Poems begining by S

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Sonnet III (To the Virgin Mary)

© Mikolaj Sep Szarzynski

Unequalled Virgin, the second ornament
Of the human race, whose dignity has not diminished
Her humility, nor has humility lessened her generosity of heart,
O rare Mother of her own Creator!

This is the sonnet, this is all delight
Of every flower that blows in every Spring,
And all desire of every desert place;
This is the joy that fills a cloudy night
When bursting from her misty following,
A perfect moon wins to an empty space.

Sierra Madre

© Henry Van Dyke

O mother mountains! billowing far to the snowlands,
Robed in aërial amethyst, silver, and blue,
Why do ye look so proudly down on the lowlands?
What have their groves and gardens to do with you?

Song

© Madison Julius Cawein

Unto the portal of the House of Song,
Symbols of wrong and emblems of unrest,
And mottoes of despair and envious jest,
And stony masks of scorn and hate belong.

Sleep of the Body the Soul's Awakening

© Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi

Every night Thou freest our spirits from the body

And its snare, making them pure as rased tablets.

Spring On Mattagmi

© Duncan Campbell Scott

Far in the east the rain-clouds sweep and harry,

Down the long haggard hills, formless and low,

Sultan

© Nizar Qabbani

If I were promised safety,

if I could meet the Sultan

Shakespeare

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

"Who claims our Shakespeare from that realm unknown,
Beyond the storm-vexed islands of the deep,
Where Genoa's roving mariner was blown?
Her twofold Saint's-day let our England keep;
Shall warring aliens share her holy task?"
The Old World echoes ask.

Shaemus

© Conrad Aiken

We will go no more to Shaemus, at the Nip,
for sly innuendo and an Oporto Flip,
the rough but tender voice, the wide-mouthed grin,
the steady-unsteady hand that poured the gin:

South-West Wind In The Woodland

© George Meredith

The silence of preluded song -

AEolian silence charms the woods;

Sonnet 7: When Nature

© Sir Philip Sidney

When Nature made her chief work, Stella's eyes,
In color black why wrapp'd she beams so bright?
Would she in beamy black, like painter wise,
Frame daintiest lustre, mix'd of shades and light?

Stings

© Sylvia Plath

Bare-handed, I hand the combs.
The man in white smiles, bare-handed,
Our cheesecloth gauntlets neat and sweet,
The throats of our wrists brave lilies.
He and I

Sport

© Hamlin Garland

Somewhere, in deeps

Of tangled, ripening wheat,

Sonnet XLIV: Cloud and Wind

© Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Love, should I fear death most for you or me?

Yet if you die, can I not follow you,

Sonnet 41: Having This Day My Horse

Having this day my horse, my hand, my lance

Guided so well that I obtain'd the prize,

Sonnet. "Is it a sin, to wish that I may meet thee"

Is it a sin, to wish that I may meet thee

In that dim world whither our spirits stray,

Sonnet. "I would I knew the lady of thy heart!"

I would I knew the lady of thy heart!

She whom thou lov'st, perchance, as I love thee.

Sonnet XIX

But since, in all that brief Life's narrow scope,
No day pass'd by without some gentle deed,
Let us not "mourn like them that have no hope,"
Though sharp the stroke,--and suddenly decreed;