Poems begining by V

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Vigil

© Robert Laurence Binyon

In the hollow of pale night upon the moor
The silence blows a perfume: O but hark!
A sound is in the bosom of the dark,
Breathed like a secret from the glimmering shore;

Venus Mistaken

© Matthew Prior

When Cloe's Picture was to Venus shown;
Surpriz'd, the Goddess took it for Her own.
And what, said She, does this bold Painter mean?
When was I Bathing thus, and Naked seen?

Verses, To William Lyttleton, Esq.

© William Shenstone

How blithely pass'd the summer's day!
How bright was every flower!
While friends arrived in circles gay,
To visit Damon's bower!

Veterans of the Seventies by Marvin Bell: American Life in Poetry #146 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureat

Post-traumatic stress disorder is a new name for âshell shock,â? a term once applied only to military veterans. Here the poet Marvin Bell describes a group of these emotionally damaged soldiers, gathered together for breakfast. I'd guess that just about everybody who reads this column has known one or two men like these.

Veterans of the Seventies

Vale

© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay

LONE Voyager! Thy Ship of Dreams
Spreads its free sail and slips away
Into the distant visioning
That lies behind the end of day.

Vegetables

© Sheldon Allan Silverstein

Eat a tomato and you'll turn red
(I don't think that's really so);
Eat a carrot and you'll turn orange
(Still and all, you never know);

Voyages VI

© Hart Crane

Where icy and bright dungeons lift
Of swimmers their lost morning eyes,
And ocean rivers, churning, shift
Green borders under stranger skies,

V: Song: To Celia

© Benjamin Jonson

Come my Celia, let us prove,

While wee may, the sports of love;

Vertumnus and Pomona : Ovid's Metamorphoses, book 14 [v. 623-771]

© Alexander Pope

The fair Pomona flourish'd in his reign;

Of all the Virgins of the sylvan train,

Vitae Summa Brevis Spem Nos Vetat Incohare Longam

© Ernest Christopher Dowson

They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
Love and desire and hate:
I think they have no portion in us after
We pass the gate.

Venetian Epigrams

© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

With such a scroll, which himself richly with life has adorn'd.
-----
CLASP'D in my arms for ever eagerly hold I my mistress,

Voices Of The Night : Midnight Mass For The Dying Year

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Yes, the Year is growing old,
And his eye is pale and bleared!
Death, with frosty hand and cold,
Plucks the old man by the beard,
Sorely, sorely!

Veni Creator

I

LORD of the grass and hill,

Valuation

THE old Squire said, as he stood by his gate,
And his neighbor, the Deacon, went by,
"In spite of my bank stock and real estate,
You are better off, Deacon, than I.

Violets

A GUSTY wind o'ersweeps the garden close,
And, where the jonquil, with the white-rod glows,
Riots like some rude hoyden uncontrolled.
But here, where sunshine and coy shadows meet,
Out gleam the tender eyes of violets sweet,
Touched by the vapory noontide's fleeting gold.