a weed,
The burning blossom of a star,
Grown from no earthly seed.
Sonnet LIII. August.
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
FAR Off among the fields and meadow rills
The August noon bends o'er a world of green.
In the blue sky the white clouds pause, and lean
To paint broad shadows on the wooded hills
Still Burning
© Gerald Stern
Me trying to understand say whence
say whither, say what, say me with a pencil walking,
Sonnet 69: Oh Joy, Too High For My Low Style
© Sir Philip Sidney
Oh joy, too high for my low style to show:
Oh bliss, fit for a nobler state than me:
Envy, put out thine eyes, lest thou do see
What oceans of delight in me do flow.
Solitude
© James Lister Cuthbertson
This is the maiden Solitude, too fair
For mortal eyes to gaze on-she who dwells
Stanzas To the Memory Of George III
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
'Among many nations was there no King like him.' Nehemiah, xiii, 26.
'Know ye not that there is a prince and a great man fallen this day in Israel?' 2 Samuel, iii, 38.
Sonnet CXI: O, for my Sake do you with Fortune Chide
© William Shakespeare
O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide,
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds,
Sonnet CXLVII: My love is a fever, longing still
© William Shakespeare
My love is a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
St. Wagners Eve
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
THE hopshop is shut up: the night doth wear.
Here, early, Collinson this evening fell