Poems begining by S
/ page 238 of 287 /Sonnet XXX: Whether the Turkish New Moon
© Sir Philip Sidney
Whether the Turkish new moon minded be
To fill his horns this year on Christian coast;
How Poles' right king means, with leave of host,
To warm with ill-made fire cold Muscovy;
Sonnet XXVI: Mid-Rapture
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Thou lovely and beloved, thou my love;
Whose kiss seems still the first; whose summoning eyes,
Sonnet XX: Fly, Fly, My Friends
© Sir Philip Sidney
Fly, fly, my friends, I have my death wound; fly!
See there that boy, that murthering boy I say,
Who like a thief, hid in dark bush doth lie,
Till bloody bullet get him wrongful prey.
Sonnet II: Not At First Sight
© Sir Philip Sidney
Not at first sight, nor with a dribbed shot
Love gave the wound, which while I breathe will bleed;
But known worth did in mine of time proceed,
Till by degrees it had full conquest got:
Song
© Emily Jane Brontë
The linnet in the rocky dells,
The moor-lark in the air,
The bee among the heather bells
That hide my lady fair:
Sonnet XXVII: Because I Oft
© Sir Philip Sidney
Because I oft in dark abstracted guise
Seem most alone in greatest company,
With dearth of words, or answers quite awry,
To them that would make speech of speech arise,
Sonnet III: With how sad steps
© Sir Philip Sidney
With how sad steps, O moon, thou climb'st the skies!
How silently, and with how wan a face!
What! may it be that even in heavenly place
That busy archer his sharp arrows tries?
Song from Arcadia
© Sir Philip Sidney
My true love hath my heart, and I have his,
By Just Exchange, one for the other given.
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,
There never was a better bargain driven.
Sonnet I: Loving In Truth
© Sir Philip Sidney
Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show,
That she (dear She) might take some pleasure of my pain:
Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,
Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain;
Scented Herbage Of My Breast
© Walt Whitman
SCENTED herbage of my breast,
Leaves from you I yield, I write, to be perused best afterwards,
Sleep
© Sir Philip Sidney
Come Sleep; O Sleep! the certain knot of peace,
The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe,
The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release,
Th' indifferent judge between the high and low;
Sun and Shadow
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
As I look from the isle, o'er its billows of green,
To the billows of foam-crested blue,
Spring
© John Gould Fletcher
At the first hour, it was as if one said, "Arise."
At the second hour, it was as if one said, "Go forth."
And the winter constellations that are like patient ox-eyes
Sank below the white horizon at the north.
Siren
© Louise Gluck
I didn't want to go to Chicago with you.
I wanted to marry you, I wanted
Your wife to suffer.
Snowdrops
© Louise Gluck
Do you know what I was, how I lived? You know
what despair is; then
winter should have meaning for you.
Science
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Alone I climb the steep ascending path
Which leads to knowledge. In the babbling throngs
Snow
© Louise Gluck
Late December: my father and I
are going to New York, to the circus.
He holds me
on his shoulders in the bitter wind:
scraps of white paper
blow over the railroad ties.
Saints
© Louise Gluck
In our family, there were two saints,
my aunt and my grandmother.
But their lives were different.
Summer
© Louise Gluck
But we were lost in a way, didn't you feel that?
The bed was like a raft; I felt us drifting
far from our natures, toward a place where we'd discover nothing.
First the sun, then the moon, in fragments,
stone through the willow.
Things anyone could see.
Snow White, to the Prince
© Chris Tusa
Truth is, my life was no fairytale,
that afternoon, I lay, a smiling corpse
under a glass sky, a rotten apple
lodged in my throat like a black lump
of cancer, your sloppy kiss dying on my lips.