Poems begining by S
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Speak
© Faiz Ahmed Faiz
Speak, your lips are free.
Speak, it is your own tongue.
Speak, it is your own body.
Speak, your life is still yours.
Songs Of Poltescoe Valley
© Arthur Symons
I
Under the trees in the dell.
Here by the side of the stream,
Were it not pleasant to dream,
Were it not better to dwell?
Samuel J. Tilden
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Once more, O all-adjusting Death!
The nation's Pantheon opens wide;
Once more a common sorrow saith
A strong, wise man has died.
Stonepit
© John Clare
The passing traveller with wonder sees
A deep and ancient stonepit full of trees;
Song IV
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
O! TO be
By the sea, the sea!
While a brave nor'wester's blowing,
With a swirl on the lee,
St. Dorothy
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
And Theophile burnt in the cheek, and said:
Yea, could one see it, this were marvellous.
I pray you, at your coming to this house,
Give me some leaf of all those tree-branches;
Seeing how so sharp and white our weather is,
There is no green nor gracious red to see.
St. Barnabas
© John Keble
The world's a room of sickness, where each heart
Knows its own anguish and unrest;
Sion
© George Herbert
Lord, with what glorie wast thou serv'd of old,
When Solomon's temple stood and flourished!
Where most things were of purest gold;
The wood was all embellished
With flowers and carvings mysticall and rare:
All show'd the builder's, crav'd the seer's care.
Song I
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
FLY, swiftly fly
Through yon fair sky,
O purple-pinioned Hours!
And bring once more the balmy night,
Sonnett - V
© James Russell Lowell
TO THE SPIRIT OF KEATS
Great soul, thou sittest with me in my room,
Saturation
© Piet Hein
The heavens are draining,
its raining and raining,
and everything couldnt be wetter,
and things are so bad
that we ought to be glad:
because now they can only get better.
Soliloquy
© Jane Taylor
Here's a beautiful earth and a wonderful sky,
And to see them, God gives us a heart and an eye;
Sonnet LXXV.
© Charlotte Turner Smith
WHERE the wild woods and pathless forests frown,
The darkling Pilgrim seeks his unknown way,
Till on the grass he throws him weary down,
To wait in broken sleep the dawn of day:
South-Folk In Cold Country
© Ezra Pound
The Dai horse neighs against the bleak wind of Etsu,
The birds of Etsu have no love for En, in the north,
Santa Filomena. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The First)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Whene'er a noble deed is wrought,
Whene'er is spoken a noble thought,
Our hearts, in glad surprise,
To higher levels rise.
Sonnet
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Did ye not guess ... the diadem might be
Plaited in stranger style by hands of hate ...
But when I looked, the wall was desolate
And the grey starlight powdered tower and tree:
And vast and vague beyond the Golden Gate
Heaved Moab of the mountains like a sea.
Spring
© Henry Timrod
Spring, with that nameless pathos in the air
Which dwells with all things fair,
Spring, with her golden suns and silver rain,
Is with us once again.
Sonnet To Sleep
© John Keats
O soft embalmer of the still midnight!
Shutting, with careful fingers and benign,
Our gloom-pleas'd eyes, embower'd from the light,
Enshaded in forgetfulness divine;
