Poems begining by Y

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You And Me

© Robert William Service

I'm part of people I have known
And they are part of me;
The seeds of thought that I have sown
In other minds I see.
There's something of me in the throne
And in the gallows tree.

Young Mother

© Robert William Service

Her baby was so full of glee,
And through the day
It laughed and babbled on her knee
In happy play.

I don't know how the fishes feel, but I can't help thinking it odd,
That a gay young flapper of a female eel should fall in love with a cod.
Yet - that's exactly what she did and it only goes to prove,
That' what evr you do you can't put the lid on that crazy feeling Love.

Young Fellow My Lad

© Robert William Service

"Where are you going, Young Fellow My Lad,
On this glittering morn of May?"
"I'm going to join the Colours, Dad;
They're looking for men, they say."

Yellow

© Robert William Service

One pearly day of early May
I strolled upon the sand,
And saw, say half-a-mile away
A man with gun in hand;

Your Poem

© Robert William Service

My poem may be yours indeed
In melody and tone,
If in its rhythm you can read
A music of your own;

Yet Do I Marvel

© Countee Cullen

I doubt not God is good, well-meaning, kind
And did He stoop to quibble could tell why
The little buried mole continues blind,
Why flesh that mirrors Him must some day die,

Yes

© Denise Duhamel

According to Culture Shock:
A Guide to Customs and Etiquette
of Filipinos, when my husband says yes,
he could also mean one of the following:

You say you are holy

© Stephen Crane

You say you are holy,
And that
Because I have not seen you sin.
Aye, but there are those
Who see you sin, my friend.

You tell me this is God?

© Stephen Crane

You tell me this is God?
I tell you this is a printed list,
A burning candle, and an ass.

Yes, I have a thousand tongues

© Stephen Crane

Yes, I have a thousand tongues,
And nine and ninety-nine lie.
Though I strive to use the one,
It will make no melody at my will,
But is dead in my mouth.

Youth and Art

© Robert Browning

1 It once might have been, once only:
2 We lodged in a street together,
3 You, a sparrow on the housetop lonely,
4 I, a lone she-bird of his feather.

You'll love me yet!and I can tarry

© Robert Browning

You'll love me yet!and I can tarry
Your love's protracted growing:
June reared that bunch of flowers you carry
From seeds of April's sowing.

You Smile Upon Your Friend To-Day

© Alfred Edward Housman

You smile upon your friend to-day,
To-day his ills are over;
You hearken to the lover's say,
And happy is the lover.

You, Andrew Marvell

And here face down beneath the sun
And here upon earth's noonward height
To feel the always coming on
The always rising of the night

You Are The Mountain

© Lisa Zaran

At one end of the couch
you sit, mute as a pillow
tossed onto the upholstery.

You

Only a long, low-lying lane
That follows to the misty sea,
Across a bare and russet plain
Where wild winds whistle vagrantly;

Young Sea

The sea is never still.
It pounds on the shore
Restless as a young heart,
Hunting.

Young Bullfrogs

JIMMY WIMBLETON listened a first week in June.
Ditches along prairie roads of Northern Illinois
Filled the arch of night with young bullfrog songs.
Infinite mathematical metronomic croaks rose and spoke,

Yes, the Dead Speak to Us

YES, the Dead speak to us.
This town belongs to the Dead, to the Dead and to the Wilderness.

Back of the clamps on a fireproof door they hold the papers of the Dead in a house here