Poems begining by S

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Sonnet LX: Lo, Here the Impost

© Samuel Daniel

Lo, here the impost of a faith unfeigning

That love hath paid, and her disdain extorted,

Still, Citizen Sparrow

© Lola Ridge

Still, citizen sparrow, this vulture which you call
Unnatural, let him but lumber again to air
Over the rotten office, let him bear
The carrion ballast up, and at the tall

Sonnets from The River Duddon: After-Thought

© André Breton

I thought of Thee, my partner and my guide,

Sonnet 42: That thou hast her it is not all my grief

© William Shakespeare

That thou hast her it is not all my grief,

And yet it may be said I loved her dearly,

Snip Your Hair by Regina DeSalva: American Life in Poetry #128 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2

© Ted Kooser

Our poet this week is 16-year-old Devon Regina DeSalva of Los Angeles, California, who says she wrote this poem to get back at her mother, only to find that her mother loved the poem.

Snip Your Hair

Servants of God, in Joyful Lays

© James Montgomery

Servants of God, in joyful lays,
Sing ye the Lord Jehovahs praise;
His glorious Name let all adore,
From age to age, forevermore.

Stanzas

© Aldous Huxley

Thought is an unseen net wherein our mind

Is taken and vainly struggles to be free:

Save The Boys

© Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

But they heard no cry of anguish
Break through that fiery wall,
With rigid brow and silent lips
He was seeking Odin's hall.

Song

© Katha Pollitt

Make and be eaten, the poet says,
Lie in the arms of nightlong fire,
To celebrate the waking, wake.
Burn in the daylong light; and praise
Even the mother unappeased,
Even the fathers of desire.

Song to Celia

© Benjamin Jonson

Drink to me only with thine eyes,

And I will pledge with mine;

Song For The C--N

© Charles Lamb

Roi's wife of Brunswick Oëls!

Roi's wife of Brunswick Oëls!

BY their floating mill,
That lies dead and still,
Behold yon Prisoners three,
The Miller with two Dames, on the breast of the Thames!
The platform is small, but gives room for them all;
And they're dancing merrily.

Sweetest love, I do not go,

© John Donne

Sweetest love, I do not go,

For weariness of thee,

Street Musicians

© John Ashbery

One died, and the soul was wrenched out

Of the other in life, who, walking the streets

Sonnet XX: "A womans face with natures own hand painted"

A womans face with natures own hand painted

Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion;

Sonnet LI: I Must Not Grieve My Love

I must not grieve my Love, whose eyes would read

Lines of delight, whereon her youth might smile;

Sonnet 54: "O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem..."

O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem,

By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!

Structure of Rime XXVIII: In Memoriam Wallace Stevens

“That God is colouring Newton doth shew”—William Blake

Erecting beyond the boundaries of all government his grand Station and Customs, I find what I have made there a Gate, a staking out of his art in Inconsequence. I have in mind a poetry that will frame the willingness of the heart and deliver it over to the arrest of Time, a sentence as if there could stand some solidity most spacial in its intent against the drifts and appearances that arise and fall away in time from the crude events of physical space. The Mind alone holds the consequence of the erection to be true, so that Desire and Imagination usurp the place of the Invisible Throne.