Poems begining by S

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St. Peter and the Angel

© Denise Levertov

Delivered out of raw continual pain,
smell of darkness, groans of those others
to whom he was chained--

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Stepping Westward

© Denise Levertov

What is green in me
darkens, muscadine.
If woman is inconstant,
good, I am faithful to

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Sonnet. To A Lady Seen For A Few Moments At Vauxhall

© John Keats

Time's sea hath been five years at its slow ebb,
Long hours have to and fro let creep the sand,
Since I was tangled in thy beauty's web,
And snared by the ungloving of thine hand.

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Sound Sleep

© Christina Georgina Rossetti

Some are laughing, some are weeping;
She is sleeping, only sleeping.
Round her rest wild flowers are creeping;
There the wind is heaping, heaping
Sweetest sweets of Summer's keeping.
By the corn-fields ripe for reaping.

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Sonnet: "It is not to be thought of"

© William Wordsworth

IT is not to be thought of that the Flood

Of British freedom, which, to the open sea

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September 1961

© Denise Levertov

This is the year the old ones,
the old great ones
leave us alone on the road.

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Seeing For A Moment

© Denise Levertov

I thought, now is the time to step
into the fire—
it was deep water.

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San Borondon

© Christopher Pearse Cranch

Saint Brandan, a Scotch abbot, long ago
Sailed southward with a swarm of monks, to sow
The seeds of true religion — nothing else —
Among the tribes of naked infidels.

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Sonnet Of Motherhood XXIX

© Zora Bernice May Cross

O Love, I fear the loneness of my limbs
Leaning to nothing to their solitude.
Draw up the blinds and let the stars rush in,
The mournful moon and all the air she swims.
I would not languish in my mother-mood
While just without earth makes her old, mad din.

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Songs Of Education: VI. Hygiene

© Gilbert Keith Chesterton

Form 394411102, Sub-Section X

"All practical Eugenists are agreed on the importance of sleep."--The Eugenic Congress.

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Silence

© Thomas Hood

There is a silence where hath been no sound,
There is a silence where no sound may be,
In the cold grave—under the deep, deep sea,
Or in wide desert where no life is found,

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Sixth Sunday After Epiphany

© John Keble

There are, who darkling and alone,

  Would wish the weary night were gone,

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Slander

© Anonymous

'Twas but a breath--
And yet the fair, good name was wilted;
And friends once fond grew cold and stilted,
And life was worse than death.

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Sonnet 100: Oh Tears, No Tears

© Sir Philip Sidney

Oh tears, no tears, but rain from Beauty's skies,
Making those lilies and those roses grow,
Which aye most fair, now more than most fair show,
While graceful Pity Beauty beautifies.

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Sonnet 36: Stella, Whence Doth This

© Sir Philip Sidney

Stella, whence doth this new assault arise,
A conquer'd, yielden, ransack'd heart to win?
Whereto long since through my long batter'd eyes,
Whole armies of thy beauties entered in.

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Senlin: His Futile Preoccupations

© Conrad Aiken

Vine leaves tap my window,
Dew-drops sing to the garden stones,
The robin chips in the chinaberry tree
Repeating three clear tones.

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Senlin: His Dark Origins

© Conrad Aiken

He lights his pipe with a pointed flame.
'Yet, there were many autumns before I came,
And many springs. And more will come, long after
There is no horn for me, or song, or laughter.

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Senlin: His Cloudy Destiny

© Conrad Aiken

Yet, we would say, this is no shore at all,
But a small bright room with lamplight on the wall;
And the familiar chair
Where Senlin sat, with lamplight on his hair.

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Sonnet. "I cannot sleep for thinking of thy face"

© Frances Anne Kemble

I cannot sleep for thinking of thy face,

  Which thrusts itself between the dark and me,

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Sweethearts

© Dame Mary Gilmore

IT’S gettin’ bits o’ posies,
’N’ feelin’ mighty good;
A-thrillin’ ’cause she loves you,
An’ wond’rin’ why she should;