Poems begining by S

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Stanzas Composed During A Thunder-storm

© George Gordon Byron

Chill and mirk is the nightly blast,
Where Pindus' mountains rise,
And angry clouds are pouring fast
The vengeance of the skies.

She Is Not Fair To Outward View

© Hartley Coleridge

SHE is not fair to outward view,

As many maidens be,

Sunday

© George MacDonald

A dim, vague shrinking haunts my soul,
My spirit bodeth ill-
As some far-off restraining bank
Had burst, and waters, many a rank,
Were marching on my hill;

Sister Rosa: A Ballad

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

III.
But that hour is past;
And that hour was the last
Of peace to the dark Monks brain.
Bitter tears, from his eyes, gushed silent and fast;
And he strove to suppress them in vain.

Song of the Squatter

© Anonymous

The boss last night in the hut did say
We start to muster at break of day;
So be up first thing, and dont be slow;
Saddle your horses and off you go.

Story Of Mrs. W-

© Dorothy Parker

My garden blossoms pink and white,
A place of decorous murmuring,
Where I am safe from August night
And cannot feel the knife of Spring.

Sonnet

© Joachim du Bellay

Say, canst thou number all the stars that gleam

Along the silent air in dazzling light,

There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.

Sick I Am And Sorrowful

© Dora Sigerson Shorter

Heard again the storm clouds roll hanging over Lugnaquilla,
Built dream castles from the sands of Killiney's golden shore.
If I saw the wild geese fly over the dark lakes of Kerry
Or could hear the secret winds, I could kneel and pray.
But 'tis sick I am and grieving, how can I be well again
Here, where fear and sorrow aremy heart so far away?

Self-Harmony.

© Robert Crawford

Ourselves within ourselves, we then are free
To touch the world at every turn, and take
The moods of men and mingle them with ours;
But ourselves out of ourselves, we are slaved

Sonnet XLIV. Veiled Memories.

© Christopher Pearse Cranch

OF love that was, of friendship in the days
Of youth long gone, yet oft remembered still,
And seen like distant landscapes from a hill,
Clothed in a garment of aërial haze,

Sonnet XXIV: Let the World's Sharpness

© Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Let the world's sharpness like a clasping knife

Shut in upon itself and do no harm

Sonnet To My Friend - With An Identity Disc

© Wilfred Owen

If ever I had dreamed of my dead name
High in the heart of London, unsurpassed
By Time for ever, and the Fugitive, Fame,
There seeking a long sanctuary at last, -

Stand by the Engines

© Henry Lawson

ON THE moonlighted decks there are children at play,
While smoothly the steamer is holding her way;
And the old folks are chatting on deck-seats and chairs,
And the lads and the lassies go strolling in pairs.

Standing by my bed

© Sappho

Standing by my bed
in gold sandals
Dawn that very
moment awoke me

Sweet May

The summer is come!-the summer is come!

With its flowers and its branches green,

Somebody Stole My Rig

I'm haulin' twenty tons of freight into New York state
Started thinkin' bout Mary Jane
She lived over the hill I had an hour to kill I thought I'd get in out of the rain
Oh my she looked so fine had a bottle of wine