Poems begining by S
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Shriven
© Henry Cuyler Bunner
A.D. 1425.
I have let the world go.
Thats the door that closed
Behind the holy father. I am shrived.
Songs of the Voices of Birds: A Poet in his Youth, and the Cuckoo-Bird
© Jean Ingelow
“O, I hear thee in the blue;
Would that I might wing it too!
O to have what hope hath seen!
O to be what might have been!
Stanzas To Augusta (II.)
© George Gordon Byron
I.
Though the day of my destiny's over,
And the star of my fate hath declined,
Thy soft heart refused to discover
Sitting by a Bush in Broad Sunlight
© Robert Frost
When I spread out my hand here today,
I catch no more than a ray
To feel of between thumb and fingers;
No lasting effect of it lingers.
Song #11.
© Robert Crawford
The past is in us, and we find
The burden of our being there,
Who have been built up as the wind
From dreamy air.
Sephestia's Lullaby
© Robert Greene
WEEP not, my wanton, smile upon my knee;
When thou art old there 's grief enough for thee.
Stars
© Robert Frost
How countlessly they congregate
O'er our tumultuous snow,
Which flows in shapes as tall as trees
When wintry winds do blow!--
Song
© Alfred Noyes
I came to the door of the House of Love
And knocked as the starry night went by;
And my true love cried "Who knocks?" and I said
"It is I."
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
© Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
Street in Agrigentum
© Salvatore Quasimodo
There is still the wind that I remember
firing the manes of horses, racing,
slanting, across the plains,
the wind that stains and scours the sandstone,
Sonnet III "Life Ever Seems as from Its Present Site"
© Henry Timrod
Life ever seems as from its present site
It aimed to lure us. Mountains of the past
Sonnet Written Among The Ruins Of The Castle At Heidelberg
© Frances Anne Kemble
Weep'st thou to see the ruin and decay
Which Time doth wreak upon earth's mighty things?
She Dried Her Tears And They Did Smile
© Emily Jane Brontë
She dried her tears and they did smile
To see her cheeks' returning glow
How little dreaming all the while
That full heart throbbed to overflow
Sonnet 18: With What Sharp Checks
© Sir Philip Sidney
With what sharp checks I in myself am shent,
When into Reason's audit I do go:
And by just counts myself a bankrupt know
Of all the goods, which heav'n to me hath lent:
Sabbaths 2001
© Wendell Berry
IV
Ask the world to reveal its quietude
not the silence of machines when they are still,
but the true quiet by which birdsongs,
trees, bellows, snails, clouds, storms
become what they are, and are nothing else.
Songs
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
SONGS are like painted window-panes!
In darkness wrapp'd the church remains,
If from the market-place we view it;
Thus sees the ignoramus through it.
No wonder that he deems it tame,-
And all his life 'twill be the same.
Song.Thy form was fair
© Louisa Stuart Costello
Thy form was fair, thine eye was bright,
Thy voice was melody;
