Poems begining by S

 / page 239 of 287 /
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Sestina

© Dante Alighieri

I have come, alas, to the great circle of shadow,
to the short day and to the whitening hills,
when the colour is all lost from the grass,
though my desire will not lose its green,
so rooted is it in this hardest stone,
that speaks and feels as though it were a woman.

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Surprise

© Richard Brautigan

I lift the toliet seat
as if it were the nest of a bird
and I see cat tracks
all around the edge of the bowl.

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San Francisco

© Richard Brautigan

This poem was found written on a paper bag by Richard
Brautigan in a laundromat in San Francisco. The author is unknown.By accident, you put
Your money in my
Machine (#4)

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Science-fiction Cradlesong

© Clive Staples Lewis

By and by Man will try
To get out into the sky,
Sailing far beyond the air
From Down and Here to Up and There.
Stars and sky, sky and stars
Make us feel the prison bars.

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Sorry

© Ronald Stuart Thomas

Dear parents,
I forgive you my life,
Begotten in a drab town,
The intention was good;
Passing the street now,
I see still the remains of sunlight.

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Seen

© Kobayashi Issa

Seen
through a telescope:
ten cents worth of fog.

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Summer night

© Kobayashi Issa

Summer night--
even the stars
are whispering to each other.

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Songs of the High Country

© Antonio Machado

Soria, in blue mountains,
on the fields of violet,
how often I’ve dreamed of you
on the plain of flowers,

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Soap Suds

© Louis MacNeice

This brand of soap has the same smell as once in the big
House he visited when he was eight: the walls of the bathroom open
To reveal a lawn where a great yellow ball rolls back through a hoop
To rest at the head of a mallet held in the hands of a child.

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Snow

© Louis MacNeice

The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink rose against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.

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Sestina: Here In Katmandu

© Donald Justice

We have climbed the mountain.
There's nothing more to do.
It is terrible to come down
To the valley
Where, amidst many flowers,
One thinks of snow,

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Sadness

© Donald Justice

1
Dear ghosts, dear presences, O my dear parents,
Why were you so sad on porches, whispering?
What great melancholies were loosed among our swings!

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Salute

© James Schuyler

Past is past, and if one
remembers what one meant
to do and never did, is
not to have thought to do

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Sunday

© James Schuyler

The mint bed is in
bloom: lavender haze
day. The grass is
more than green and

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Shancoduff

© Patrick Kavanagh

My black hills have never seen the sun rising,
Eternally they look north towards Armagh.
Lot's wife would not be salt if she had been
Incurious as my black hills that are happy
When dawn whitens Glassdrummond chapel.

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Stony Grey Soil

© Patrick Kavanagh

You told me the plough was immortal!
O green-life conquering plough!
The mandrill stained, your coulter blunted
In the smooth lea-field of my brow.

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Sleep Spaces

© Robert Desnos

In the night there are of course the seven wonders
of the world and the greatness tragedy and enchantment.
Forests collide with legendary creatures hiding in thickets.
There is you.

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Sky Song

© Robert Desnos

The flower of the Alps told the seashell: "You're shining"
The seashell told the sea: "You echo"
The sea told the boat: "You're shuddering"
The boat told the fire: "You're glowing brightly"

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Sunk Lyonesse

© Walter de la Mare

In sea-cold Lyonesse,
When the Sabbath eve shafts down
On the roofs, walls, belfries
Of the foundered town,

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Some One

© Walter de la Mare

Some one came knocking
At my wee, small door;
Someone came knocking;
I'm sure-sure-sure;