Poems begining by E
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Entry
© Shields Carol
Grandpa who died young kepta diary of sorts which was reallyjust a record of the weatheror how often he was obligedto have his roof repairedor when his taxes went upor the latest news of City Hallbut once, a Sunday, in the year 1925he entered a single word: woe
It shimmers uniquely on the ruled pageso small it makes us wonder and squintbut large enough in its inky powerto unsettle his young-manly scriptand throw black doubt on otherprevious entries: weather tip-topor gingko on Crescent Ave
Emeritus
© Robertson James
Crumpled and bowed, Lone in the crowd,Let him clear out for his betters! What doth it serve Once he had nerve,Once too a tincture of letters: --
Eyethurl
© Reibetanz John
Sometimes, at night,when the north wind slams against the houseand downpipes shudder and whistle,I climb steep attic steps to findheart in a blank window.
Engaged Too Long
© Piatt Sarah Morgan Bryan
Why do I grieve with summer here?I want the flower that died last year;I want the old drops of the dew,And my old love, sir, .- and not you.
Exspes
© Phillimore John Swinnerton
Why sing of suns you cannot see, in vain? -- Here where dull day from night scarce diff'rent pales, And fog as grisly as a dead man's nailsFreezes opaquely at the window pane;
Epitaph
© Money-Coutts Francis Burdett
Once I learnt in wilful hour How to vex him; still I keep,Now unwilfully, my power: Every day he comes to weep.
Eurynome
© Macpherson Jay
Come all old maids that are squeamishAnd afraid to make mistakes,Don't clutter your lives up with boyfriends:The nicest girls marry snakes.
Exit
© MacDonald Wilson Pugsley
Easily to the old Opens the hard ground:But when youth grows cold, And red lips have no sound,Bitterly does the earth Open to receiveAnd bitterly do the grasses In the churchyard grieve.
Eve
© MacDonagh Thomas
I am Eve, great Adam's wife,I that wrought my children's loss,I that wronged Jesus of life,Mine by right had been the cross.
Epitaph on a Jacobite
© Macaulay Thomas Babington
To my true king I offer'd free from stainCourage and faith; vain faith, and courage vain
Endymion
© John Keats
BOOK IIts loveliness increases; it will neverPass into nothingness; but still will keepA bower quiet for us, and a sleepFull of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing
Epigrams: To Lucy, Countess of Bedford, with John Donne's Satires
© Benjamin Jonson
Lucy, you brightness of our sphere, who areLife of the Muses' day, their morning star!If works, not th' author's, their own grace should look,Whose poems would not wish to be your book?But these, desir'd by you, the maker's endsCrown with their own
Epigrams: To John Donne
© Benjamin Jonson
Donne, the delight of Phoebus and each MuseWho, to thy one, all other brains refuse;Whose every work of thy most early witCame forth example, and remains so yet;Longer a-knowing than most wits do live;And which no affection praise enough can give!To it, thy language, letters, arts, best life,Which might with half mankind maintain a strife
Epigrams: Epitaph on Elizabeth, L. H.
© Benjamin Jonson
Wouldst thou hear what man can sayIn a little? Reader, stay
Epigrams: An Epitaph on S.P.
© Benjamin Jonson
Weep with me, all you that read This little story:And know, for whom a tear you shed Death's self is sorry
Ecrit sur la vitre d'une fenêtre Flamande
© Victor Marie Hugo
J'aime le carillon dans tes cités antiques,O vieux pays gardien de tes mœurs domestiques,Noble Flandre où le nord se réchauffe engourdiAu soleil de Castille et s'accouple au midi!Le carillon, c'est l'heure inattendue et folleQue l'œil croit voir, vêtue en danseuse espagnole,Apparaître soudain par le trou vif et clairQue ferait en s'ouvrant une porte de l'air
