Poems begining by S
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Security
© William Stafford
Tomorrow will have an island. Before night
I always find it. Then on to the next island.
These places hidden in the day separate
and come forward if you beckon.
But you have to know they are there before they exist.
Silence
© Edith Nesbit
So silent is the world to-night
The lamp gives silence out like light,
The latticed windows open wide
Show silence, like the night, outside:
The nightingale's faint song draws near
Like musical silence to mine ear.
Summer Night, Riverside
© Sara Teasdale
And now, far off
In the fragrant darkness
The tree is tremulous again with bloom
For June comes back.
Sea-blown
© Joaquin Miller
AH! there be souls none understand;
Like clouds, they cannot touch the land.
Unanchored ships, they blow and blow,
Sail to and fro, and then go down
September 22
© David Lehman
It's the day of the ram
and the head of the year
Rosh Ha'Shanah at
services I sat next to
Shake The Superflux!
© David Lehman
I like walking on streets as black and wet as this one
now, at two in the solemnly musical morning, when everyone else
in this town emptied of Lestrygonians and Lotus-eaters
is asleep or trying or worrying why
Sappers
© Rudyard Kipling
When the Waters were dried an' the Earth did appear,
("It's all one," says the Sapper),
The Lord He created the Engineer,
Her Majesty's Royal Engineer,
With the rank and pay of a Sapper!
Sestina
© David Lehman
At the restaurant, people were talking about Philip Levine's
latest: the Pulitzer. A toast was proposed by Anne Sexton.
No one saw the stranger, who said his name was Marvin Bell,
pour something into Donna's drink. "In the Walt Whitman
Shopping Center, there you feel free," said Ted Berrigan,
pulling on a Chesterfield. Everyone laughed, except T. S. Eliot.
Sunset On The Cunimbla Valley, Blue Mountains
© Douglas Brooke Wheelton Sladen
I SAT upon a windy mountain height,
On a huge rock outstanding from the rest;
Sexism
© David Lehman
The happiest moment in a woman's life
Is when she hears the turn of her lover's key
In the lock, and pretends to be asleep
When he enters the room, trying to be
Sound Of Sleat
© Jackie Kay
I always looked out at the world,
And wondered if the world looked back at me,
Standing on the edge of something,
On my face- the wind from the cold sea.
Sonnet XXIX: Like Some Weak Lords
© Sir Philip Sidney
Like some weak lords, neighbor'd by mighty kings,
To keep themselves and their chief cities free,
Do easily yield, that all their coasts may be
Ready to store their camps of needful things:
Sonnet XXIII: The Curious Wits
© Sir Philip Sidney
The curious wits seeing dull pensiveness
Bewray itself in my long settled eyes,
Whence those same fumes of melancholy rise,
With idle pains, and missing aim, do guess.
Splendidis longum valedico Nugis
© Sir Philip Sidney
Leave me, O Love, which reachest but to dust,
And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things!
Grow rich in that which never taketh rust:
Whatever fades, but fading pleasure brings.
Sapientia Lunae
© Ernest Christopher Dowson
The wisdom of the world said unto me:
"_Go forth and run, the race is to the brave;
Perchance some honour tarrieth for thee!_"
"As tarrieth," I said, "for sure, the grave."
For I had pondered on a rune of roses,
Which to her votaries the moon discloses.
Sonnet XVIII: 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:
Sonnet XXII: In Highest Way of Heav'n
© Sir Philip Sidney
In highest way of heav'n the Sun did ride,
Progressing then from fair twins' golden place:
Having no scarf of clouds before his face,
But shining forth of heat in his chief pride;
Sonnet XCII: Be Your Words Made
© Sir Philip Sidney
Be your words made, good sir, of Indian ware,
That you allow me them by so small rate?
Or do you cutted Spartans imitate?
Or do you mean my tender ears to spare,
Sonnet IV: Virtue, Alas
© Sir Philip Sidney
Virtue, alas, now let me take some rest.
Thou set'st a bate between my soul and wit.
If vain love have my simple soul oppress'd,
Leave what thou likest not, deal not thou with it.
Sonnet XIV: Alas, Have I Not
© Sir Philip Sidney
Alas, have I not pain enough, my friend,
Upon whose breast a fiercer gripe doth tire,
Than did on him who first stole down the fire,
While Love on me doth all his quiver spend,
