Poems begining by S
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Sad Steps
© Philip Larkin
Groping back to bed after a piss
I part the thick curtains, and am startled by
The rapid clouds, the moon's cleanliness.
Sonnet To Fanny Alexander
© James Russell Lowell
Unconscious as the sunshine, simply sweet
And generous as that, thou dost not close
Stars Over The Dordogne
© Sylvia Plath
Stars are dropping thick as stones into the twiggy
Picket of trees whose silhouette is darker
Than the dark of the sky because it is quite starless.
The woods are a well. The stars drop silently.
Saints Have Adored the Lofty Soul of You
© Charles Hamilton Sorley
I think it like that signpost in my land
Hoary and tall, which pointed me to go
Upward, into the hills, on the right hand,
Where the mists swim and the winds shriek and blow,
A homeless land and friendless, but a land
I did not know and that I wished to know.
Such, Such Is Death
© Charles Hamilton Sorley
Such, such is Death: no triumph: no defeat:
Only an empty pail, a slate rubbed clean,
A merciful putting away of what has been.
Sonnet XLV: Muses, Which Sadly Sit
© Michael Drayton
Muses, which sadly sit about my chair,
Drown'd in the tears extorted by my lines,
With heavy sighs whilst thus I break the air,
Painting my passions in these sad designs,
Sonnet LVI: When Like an Eaglet
© Michael Drayton
When like an eaglet I first found my Love,
For that the virtue I thereof would know,
Upon the nest I set it forth to prove
If it were of that kingly kind or no;
Sonnet LVIII: In Former Times
© Michael Drayton
In former times such as had store of coin,
In wars at home, or when for conquests bound,
For fear that some their treasure should purloin,
Gave it to keep to spirits within the ground,
Sonnet XXXVI: Thou Purblind Boy
© Michael Drayton
Cupid ConjuredThou purblind boy, since thou hast been so slack
To wound her heart, whose eyes have wounded me,
And suffer'd her to glory in my wrack,
Thus to my aid I lastly conjure thee:
Sonnet LV: My Fair, If Thou Wilt
© Michael Drayton
My Fair, if thou wilt register my love,
A world of volumes shall thereof arise;
Preserve my tears, and thou thyself shalt prove
A second flood, down-raining from mine eyes.
Sharing
© Hristo Botev
Our feelings have made of us brothers
and our hidden thoughts have a same set,
I do not believe there's one thing
on this earth we shall come to regret.
Sonnet XII: That Learned Father
© Michael Drayton
To the SoulThat learned Father, who so firmly proves
The Soul of man immortal and divine,
And doth the several offices define:
Anima - Gives her that name, as she the Body moves;
Sonnet XLIII: Why Should Your Fair Eyes
© Michael Drayton
Why should your fair eyes with such sovereign grace
Disperse their rays on every vulgar spirit,
Whilst I in darkness, in the self-same place,
Get not one glance to recompense my merit?
Sonnet XL: My Heart the Anvil
© Michael Drayton
My heart the anvil where my thoughts do beat;
My words the hammers fashioning my desire;
My breast the forge including all the heat;
Love is the fuel which maintains the fire;
Sonnet XLI: Why Do I Speak of Joy
© Michael Drayton
Love's LunacyWhy do I speak of joy, or write of love,
When my heart is the very den of horror,
And in my soul the pains of Hell I prove,
With all his torments and infernal terror?
Sonnet LIII: Clear Anker
© Michael Drayton
Another to the River AnkerClear Anker, on whose silver-sanded shore
My soul-shrin'd saint, my fair Idea, lies,
O blessed brook, whose milk-white swans adore
The crystal stream refined by her eyes,
Sonnet XLIX: Thou Leaden Brain
© Michael Drayton
Thou leaden brain, which censur'st what I write,
And say'st my lines be dull and do not move,
I marvel not thou feel'st not my delight,
Which never felt'st my fiery touch of love.
Sonnet XXXI: Methinks I See
© Michael Drayton
To the CriticMethinks I see some crooked mimic jeer,
And tax my Muse with this fantastic grace,
Turning my papers asks, "What have we here?"
Making withal some filthy antic face.
Sonnet X: To Nothing Fitter
© Michael Drayton
To nothing fitter can I thee compare
Than to the son of some rich penny-father,
Who, having now brought on his end with care,
Leaves to his son all he had heap'd together;
