Poems begining by Y
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You Gave Me Words Of Hope
© Sugawara Takesue no Musume
You gave me words of hope, are they not long delayed?
The plum-tree is remembered by the Spring,
Though it seemed dead with frost.
Year’s End
© Ellen Bryant Voigt
The fingers lie in the lap,
separate, lonely, as in the field
the separate blades of grass
shrivel or grow tall.
Yesterdays
© Robert Creeley
Sixty-two, sixty-three, I most remember
As time W. C. Williams dies and we are
You Could Pick It Up
© Patricia Goedicke
You could pick it up by the loose flap of a roof
and all the houses would come up together
in the same pattern attached, inseparable
You left me Sire two Legacies (713)
© Emily Dickinson
You left me Sire two Legacies
A Legacy of Love
A Heavenly Father would suffice
Had He the offer of
[Yesterday, the sunshine made the air glow]
© James Russell Lowell
Circling as hunters aim down on me
while you rise, rise, rise into the blue sky
and meet me over in the next fields.
You Say, Columbus with his Argosies
© Trumbull Stickney
You say, Columbus with his argosies
Who rash and greedy took the screaming main
Youth And Death
© Emma Lazarus
What hast thou done to this dear friend of mine,
Thou cold, white, silent Stranger? From my hand
Young Laughters, and My Music!
© Augusta Davies Webster
Oh music of my heart, be thus for long:
Too soon the spring bird learns the later song;
Too soon a sadder sweetness slays content
Too soon! There comes new light on onward day,
There comes new perfume o'er a rosier way:
Comes not again the young spring joy that went.
Years Of The Modern
© Walt Whitman
YEARS of the modern! years of the unperform'd!
Your horizon rises-I see it parting away for more august dramas;
Your Shakespeare
© Marvin Bell
If I am sentenced not to talk to you,
and you are sentenced not to talk to me,
then we wear the clothes of the desert
serving that sentence, we are the leaves
trampled underfoot, not even fit to be
ground in for food, then we are the snow.
Yea, The Roses Are Still On Fire
© Mathilde Blind
Yea, the roses are still on fire
With the bygone heat of July,
Though the least little wind drifting by
Shake a rose-leaf or two from the brier,
Be it never so soft a sigh.
Youth in Arms
© Harold Monro
HAPPY boy, happy boy,
David the immortal-willed,
Youth a thousand thousand times
Slain, but not once killed,
Swaggering again today
In the old contemptuous way;
Young America
© Carolyn Wells
Wee Willie sat a-thinking,
And he shook his curly head.
Around him on the nursery floor
His treasures lay outspread.
You Are My Drunkenness
© Nazim Hikmet
You are my drunkenness...
I did not sober up, as if I can do that;
I don't want to anyway.
I have a headache, my knees are full of scars
I am in mud all around
I struggle to walk towards your hesitant light.
Your Strange Hair
© Renee Vivien
Your strange hair, cold light,
Has pale glows and blond dullness;
Your gaze has the blue of ether and waves;
Your gown has the chill of the breeze and the woods.
