Poems begining by S
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Sonnet XXIX: I Think of Thee
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
I think of thee! - my thoughts do twine and bud
About thee,as wild vines, about a tree,
Put out broad leaves, and soon there's nought to see
Except the straggling green which hides the wood.
Solitude
© Harold Monro
WHEN you have tidied all things for the night,
And while your thoughts are fading to their sleep,
You'll pause a moment in the late firelight,
Too sorrowful to weep.
Sorrow's Treachery
© Robert Fuller Murray
I made a truce last night with Sorrow,
The queen of tears, the foe of sleep,
To keep her tents until the morrow,
Nor send such dreams to make me weep.
Sleep
© Russell Edson
There was a man who didn't know how to sleep; nodding
off every night into a drab, unprofessional sleep. Sleep that
he'd grown so tired of sleeping.
He tried reading The Manual of Sleep, but it just put him
Skunk Hour
© Robert Lowell
Thirsting for
the hierarchic privacy
of Queen Victoria's century,
she buys up all
the eyesores facing her shore,
and lets them fall.
Should Somebody One Day
© Fernando António Nogueira Pessoa
Should somebody one day knock at your door
Announcing he's an emissary of mine,
Never believe him, nor that it is I;
For to knock does not go with my vainglory,
Even at the unreal door of the sky.
SongThe Winter it is Past
© Robert Burns
The winter it is past, and the summer comes at last
And the small birds, they sing on evry tree;
Now evry thing is glad, while I am very sad,
Since my true love is parted from me.
Summer Morn in New Hampshire
© Claude McKay
All yesterday it poured, and all night long
I could not sleep; the rain unceasing beat
Upon the shingled roof like a weird song,
Upon the grass like running children's feet.
Subway Wind
© Claude McKay
Far down, down through the city's great, gaunt gut,
The gray train rushing bears the weary wind;
In the packed cars the fans the crowd's breath cut,
Leaving the sick and heavy air behind.
Spring in New Hampshire
© Claude McKay
Too green the springing April grass,
Too blue the silver-speckled sky,
For me to linger here, alas,
While happy winds go laughing by,
Wasting the golden hours indoors,
Washing windows and scrubbing floors.
Song. "Pass thy hand through my hair, love"
© Frances Anne Kemble
Pass thy hand through my hair, love;
One little year ago,
Song of the Moon
© Claude McKay
There is no magic from your presence here,
Ho, moon, sad moon, tuck up your trailing robe,
Whose silver seems antique and so severe
Against the glow of one electric globe.
Selfish
© Edgar Albert Guest
I am selfish in my wishin' every sort o' joy for you;
I am selfish when I tell you that I'm wishin' skies o' blue
Bending o'er you every minute, and a pocketful of gold,
An' as much of love an' gladness as a human heart can hold.
Coz I know beyond all question that if such a thing could be
As you cornerin' life's riches you would share 'em all with me.
S I W
© Wilfred Owen
I will to the King,
And offer him consolation in his trouble,
For that man there has set his teeth to die,
And being one that hates obedience,
Discipline, and orderliness of life,
I cannot mourn him.
Sonnets Of The Blood VII
© Allen Tate
This message hastens lest we both go down
Scattered, with no character, to death;
Sniper
© Bernard Gutteridge
I saw the sniper in the afternoon. The rifle
Lay there beside him neatly like his shooting,
The grass twined all about his cap.
He had killed neatly but we had set
Ten men about him to write death in jags
Cutting and spoiling on his face and broken body.
See it Through
© Edgar Albert Guest
When you're up against a trouble,
Meet it squarely, face to face;
Lift your chin and set your shoulders,
Plant your feet and take a brace.
Skyline Tommy
© William Henry Ogilvie
He loves all games that good men play-
And plays them clean and straight-
Such Is The Sickness Of Many A Good Thing
© Robert Duncan
so taut it taunts the song,
it resists the touch. It grows dark
to draw down the lovers hand
from its lightness to whats
underground.
