Poems begining by L
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LArt Des Transports De LAme
© André Marie de Chénier
L'art, des transports de l'âme est un faible interprète:
L'art ne fait que des vers; le coeur seul est poète.
Late Echo
© John Ashbery
Alone with our madness and favorite flower
We see that there really is nothing left to write about.
Or rather, it is necessary to write about the same old things
In the same way, repeating the same things over and over
For love to continue and be gradually different.
Low Barometer
© John Hall Wheelock
The south-wind strengthens to a gale,
Across the moon the clouds fly fast,
The house is smitten as with a flail,
The chimney shudders to the blast.
Life Cycle of Common Man
© Howard Nemerov
Roughly figured, this man of moderate habits,
This average consumer of the middle class,
London Crossfigured
© Gaius Valerius Catullus
and the artists on sundays
in the summer
all ‘tracking Nature’
in the suburbs
Lincoln Is Dead
© George Moses Horton
He is gone, the strong base of the nation,
The dove to his covet has fled;
Little Robin Redbreast
© Pierre Reverdy
Little Robin Redbreast
Sat upon a tree;
Up went Pussy-cat,
Down went he.
Lyell’s Hypothesis Again
© Kenneth Rexroth
An Attempt to Explain the Former
Changes of the Earth's Surface by
Causes Now in Operation
Landscape, Dense with Trees
© Ellen Bryant Voigt
When you move away, you see how much depends
on the pace of the days—how much
Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota
© James Wright
Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly,
Asleep on the black trunk,
"Let Somebody Else Rest..."
© Anna Akhmatova
Let somebody else rest by southern sea,
Enjoying the paradise land,
It's northerly here, and fall of this year,
I chose to be my girl-friend.
La Figlia che Piange
© Thomas Stearns Eliot
O quam te memorem virgo ...
Stand on the highest pavement of the stair—
lifeline
© Evie Shockley
wedged in the top branches, rain still sighing
to earth as a dissolute sky dissolves,
Let Us Consider
© Russell Edson
Let us consider the farmer who makes his straw hat his
sweetheart; or the old woman who makes a floor lamp her son;
or the young woman who has set herself the task of scraping
her shadow off a wall....
Lux In Tenebris
© George Essex Evans
So set they discord in the sweetest singing,
And a sharp thorn about the fairest rose;
And doubt around the cross where faith was clinging,
And fear to haunt the regions of repose;
And dimmed mens eyes, so that they should not see,
Like Gods, the vistas of futurity.
[Ladies, who of my lord would fain be told]
© Gaspara Stampa
Ladies, who of my lord would fain be told,
Picture a gentle knight, full sweet to see,
Last August Hours Before the Year 2000
© Naomi Shihab Nye
What a drama to keep thinking the last summer
the last birthday
before the calendar turns to zeroes.
My neighbor says anything we plant
in September takes hold.
She’s lining pots of little grasses by her walk.
