Poems begining by S
/ page 197 of 287 /
Summer in the Mountains
© Li Po
Gently I stir a white feather fan,
With open shirt sitting in a green wood.
I take off my cap and hang it on a jutting stone;
A wind from the pine-tree trickles on my bare head.
She Spins Silk
© Li Po
Far up river in Szechuan,
waters rise as spring winds roar.How can I dare to meet her now,
to brave the dangerous gorge?The grass grows green in the valley below
where silk worms silently spin.Her hands work threads that never end,
Self-Abandonment
© Li Po
I sat srinking and did not notice the dusk,
Till falling petals filled the folds of my dress.
Drunken I rose and walked to the moonlit stream;
The birds were gone, and men also few.
Song of the Forge
© Li Po
The forge-fire sets a glow in the heavens,
the hammer thunders, showering the smoke with sparks.
Summer Evening At Home
© William Lisle Bowles
Come, lovely Evening! with thy smile of peace
Visit my humble dwelling; welcomed in,
Still Here
© Langston Hughes
I been scared and battered.
My hopes the wind done scattered.
Snow has friz me,
Sun has baked me,
Sunday Chimes in the City
© Louise Imogen Guiney
Forbid not these! Tho' no man heed, they shower
A subtle beauty on the empty hour,
>From all their dark throats aching and outblown;
Aye in the prayerless places welcome most,
Like the last gull that up a naked coast
Deploys her white and steady wing, alone.
Sekhmet, the Lion-headed Goddess of War
© Margaret Atwood
Maybe there's something in all of this
I missed. But if it's selfless
love you're looking for,
you've got the wrong goddess.
Song Of A Pilgrim-Soul
© Henry Van Dyke
March on, my soul, nor like a laggard stay!
March swiftly on. Yet err not from the way
Spelling
© Margaret Atwood
My daughter plays on the floor
with plastic letters,
red, blue & hard yellow,
learning how to spell,
spelling,
how to make spells.
Siren Song
© Margaret Atwood
This is the one song everyone
would like to learn: the song
that is irresistible:
Sonnet
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Methinks ofttimes my heart is like some bee
That goes forth through the summer day and sings,
Song Of The Redwood-Tree
© Walt Whitman
A prophecy and indirection-a thought impalpable, to breathe, as air;
A chorus of dryads, fading, departing-or hamadryads departing;
A murmuring, fateful, giant voice, out of the earth and sky,
Voice of a mighty dying tree in the Redwood forest dense.
Sonnett
© William Strode
My love and I for kisses play'd,
Shee would keepe stake, I was content,
But when I wonne shee would be paid;
This made mee aske her what she meant.
Pray, since I see (quoth shee) your wrangling vayne,
Take your owne kisses, give me myne againe.
Song from The Silent Woman
© Benjamin Jonson
Still to be neat, still to be dressed,
As you were going to a feast;
Still to be powdered, still perfumed:
Lady, it is to be presumed,
Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.
Son Of A Scoundrel
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Big Barney Fitch, he got soddenly rich
He got a big fancy house in Melbourne
With buckets of loot and big black leather boots
Acting so haughty and well-born
Sonnet 40: As Good To Write
© Sir Philip Sidney
As good to write as for to lie and groan,
Oh Stella dear, how much thy power hath wrought,
That hast my mind, none of the basest, brought
My still-kept course, while others sleep, to moan.
