Poems begining by S
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Sonnet Cycle For Lady Magdalen
© John Donne
Her of your name, whose fair inheritance
Bethina was, and jointure Magdalo:
Snubbing (Tying-up) The Raft
© William Henry Drummond
Las' night dey 're passin', de golden plover,
Dis mornin' Im seein' de bluebird's wing,
So if not'ing go wrong, de winters over,
An' not very long till we got de spring.
Sonnet 66: "Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry..."
© William Shakespeare
Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry,
As, to behold desert a beggar born,
Sonnet XXXVI: Life-In-Love
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Not in thy body is thy life at all,
But in this lady's lips and hands and eyes;
Spring Longing
© Emma Lazarus
Lilac hazes veil the skies.
Languid sighs
Breathes the mild, caressing air.
Pink as coral's branching sprays,
Orchard ways
With the blossomed peach are fair.
Sonnet XIV
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
Rise from your gory ashes stern and pale,
Ye martyred thousands! and with dreadful ire,
Song Of The American Indian
© William Lisle Bowles
Stranger, stay, nor wish to climb
The heights of yonder hills sublime;
Song Written At Sea, In The First Dutch War (1665), The Night Before An Engagement
© Charles Sackville
To all you ladies now at land
We men at sea indite;
Sketch From Bowden Hill After Sickness
© William Lisle Bowles
How cheering are thy prospects, airy hill,
To him who, pale and languid, on thy brow
Sea-ward, white gleaming thro' the busy scud (fragment)
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Sea-ward, white gleaming thro' the busy scud
With arching Wings, the sea-mew o'er my head
Posts on, as bent on speed, now passaging
Edges the stiffer Breeze, now, yielding, drifts,
Now floats upon the air, and sends from far
A wildly-wailing Note.
Sonnet Written In Holy Week At Genoa
© Oscar Wilde
O come and fill his sepulchre with flowers."
Ah, God! Ah, God! those dear Hellenic hours
Had drowned all memory of Thy bitter pain,
The Cross, the Crown, the Soldiers, and the Spear.
Swifts (2)
© Boris Pasternak
At twilight the swifts have no power,
to hold back that pale blue coolness.
Street Song
© Thom Gunn
I am too young to grow a beard
But yes man it was me you heard
In dirty denim and dark glasses.
I look through everyone who passes
But ask him clear, I do not plead,
Keys Lids acid and speed.
Spring
© Francis Ledwidge
Once more the lark with song and speed
Cleaves through the dawn, his hurried bars^;
Fall, like the flute of Ganymede
Twirling and whistling from the stars.
Sedan
© Henry Kendall
Another battle! and the sounds have rolled
By many a gloomy gorge and wasted plain
Stray Seed
© Robert Laurence Binyon
A far look in absorbed eyes, unaware
Of what some gazer thrills to gather there;
Happy voice, singing to itself apart,
That pulses new blood through a listener's heart;
Small Conversation In The Afternoon With John Fante
© Charles Bukowski
he said, "I was working in Hollywood when Faulkner was
working in Hollywood and he was
the worst: he was too drunk to stand up at the
end of the afternoon and so I had to help him
into a taxi
day after day after day.
Sonnet LXXVIII: Body's Beauty
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Of Adam's first wife, Lilith, it is told
(The witch he loved before the gift of Eve,)
