Poems begining by S

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Slumber Song

© Rainer Maria Rilke

Some day, if I should ever lose you,
will you be able then to go to sleep
without me softly whispering above you
like night air stirring in the linden tree?

Speakin' in general, I'ave tried 'em all
The 'appy roads that take you o'er the world.
Speakin' in general, I'ave found them good
For such as cannot use one bed too long,
But must get 'ence, the same as I'ave done,
An' go observin' matters till they die.

Sub Terra

© William Carlos Williams

Where shall I find you

You, my grotesque fellows

St. Francis And The Sow

© Galway Kinnell

The bud
stands for all things,
even those things that don't flower,
for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;

Stupra II

© Arthur Rimbaud

Our buttocks are not theirs.
I have often seen people unbuttoned behind some hedge;
and, in those shameless bathings where children are gay,
I used to observe the form and performance of our arse.

Song of a Train

© John Davidson

A monster taught
To come to hand
Amain,
As swift as thought
Across the land
The train.

Song

© John Davidson

THE boat is chafing at our long delay,
And we must leave too soon
The spicy sea-pinks and the inborne spray,
The tawny sands, the moon.

Sonnet. "Say thou not sadly, "never," and "no more,""

© Frances Anne Kemble

Say thou not sadly, "never," and "no more,"

But from thy lips banish those falsest words;

Snow

© John Davidson

'Who affirms that crystals are alive?'
I affirm it, let who will deny:
Crystals are engendered, wax and thrive,
Wane and wither; I have seen them die.

Song from Heine

© Emma Lazarus

MY heart, my heart is heavy,

Though merrily blooms the May;

Soneto XVII

© Pablo Neruda

o te amo como si fueras rosa de sal, topacio
o flecha de claveles que propagan el fuego:
te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras,
secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma.

Sexegesima Sunday

© John Keble

Foe of mankind! too bold thy race:
Thou runn'st at such a reckless pace,
Thine own dire work thou surely wilt confound:
'Twas but one little drop of sin
We saw this morning enter in,
And lo! at eventide the world is drowned.

Song IX. - The fatal hours are wondrous near

© William Shenstone

The fatal hours are wondrous near,
That from these fountains bear my dear;
A little space is given; in vain
She robs my sight, and shuns the plain.

Sixteen Dead Men

Hark! in the still night. Who goes there ?
Fifteen dead men" Why do they wait ?
Hasten, comrade, death is so fair"
Now comes their Captain through the dim gate.