Smile poems
/ page 352 of 369 /
Lenten Thoughts of a High Anglican
© John Betjeman
Isn't she lovely, "the Mistress"?
With her wide-apart grey-green eyes,
The droop of her lips and, when she smiles,
Her glance of amused surprise?
The Olympic Girl
© John Betjeman
The sort of girl I like to see
Smiles down from her great height at me.
She stands in strong, athletic pose
And wrinkles her retrouss? nose.
Symptoms
© Sophie Hannah
Although you have given me a stomach upset,
Weak knees, a lurching heart, a fuzzy brain,
A high-pitched laugh, a monumental phone bill,
A feeling of unworthiness, sharp pain
Confined Love
© John Donne
Some man unworthy to be possessor
Of old or new love, himself being false or weak,
Thought his pain and shame would be lesser
If on womankind he might his anger wreak,
Mothers Smile
© Michael Burch
There never was a fonder smile
than mothers smile, no softer touch
than mothers touch. So sleep awhile
and know she loves you more than much.
The Forge
© Michael Burch
To at last be indestructible, a poem
must first glow, almost flammable, upon
a thing inert, as gray, as dull as stone,
The Folly of Wisdom
© Michael Burch
She is wise in the way that children are wise,
looking at me with such knowing, grave eyes
I must bend down to her to understand.
But she only smiles, and takes my hand.
She Was Very Strange, and Beautiful
© Michael Burch
She was very strange, and beautiful,
as the violet mist upon the hills
before night falls
when the hoot owl calls
and the cricket trills
and the envapored moon hangs low and full.
The Smile on the Face of a Kouros
© William Bronk
This boy, of course, was dead, whatever that
might mean. And nobly dead. I think we should feel
he was nobly dead. He fell in battle, perhaps,
and this carved stone remembers him
On a young Lady Whose LORD was Travelling.
© Anne Killigrew
NO sooner I pronounced Celindas name,
But Troops of wing'd Pow'rs did chant the fame:
Not those the Poets Bows and Arrows lend,
But such as on the Altar do attend.
A Pastoral Dialogue (Melibæus, Alcippe, Asteria, Licida, Alcimedon, and Amira. )
© Anne Killigrew
Melibæus. WElcome fair Nymphs, most welcome to this shade,
Distemp'ring Heats do now the Plains invade:
But you may sit, from Sun securely here,
If you an old mans company not fear.
To the Queen.
© Anne Killigrew
I saw that Pitch was not sublime,
Compar'd with this which now I climb;
His Glories sunk, and were unseen,
When once appear'd the Heav'n-born Queen:
Victories, Laurels, Conquer'd Kings,
Took place among inferiour things.
At Night On The High Seas
© Hermann Hesse
At night, when the sea cradles me
And the pale star gleam
Lies down on its broad waves,
Then I free myself wholly
Thinking Of A Friend At Night
© Hermann Hesse
In this evil year, autumn comes early...
I walk by night in the field, alone, the rain clatters,
The wind on my hat...And you? And you, my friend?
Gregory Corso
© Gregory Corso
Budger of history Brake of time You Bomb
Toy of universe Grandest of all snatched sky I cannot hate you
Do I hate the mischievous thunderbolt the jawbone of an ass
The bumpy club of One Million B.C. the mace the flail the axe
The Sale of Saint Thomas
© Lascelles Abercrombie
Captain Well, I hope so.
There's threatening in the weather. Have you a mind
To hug your belly to the slanted deck,
Like a louse on a whip-top, when the boat
Spins on an axlie in the hissing gales?
Minstrelsy
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
For ever, since my childish looks
Could rest on Nature's pictured books;
For ever, since my childish tongue
Could name the themes our bards have sung;
Rosalind's Scroll
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
I have pray'd for thee with bursting sob
When passion's course was free;
I have pray'd for thee with silent lips
In the anguish none could see;
They whisper'd oft, 'She sleepeth soft'--
But I only pray'd for thee.
Ix
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Can it be right to give what I can give ?
To let thee sit beneath the fall of tears
As salt as mine, and hear the sighing years
Re-sighing on my lips renunciative
Substitution
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
WHEN some beloved voice that was to you
Both sound and sweetness, faileth suddenly,
And silence, against which you dare not cry,
Aches round you like a strong disease and new--
