Poems begining by S
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She, To Him III
© Thomas Hardy
I WILL be faithful to thee; aye, I will!
And Death shall choose me with a wondering eye
That he did not discern and domicile
One his by right ever since that last Good-bye!
She, to Him, I
© Thomas Hardy
When you shall see me lined by tool of Time,
My lauded beauties carried off from me,
My eyes no longer stars as in their prime,
My name forgot of Maiden Fair and Free;
She, to Him, II
© Thomas Hardy
Perhaps, long hence, when I have passed away,
Some others feature, accent, thought like mine,
Will carry you back to what I used to say,
And bring some memory of your loves decline.
San Sebastian
© Thomas Hardy
"I watched her to-day; a more comely maid,
As she danced in her muslin bowed with blue,
Round a Hintock maypole never gayed."
--"Aye, aye; I watched her this day, too,
As it happens," the Sergeant said.
Song of the Soldier's Wifes.
© Thomas Hardy
I At last! In sight of home again,
Of home again;
No more to range and roam again
As at that bygone time?
Sapphic Fragment
© Thomas Hardy
Dead shalt thou lie; and nought
Be told of thee or thought,
For thou hast plucked not of the Muses' tree:
And even in Hades' halls
Amidst thy fellow-thralls
No friendly shade thy shade shall company!
She Hears The Storm
© Thomas Hardy
There was a time in former years--
While my roof-tree was his--
When I should have been distressed by fears
At such a night as this!
Shelley's Skylark (The neighbourhood of Leghorn: March)
© Thomas Hardy
Somewhere afield here something lies
In Earth's oblivious eyeless trust
That moved a poet to prophecies -
A pinch of unseen, unguarded dust
She, To Him IV
© Thomas Hardy
THIS love puts all humanity from me;
I can but maledict her, pray her dead,
For giving love and getting love of thee--
Feeding a heart that else mine own had fed!
She, To Him
© Thomas Hardy
WHEN you shall see me lined by tool of Time,
My lauded beauties carried off from me,
My eyes no longer stars as in their prime,
My name forgot of Maiden Fair and Free;
She At His Funeral
© Thomas Hardy
THEY bear him to his resting-place--
In slow procession sweeping by;
I follow at a stranger's space;
His kindred they, his sweetheart I.
Something About The Trees
© Linda Pastan
I remember what my father told me:
There is an age when you are most yourself.
He was just past fifty then,
Was it something about the trees that make him speak?
Self-Portrait
© Linda Pastan
After Adam ZagajewskiI am child to no one, mother to a few,
wife for the long haul.
On fall days I am happy
with my dying brethren, the leaves,
Send Me A Leaf
© Bertolt Brecht
Send me a leaf, but from a bush
That grows at least one half hour
Away from your house, then
You must go and will be strong, and I
Thank you for the pretty leaf.
Solidarity Song
© Bertolt Brecht
Peoples of the world, together
Join to serve the common cause!
So it feeds us all for ever
See to it that it's now yours.
Seaward
© Joseph Brodsky
Darling, you think it's love, it's just a midnight journey.
Best are the dales and rivers removed by force,
as from the next compartment throttles "Oh, stop it, Bernie,"
yet the rhythm of those paroxysms is exactly yours.
Stone Villages
© Joseph Brodsky
The stone-built villages of England.
A cathedral bottled in a pub window.
Cows dispersed across fields.
Monuments to kings.
Seven Strophes
© Joseph Brodsky
I was but what you'd brush
with your palm, what your leaning
brow would hunch to in evening's
raven-black hush.
