Poems begining by X
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XVII (I do not love you...)
© Pablo Neruda
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
XIII. O Time! Who Know'st a Lenient Hand to Lay...
© William Lisle Bowles
O TIME! who know'st a lenient hand to lay
Softest on sorrow's wound, and slowly thence,
(Lulling to sad repose the weary sense)
Stealest the long-forgotten pang away;
XIV. On a Distant View of England.
© William Lisle Bowles
AH! from my eyes the tears unbidden start,
Albion! as now thy cliffs (that bright appear
Far o'er the wave, and their proud summits rear
To meet the beams of morn) my beating heart,
XII. Written at a Convent.
© William Lisle Bowles
IF chance some pensive stranger, hither led,
His bosom glowing from majestic views,
The gorgeous dome, or the proud landscape's hues,
Should ask who sleeps beneath this lowly bed --
XI. Written at Ostend
© William Lisle Bowles
HOW sweet the tuneful bells' responsive peal!
As when, at opening morn, the fragrant breeze
Breathes on the trembling sense of wan disease,
So piercing to my heart their force I feel!
X Minus X
© Kenneth Fearing
Still there will be your desire, and hers, and his hopes and theirs,
Your laughter, their laughter,
Your curse and his curse, her reward and their reward, their dismay and his dismay and her dismay and yours—
XXXII from Love Redeemed
© William Baylebridge
Love feeds, like Intellect, his lamp with truth;
In the clear truths he finds its flame is measured.
XII: Epistle To Elizabeth Countesse Of Rutland
© Benjamin Jonson
Madame,
VVhil'st that, for which all vertue now is sold,
XXIX: Yo amaba lo azul con ardimiento
© Amado Ruiz de Nervo
Yo amaba lo azul con ardimiento:
las montañas excelsas, los sutiles
crespones de zafir del firmamento,
el piélago sin fin, cuyo lamento
arrulló mis ensueños juveniles.
XXXIII: Amiga
© Amado Ruiz de Nervo
Amiga, mi larario esta vacío:
desde que el fuego del hogar no arde,
nuestros dioses huyeron ante el frío;
hoy preside en sus tronos el hastio
las nupcias del silencio y de la tarde.
XIII: Epistle: To Katherine, Lady Aubigny
© Benjamin Jonson
'Tis growne almost a danger to speake true
Of any good minde, now: There are so few.
X. On Dover Cliffs.
© William Lisle Bowles
ON these white cliffs, that calm above the flood
Rear their o'er-shadowing heads, and at their feet
XIV: Ode: To Sir William Sydney, On His Birth-day
© Benjamin Jonson
Now that the harth is crown'd with smiling fire,
And some do drink, and some do dance,
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