Poems begining by S
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Sonnet CXXXIII: Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
© William Shakespeare
Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
For that deep wound it gives my friend and me:
Song: How sweet I roam'd from field to field
© William Blake
How sweet I roam'd from field to field,
And tasted all the summer's pride,
'Till I the prince of love beheld,
Who in the sunny beams did glide!
Small Woman on Swallow Street
© William Stanley Merwin
Four feet up, under the bruise-blue
Fingered hat-felt, the eyes begin. The sly brim
Springtime in the Rockies, Lichen
© Lew Welch
All these years I overlooked them in the
racket of the rest, this
Superfluous Advice
© Dorothy Parker
Should they whisper false of you.
Never trouble to deny;
Should the words they say be true,
Weep and storm and swear they lie.
Sonnet: On Receiving a Letter Informing Me of the Birth of a Son
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
When they did greet me Father, sudden Awe
Weigh'd down my spirit! I retired and knelt
Song Of The Edinburgh Academician
© James Clerk Maxwell
If ony here has got an ear,
He'd better tak a haud o me,
Or I'll begin, wi roarin din,
To cheer our old Academy.
Sumer is i-cumin in
© Pierre Reverdy
Sumer is i-cumin in
Lhude sing, cuccu!
Groweth sed and bloweth med
And springth the wude nu.
Sing, cuccu!
Sugar
© Gertrude Stein
A violent luck and a whole sample and even then quiet.
Water is squeezing, water is almost squeezing on lard. Water, water is a mountain and it is selected and it is so practical that there is no use in money. A mind under is exact and so it is necessary to have a mouth and eye glasses.
A question of sudden rises and more time than awfulness is so easy and shady. There is precisely that noise.
A peck a small piece not privately overseen, not at all not a slice, not at all crestfallen and open, not at all mounting and chaining and evenly surpassing, all the bidding comes to tea.
Song for Dead Children
© Katha Pollitt
We set great wreaths of brightness on the graves of the passionate
who required tribute of hot July flowers—
for you, O brittle-hearted, we bring offering
remembering how your wrists were thin and your delicate bones
not yet braced for conquering.
Strikers in Hyde Park
© Louise Imogen Guiney
What ails thee, England? Altar, mart, and grange
Dream of the knife by night; not so, not so
The clear Republic waits the general throe,
Along her noonday mountains’ open range.
God be with both! for one is young to know
The other’s rote of evil and of change.
Song of the Witches
© William Shakespeare
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and caldron bubble.
Cool it with a baboon's blood,
Then the charm is firm and good.
Songs Set To Music: 25.
© Matthew Prior
Since, Moggy, I mun bid adieu,
How can I help despairing?
Let cruel Fate us still pursue,
There's nought more worth my caring.
Stanzas
© Emily Jane Brontë
I'll not weep that thou art going to leave me,
There's nothing lovely here;
And doubly will the dark world grieve me,
While thy heart suffers there.
Scrambled Eggs and Whiskey
© Hayden Carruth
Scrambled eggs and whiskey
in the false-dawn light. Chicago,
Sonnet (Written in a Volume of Shakespeare)
© Thomas Hood
How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky
The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!
Hues of all flow'rs, that in their ashes lie,
Trophied in that fair light whereon they fed,
Steadfast
© George MacDonald
Here stands a giant stone from whose far top
Comes down the sounding water: let me gaze
Salve Saturnia Tellus
© Oscar Wilde
I reached the Alps: the soul within me burned
Italia, my Italia, at thy name:
Sonnet LXXXVII: Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing
© William Shakespeare
Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,
And like enough thou knowst thy estimate.
