Smile poems
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Herbert Glerbett
© Jack Prelutsky
Herbert Glerbett, rather round,
swallow sherbet by the pound,
fifty pounds of lemon sherbet
went inside of Herbert Glerbett.
To My Father on His Birthday
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Amidst the days of pleasant mirth,
That throw their halo round our earth;
Reunion
© Dana Gioia
This is my past where no one knows me.
These are my friends whom I can’t name—
Here in a field where no one chose me,
The faces older, the voices the same.
The Two Children
© Emily Jane Brontë
Heavy hangs the raindrop
From the burdened spray;
Heavy broods the damp mist
On uplands far away;
from Odes: 30. The Orotava Road
© Ted Hughes
Four white heifers with sprawling hooves
trundle the waggon.
Lincoln
© Delmore Schwartz
Manic-depressive Lincoln, national hero!
How just and true that this great nation, being conceived
In liberty by fugitives should find
—Strange ways and plays of monstrous History—
This Hamlet-type to be the President—
The Smile
© William Blake
There is a Smile of Love
And there is a Smile of Deceit
And there is a Smile of Smiles
In which these two Smiles meet
Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl
© John Greenleaf Whittier
To the Memory of the Household It Describes
This Poem is Dedicated by the Author
Ellen West
© Frank Bidart
I love sweets,—
heaven
would be dying on a bed of vanilla ice cream ...
But my true self
September Notebook: Stories
© Robert Hass
Driving up 80 in the haze, they talked and talked.
(Smoke in the air shimmering from wildfires.)
His story was sad and hers was roiled, troubled.
Oft, in the Stilly Night (Scotch Air)
© Thomas Moore
Oft, in the stilly night,
Ere slumbers chain has bound me,
Playthings
© Anselm Hollo
Child, how happy you are sitting in the dust, playing with a broken twig all the morning.
I smile at your play with that little bit of a broken twig.
The Common Women Poems, II. Ella, in a square apron, along Highway 80
© Judy Grahn
She’s a copperheaded waitress,
tired and sharp-worded, she hides
Song of Three Smiles
© William Stanley Merwin
Let me call a ghost,
Love, so it be little:
In December we took
No thought for the weather.
She Was a Phantom of Delight
© André Breton
She was a Phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
from The Bridge: The Dance
© Hart Crane
The swift red flesh, a winter king
Who squired the glacier woman down the sky?
She ran the neighing canyons all the spring;
She spouted arms; she rose with maizeto die.
