Poems begining by S

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Spasskoe

© Boris Pasternak

In Spasskoe, unforgettable September sheds its leaves.

Isnt it time to close up the summer-house?

Scenes From The Faust Of Goethe

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

CHORUS:
Thy countenance gives the Angels strength,
Though none can comprehend Thee:
And all Thy lofty works
Are excellent as at the first day.

Sonnet XLVI.

© Charlotte Turner Smith

Written at Penhurst, in Autumn 1788.
YE towers sublime! deserted now and drear!
Ye woods! deep sighing to the hollow blast,
The musing wanderer loves to linger near,

Song I

© Sara Teasdale

You bound strong sandals on my feet,
You gave me bread and wine,
And sent me under sun and stars,
For all the world was mine.

Sonnet 3

© Richard Barnfield

The Stoicks thinke, (and they come neare the truth,)

That vertue is the chiefest good of all,

Saint Sebastian

© Valery Yaklovich Bryusov

On slow and smoky fire thou burn'st and art consumed,
O thou, my soul!
On slow and smoky fire thou burn'st and art consumed,
With hidden dole.

Sur Une Coquette

© Isaac de Benserade

Une foule d'amants, que chez vous on tolère,
De vos facilités cherche à s'avantager;
La patience même en serait en colère,
Etes-vous un butin qu'il faille partager?

Sultry Night

© Boris Pasternak

It drizzled, but not even grasses
Would bend within the bag of storm;
Dust only gulped its rain in pellets,
The iron roof-in powder form.

Shakuntala Act III

© Kalidasa

ACT III
SCENE The HERMITAGE in a Grove.
The Hermit's Pupil bearing consecrated grass.

SPRING will come to help me: she'll be back again,
Back with the soft sun, the sun I knew before.
She will wear her green gown, the emerald gown she wore
When the white-faced windflowers blew along the lane.

Sleep And Death.

© Robert Crawford

Sleep puts sin by, as the grave life's despair;
And though bad dreams in sleep may come, the soul
Is tainted not with error, being then
Beyond the body's shade, as in a sphere

Silent Camp

© Jessie Pope

In heaven, a pale uncertain star,
Through sullen vapour peeps,
On earth, extended wide and far,
In all the symmetry of war,
A weary army sleeps.

Song for a Singer

© John Shaw Neilson

When you go underground with all your airs,
Your kindly lies and your ridiculous prayers,
You shall not ever fear to face again
The strong man's rage, the woman wild with pain
Nor song nor sigh will beat upon your brain.

Sonnets Are Full Of Love

Sonnets are full of love, and this my tome

Has many sonnets: so here now shall be

Song of the Shingle-Splitters

IN dark wild woods, where the lone owl broods

And the dingoes nightly yell

Song

If I had only loved your flesh
And careless damned your soul to Hell,
I might have laughed and loved afresh,
And loved as lightly and as well,
And little more to tell.

Stanzas For Music: There's Not A Joy The World Can Give

There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away
When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay;
'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast,
But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past.