Poems begining by S
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Steam-Launches on the Thames
© James Kenneth Stephen
Henley, June 7, 1891.
Shall we, to whom the stream by right belongs,
Who travel silent, save, perchance, for songs;
Whose track's a ripple,-leaves the Thames a lake,
Spring Has Leapt Into Summer
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Spring has leapt into Summer.
A glory has gone from the green.
The flush of the poplar has sobered out,
The flame in the leaf of the lime is dulled:
But I am thinking of the young men
Whose faces are no more seen.
Seventy-Six
© William Cullen Bryant
What heroes from the woodland sprung,
When, through the fresh awakened land,
The thrilling cry of freedom rung,
And to the work of warfare strung
The yeoman's iron hand!
"She has all Ireland in her blood"
© Lesbia Harford
She has all Ireland in her blood,
All Ireland's need of sword and tears,
With memories dim before the flood,
And conflicts of a thousand years.
Stages (Scenes)
© Arthur Rimbaud
Ancient Comedy pursues its harmonies and divides its Idylls:
Raised platforms along the boulevards.
Spring Song
© Roderic Quinn
SING out and be happy!
The Spring is at hand,
The grass green, and sappy
The trees o' the land.
Summer Heat
© Eugene Field
Nay, why discuss this summer heat,
Of which vain people tell?
Oh, sinner, rather were it meet
To fix thy thoughts on hell!
Samadhi
© Paramahansa Yogananda
Vanished are the veils of light and shade,
Lifted the vapors of sorrow,
Shadwell Stair
© Wilfred Owen
I am the ghost of Shadwell Stair.
Along the wharves by the water-house,
And through the cavernous slaughter-house,
I am the shadow that walks there.
Sonnet VI
© George Gascoigne
For why the gains doth seldom quit the charge:
And so say I by proof too dearly bought,
Song. To -- [Harriet]
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Stern, stern is the voice of fate's fearful command,
When accents of horror it breathes in our ear,
Or compels us for aye bid adieu to the land,
Where exists that loved friend to our bosom so dear,
Sonnet To Chatterton
© John Keats
O Chatterton! how very sad thy fate!
Dear child of sorrow -- son of misery!
How soon the film of death obscur'd that eye,
Whence Genius mildly falsh'd, and high debate.
Song Of The Spinning Wheel
© William Wordsworth
SWIFTLY turn the murmuring wheel!
Night has brought the welcome hour,
When the weary fingers feel
Help, as if from faery power;
Dewy night o'ershades the ground;
Turn the swift wheel round and round!
Sauve Patria
© Ramon Lopez Velarde
Yo que sólo canté de la exquisita
partitura del íntimo decoro,
alzo hoy la voz a la mitad del foro
a la manera del tenor que imita
la gutural modulación del bajo,
para cortar a la epopeya un gajo.
September Midnight
© Sara Teasdale
Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer,
Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing,
Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects,
Ceaseless, insistent.
Song.Oh, had I ne'er beheld thee
© Louisa Stuart Costello
Oh! had I ne'er beheld thee
How calm my life had flown!
As cold, as pure and tranquil
As some fair vale unknown;
