Poems begining by C

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Conscious Madness (extract from Saul)

© Charles Heavysege

What ails me? what impels me on, until

The big drops fall from off my brow? Whence comes

Ce qui n'a pas encore de nom

© Victor Marie Hugo

Qui que tu sois, écoute : Il est.
Qu'est-il ?
Renonce !
L'ombre est la question, le monde est la réponse.

Coming

© George MacDonald

When the snow is on the earth
Birds and waters cease their mirth;
When the sunlight is prevailing
Even the night-winds drop their wailing.

Christmas Cards

© Franklin Pierce Adams

Before you send me up that card
With rime and diction far from subtle,
Hear what a now rebellious bard
Says in a quasi-pre-rebuttal.

Clarification To My Poetry-Readers

© Nizar Qabbani

And of me say the fools:

I entered the lodges of women

Childhood

© Jose Asuncion Silva

These recollections with the scent of ferns
Are the idyll of early years
(Gregorio Gutierrez González)

Chaucer's Words to His Scrivener

© Geoffrey Chaucer

Adam Scrivener, if ever it thee befall

Boece or Troilus for to write anew,

Come With The Summer Leaves

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Come with the summer leaves, love, to my grave,
And, if you doubt among the quiet dead,
Choose out that mound where greenest grasses wave
And where the flowers grow thickest and most red.

Yellow clouds beside the walls; crows near the tower.
Flying back, they caw, caw; calling in the boughs.
In the loom she weaves brocade, the Qin river girl.
Made of emerald yarn like mist, the window hides her words.
She stops the shuttle, sorrowful, and thinks of the distant man.
She stays alone in the lonely room, her tears just like the rain.

Casa Mia

© John Kenyon

"Casa mia, casa mia,
Per piccina che tu sia,
Tu mi pari una badia."

Chorus For Mixed Voices

© Franklin Pierce Adams

(Being a stenographic report of how it sounds from
the piazza when a dozen boat loads go out on the lake
of a summer evening.)

Caledonia

© James Hogg

Caledonia! thou land of the mountain and rock,

Of the ocean, the mist, and the wind-

Christmas Creek

Phantom streams were in the distance - mocking lights of lake and pool -

Ghosts of trees of soft green lustre - groves of shadows deep and cool!

Cicadas at the End of Summer by Martin Walls: American Life in Poetry #24 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laur

© Ted Kooser

But all you ever see is the silence.
Husks, glued to the underside of maple leaves.
With their nineteen fifties Bakelite lines they'd do
just as well hanging from the ceiling of a space
museum —