Poems begining by S
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Stanzas To The Po
© George Gordon Byron
River, that rollest by the ancient walls,
Where dwells the lady of my love, when she
Walks by thy brink, and there perchance recalls
A faint and fleeting memory of me;
Stone Breaking
© Duncan Campbell Scott
March wind rough
Clashed the trees,
Flung the snow;
Breaking stones,
Song of A Poor Pilgrim
© George MacDonald
Roses all the rosy way!
Roses to the rosier west
Where the roses of the day
Cling to night's unrosy breast!
Spring Bereaved 3
© William Henry Drummond
ALEXIS, here she stay'd; among these pines,
Sweet hermitress, she did alone repair;
Song For The Luddites
© George Gordon Byron
I.
As the Liberty lads o'er the sea
Bought their freedom, and cheaply, with blood,
So we, boys, we
Will die fighting, or live free,
And down with all kings but King Ludd!
Six O'Clock
© Trumbull Stickney
Now burst above the city's cold twilight
The piercing whistles and the tower-clocks:
For day is done. Along the frozen docks
The workmen set their ragged shirts aright.
Sonnet XXXVI: When We Met First
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
When we met first and loved, I did not build
Upon the event with marble. Could it mean
Sonnet 9
© Richard Barnfield
Diana (on a time) walking the wood,
To sport herselfe, of her faire traine forlorne,
Saving a Train
© William Topaz McGonagall
'Twas in the year of 1869, and on the 19th of November,
Which the people in Southern Germany will long remember,
The great rain-storm which for twenty hours did pour down,
That the rivers were overflowed and petty streams all around.
Saved by Music
© William Topaz McGonagall
At on time, in America, many years ago,
Large gray wolves wont to wander to and fro;
And from the farm yards they carried pigs and calves away,
Which they devoured ravenously, without dismay.
Southern Mansion
© Arna Bontemps
Poplars are standing there still as death
And ghosts of dead men
Meet their ladies walking
Two by two beneath the shade
And standing on the marble steps.
Silent Mark
© Cecilia Borromeo
another day is here and my hands are still covered
with a mantle of stoic ink
words scribbled on a hesitant paper
wishing to be read now not later.
something that you should know
© Cecilia Borromeo
my secrets
appear on your window
when you fog the division
with your own warm breath;
Spirit Dity Of No Fax Line Dial Tone
© Bob Hicok
The telephone company calls and asks what the fuss is.
Betty from the telephone company, who's not concerned
with the particulars of my life. For instance
if I believe in the transubstantiation of Christ
Sudden Movements
© Bob Hicok
My father's head has become a mystery to him.
We finally have something in common.
When he moves his head his eyes
get big as roses filled
Swan Song
© Gerald Stern
A bunch of old snakeheads down by the pond
carrying on the swan tradition -- hissing
inside their white bodies, raising and lowering their heads
like ostriches, regretting only the sad ritual
Seville
© Robert William Service
My Pa and Ma their honeymoon
Passed in an Andulasian June,
And though produced in Drury Lane,
I must have been conceived in Spain.
Spanish Peasant
© Robert William Service
We have no aspiration vain
For paradise Utopian,
And here in our sun-happy Spain,
Though man exploit his fellow man,
