Poems begining by F
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Farewell to Salvini
© Henry Cuyler Bunner
Although a curtain of the salt sea-mist
May fall between the actor and our eyes
Although he change, for dear and softer skies,
These that the Spring has yet but coyly kist
Fragments
© Madison Julius Cawein
The fields of space gleam bright, as if some ancient giant, old
As the moon and her extinguished mountains,
Had dipped his fingers huge into the twilight's sea of gold
And sprinkled all the heavens from these fountains.
from The Nerve Meter
© Antonin Artaud
An actor is seen as if through crystals.
Inspiration in stages.
One musnt let in too much literature.
From The Spanish Of Pedro De Castro Y Anaya
© William Cullen Bryant
Stay, rivulet, nor haste to leave
The lovely vale that lies around thee.
Why wouldst thou be a sea at eve,
When but a fount the morning found thee?
From My Childhood Days
© Friedrich Rückert
From my childhood days, from my childhood days,
Rings an old song's plaintive tone--
Oh, how long the ways, oh, how long the ways
I since have gone!
Fragment II
© James Macpherson
But is it she that there appears, like
a beam of light on the heath? bright
as the moon in autumn, as the sun in
a summer-storm?--She speaks: but
how weak her voice! like the breeze
in the reeds of the pool. Hark!
Farewell
© Alfred Austin
Farewell! I breathe that wonted prayer,
But oh! though countless leagues divide
Fragment: The Vine-Shroud
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Flourishing vine, whose kindling clusters glow
Beneath the autumnal sun, none taste of thee;
For thou dost shroud a ruin, and below
The rotting bones of dead antiquity.
From An Upper Verandah.
© James Brunton Stephens
WHAT happier haunt could the gods allot
For loftiest musing to sage or bard?
Faith And Despondency
© Emily Jane Brontë
"The winter wind is loud and wild,
Come close to me, my darling child;
Forsake thy books, and mateless play;
And, while the night is gathering gray,
We'll talk its pensive hours away;-
Finis
© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
Give me a few more hours to pass
With the mellow flower of the elm-bough falling,
And then no more than the lonely grass
And the birds calling.
Fata Morgana. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Third)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
O sweet illusions of song
That tempt me everywhere,
In the lonely fields, and the throng
Of the crowded thoroughfare!
Flute-Priest Song For Rain
© Amy Lowell
Whistle to the East
With a magpie voice.
Wee-kee! Wee-kee-kee!
Call the storm-clouds
That they come rushing.
Call the loud rain.
Faith II
© Edith Nesbit
THROUGH the long night, the deathlong night,
Along the dark and haunted way,
I knew your hidden face was bright--
More bright than any day.
Flower-De-Luce: Killed At The Ford
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
He is dead, the beautiful youth,
The heart of honor, the tongue of truth,
Find Meat On Bones
© Dylan Thomas
'Find meat on bones that soon have none,
And drink in the two milked crags,
From The Top Of The Stairs
© Zbigniew Herbert
Of course
those who are standing at the top of the stairs
know
they know everything
Fragment: Supposed To Be An Epithalamium Of Francis Ravaillac And Charlotte Corday
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
'Tis midnight now--athwart the murky air,
Dank lurid meteors shoot a livid gleam;
From the dark storm-clouds flashes a fearful glare,
It shows the bending oak, the roaring stream.
