Poems begining by S
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Suburban Dames
© Lesbia Harford
All day long
We sew fine muslin up for you to wear,
Muslin that women wove for you elsewhere,
A million strong.
Sonnet XI
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
Not on the low or lofty, great or small,
Should justice fix for judgment; the true soul,
Which sways its own world in serene control,
Highest or humblest--such the Masters call
Shall summon upward, with its deep "well done,"
And the just Father crown his faithful son!
Spring
© Boris Pasternak
This spring the world is new and different;
More lively is the sparrows' riot.
I do not even try expressing it,
How full my soul is and how quiet.
Sonnet XVII. To Sir Henry Vane The Younger
© John Milton
Vane, young in years, but in sage counsel old,
Than whom a better senator ne'er held
The helm of Rome, when gowns, not arms repell'd
The fierce Epirot and the African bold,
Seranata
© Federico Garcia Lorca
The night soaks itself
along the shore of the river
and in Lolita's breasts
the branches die of love.
Sonnet LXIX: Autumn Idleness
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
This sunlight shames November where he grieves
In dead red leaves, and will not let him shun
Stanza, Written At Bracknell
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Thy dewy looks sink in my breast;
Thy gentle words stir poison there;
Thou hast disturbed the only rest
That was the portion of despair!
Seventy-Nine
© Francis Bret Harte
Know me next time when you see me, won't you, old smarty?
Oh, I mean YOU, old figger-head,--just the same party!
Take out your pensivil, d--n you; sharpen it, do!
Any complaints to make? Lots of 'em--one of 'em's YOU.
Sonnet 15: You That Do Search
© Sir Philip Sidney
You that do search for every purling spring,
Which from the ribs of old Parnassus flows,
And every flower, not sweet perhaps, which grows
Near thereabouts, into your poesy wring;
Sonnet XX. The Lovers Sonnet. Midnight.
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
I WAITED through the night, while summer blew
The breath of roses through my darkened room.
The whispering breeze just stirred the leafy gloom
Beyond the window. On the lawn the dew
Song (Love)
© Aphra Behn
When full brute Appetite is fed,
And choakd the Glutton lies and dead;
Thou new Spirits dost dispense,
And fine'st the gross Delights of Sense.
Swimming With A Hundred Year Old Snapping Turtle by Freya Manfred: American Life in Poetry #113 Ted
© Ted Kooser
American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Reprinted by permission of Freya Manfred, whose most recent book is My Only Home, 2003, from Red Dragonfly Press. Poem copyright © 2006 by Freya Manfred. Introduction copyright © 2009 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.
Shadow-of-a-Leaf
© Alfred Noyes
Bird, squirrel, bee, and the thing that was like no other
Played in the woods that day,
Talked in the heart of the woods, as brother to brother,
And prayed as children pray,
Make me a garland, Lady, a garland, Mother,
For this wild rood of may.
Satyr III. Virtue
© Thomas Parnell
Is virtue something reall here below
Or but an Idle name & empty show
While on this head I take my thoughts to task
Methinks young Freedom answers wt I ask
In his own moralls thus the Spark goes on
Or thus if he were here he might have don
Stanzas: When A Man Hath No Freedom
© George Gordon Byron
When a man hath no freedom to fight for at home,
Let him combat for that of his neighbours;
Six Sonnets On Dante's Divine Comedy
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I
Oft have I seen at some cathedral door
Song: To Cynthia
© Benjamin Jonson
Queen and huntress, chaste and fair,
Now the sun is laid to sleep,
Seated in thy silver chair,
State in wonted manner keep:
Hesperus entreats thy light,
Goddess excellently bright.
Sir Walter Raleigh (The night before his death)
© Sir Walter Raleigh
Even such is time, which takes in trust
Our youth, our joys, and all we have,
And pays us nought but age and dust;
Which in the dark and silent grave,
Sordello: Book the Sixth
© Robert Browning
The thought of Eglamor's least like a thought,
And yet a false one, was, "Man shrinks to nought
Sonnet. "Thou restless voice! that wandering up and down"
© Frances Anne Kemble
Thou restless voice! that wandering up and down
These forest paths, where for this many a day,
