Poems begining by S
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Sonnet V. To A Friend Who Sent Me Some Roses
© John Keats
As late I rambled in the happy fields,
What time the skylark shakes the tremulous dew
From his lush clover covert;when anew
Adventurous knights take up their dinted shields;
Saturday Night in the Parthenon
© Kenneth Patchen
Tiny green birds skate over the surface of the room.
A naked girl prepares a basin with steaming water,
Solitaire
© Amy Lowell
WHEN night drifts along the streets of the city,
And sifts down between the uneven roofs,
Sonnet 117 - All we were going strong
© John Berryman
The weather's changing. This morning was cold,
as I made for the grove, without expectation,
some hundred Sonnets in my pocket, old,
to read her if she came. Presently the sun
yellowed the pines & my lady came not
in blue jeans & a sweater. I sat down & wrote.
Sonnet 115 - All we were going strong last night this time
© John Berryman
The weather's changing. This morning was cold,
as I made for the grove, without expectation,
some hundred Sonnets in my pocket, old,
to read her if she came. Presently the sun
yellowed the pines & my lady came not
in blue jeans & a sweater. I sat down & wrote.
Stanzas To Jessy
© George Gordon Byron
There is a mystic thread of life
So dearly wreath'd with mine alone,
That Destiny's relentless knife
At once must sever both, or none.
Sonnet 104 - A spot of poontang on a five-foot piece
© John Berryman
And cuff her silly-hot again, mouth hot
And wet her small round writhingbut this screams
Suddenly awake, unreal as alkahest,
My god, this isn't what I want!You tot
The harrow-days you hold me to, black dreams,
The dirty water to get off my chest.
Summum Bonum
© Peter McArthur
HOW blest is he that can but love and do
And has no skill of speech nor trick of art
Spring - The First Pastoral ; or Damon
© Alexander Pope
Daphnis.
O Love! for Sylvia let me gain the prize,
And make my tongue victorious as her eyes;
No lambs or sheep for victims I'll impart,
Thy victim, Love, shall be the shepherd's heart.
Six O'clock In Princes Street
© Wilfred Owen
In twos and threes, they have not far to roam,
Crowds that thread eastward, gay of eyes;
Those seek no further than their quiet home,
Wives, walking westward, slow and wise.
Sonnet To Beauty
© Allen Tate
The wonder of light is your familiar tale,
Pert wench, down to the nineteenth century:
Seed-Time And Harvest
© Ada Cambridge
Fret not thyself so sorely, heart of mine,
For that the pain hath roughly broke thy rest,-
That thy wild flowers lie dead upon thy breast,
Whereon the cloud-veiled sun hath ceased to shine.
Spring Pools
© Robert Frost
These pools that, though in forests, still reflect
The total sky almost without defect,
And like the flowers beside them, chill and shiver,
Will like the flowers beside them soon be gone,
Still, Though The One I Sing
© Walt Whitman
STILL, though the one I sing,
(One, yet of contradictions made,) I dedicate to Nationality,
I leave in him Revolt, (O latent right of insurrection! O quenchless,
indispensable fire!)
Sonnet 136: "If thy soul check thee that I come so near,..."
© William Shakespeare
If thy soul check thee that I come so near,
Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy Will,
Speculation
© William Schwenck Gilbert
Comes a train of little ladies
From scholastic trammels free,
Each a little bit afraid is,
Wondering what the world can be!
Snow
© Robert Frost
The three stood listening to a fresh access
Of wind that caught against the house a moment,
Gulped snow, and then blew free againthe Coles
Dressed, but dishevelled from some hours of sleep,
Meserve belittled in the great skin coat he wore.
Song Of The Violet
© William Makepeace Thackeray
A humble flower long time I pined
Upon the solitary plain,
Sonnet XLVII: Broken Music
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
The mother will not turn, who thinks she hears
Her nursling's speech first grow articulate;
Sand Dunes
© Robert Frost
Sea waves are green and wet,
But up from where they die,
Rise others vaster yet,
And those are brown and dry.
