Poems begining by S
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Summer
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Winter is cold-hearted
Spring is yea and nay,
Autumn is a weather-cock
Blown every way:
Summer days for me
When every leaf is on its tree;
Sleep-Stealer
© Rabindranath Tagore
Who stole sleep from baby's eyes? I must know.
Clasping her pitcher to her waist mother went to fetch water
Solitude
© Archibald Lampman
Sometimes a hawk screams or a woodpecker
Startles the stillness from its fixed mood
With his loud careless tap. Sometimes I hear
The dreamy white-throat from some far-off tree
Pipe slowly on the listening solitude
His five pure notes succeeding pensively.
Sonnet 48: Soul's Joy, Bend Not
© Sir Philip Sidney
Soul's joy, bend not those morning stars from me,
Where Virtue is made strong by Beauty's might,
Where Love is chasteness, Pain doth learn delight,
And Humbleness grows one with Majesty.
Sonnet XIX: The Soul's Rialto
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The soul's Rialto hath its merchandise;
I barter curl for curl upon that mart,
Song Of The Six Hundred M.P.'S
© Ezra Pound
We are 'ere met together
in this momentous hower,
Ter lick th' bankers' dirty boots
an' keep the Bank in power.
Sordello: Book the Second
© Robert Browning
What next? The curtains see
Dividing! She is there; and presently
He will be there-the proper You, at length-
In your own cherished dress of grace and strength:
Most like, the very Boniface!
Sorrow And Joys
© George Meredith
Bury thy sorrows, and they shall rise
As souls to the immortal skies,
And there look down like mothers' eyes.
Skyfaring
© William Watson
Then I to that ethereal charioteer:
"O whither through the vastness are we bound?
O bear me back to yonder blinded sphere!"
Therewith I heard the ends of night resound;
And, wakened by ten thousand echoes, found
That far-off planet lying all-too near.
Sonnet XL. From The Same.
© Charlotte Turner Smith
FAR on the sands, the low, retiring tide,
In distant murmurs hardly seems to flow;
And o'er the world of waters, blue and wide,
The sighing summer wind forgets to blow.
Some Account Of A New Play
© Richard Harris Barham
Tavistock Hotel, Nov. 1839.
Dear Charles,
- In reply to your letter, and Fanny's,
Lord Brougham, it appears, isn't dead,- though Queen Anne is;
'Twas a 'plot' and a 'farce'- you hate farces, you say -
Take another 'plot,' then, viz. the plot of a Play.
Spleen (III)
© Charles Baudelaire
Je suis comme le roi d'un pays pluvieux,
Riche, mais impuissant, jeune et pourtant très vieux,
Qui, de ses précepteurs méprisant les courbettes,
S'ennuie avec ses chiens comme avec d'autres bêtes.
Song Of Loves Coming
© Arthur Symons
Love comes unawares
(In my arms sighing).
Ah me, the many cares
Between his birth and dying!
Sonnet 47: What, Have I thus Betray'd
© Sir Philip Sidney
What, have I thus betray'd my liberty?
Can those black beams such burning marks engrave In my free side? or am I born a slave,
Whose neck becomes such yoke of tyranny?
Sea Breeze
© Stéphane Mallarme
The flesh is sad, Alas! and Ive read all the books.
Lets go! Far off. Lets go! I sense
Sonnet XXXIII: Yes, Call Me by My Pet-Name!
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Yes, call me by my pet-name! let me hear
The name I used to run at, when a child,
From innocent play, and leave the cowslips piled,
To glance up in some face that proved me dear
Shadows
© George MacDonald
All things are shadows of thee, Lord;
The sun himself is but thy shade;
My spirit is the shadow of thy word,
A thing that thou hast said.
Speak Poetry
© Friedrich von Schlegel
He who has religion will speak poetry. But philosophy is the tool with which to seek and discover religion.
