Poems begining by M
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Mary Magdalene I
© Boris Pasternak
The deathly silence is not far;
A few more moments only matter,
Which the Inevitable bar.
But at the edge, before they scatter,
In front of Thee my life I shatter,
As though an alabaster jar.
Morris Island
© William Gilmore Simms
Oh! from the deeds well done, the blood well shed
In a good cause springs up to crown the land
With ever-during verdure, memory fed,
Wherever freedom rears one fearless band,
The genius, which makes sacred time and place,
Shaping the grand memorials of a race!
Maximus
© Adelaide Anne Procter
I hold him great who, for Love's sake,
Can give with generous, earnest will;
Yet he who takes for Love's sweet sake
I think I hold more generous still.
Man the Monarch
© Mary Leapor
A tattling Dame, no matter where, or who;
Me it concerns not-and it need not you;
Once told this Story to the listening Muse,
Which we, as now it serves our Turn, shall use.
My Interview
© Faiz Ahmed Faiz
The wall has grown all black, upto the circling roof.
Roads are empty, travellers all gone. Once again
My night begins to converse with its loneliness;
My visitor I feel has come once again.
Henna stains one palm, blood wets another;
One eye poisons, the other cures.
Mary Of Magdala
© Edith Nesbit
Mary of Magdala came to bed;
There were no soft curtains round her head;
She had no mother to hold of worth
The little baby she brought to birth.
Monday Before Easter
© John Keble
"Father to me thou art and mother dear,
And brother too, kind husband of my heart -
So speaks Andromache in boding fear,
Ere from her last embrace her hero part -
So evermore, by Faith's undying glow,
We own the Crucified in weal or woe.
Mary in Bethlehem: A Nativity
© Arthur Symons
JOSEPH
The night is blue, with stars of gold;
The middle watch of night is past;
See now, it will be morning soon!
Yet there is time enough for sleep.
[He shuts the door, and stands near the manger. ]
Marvellous Martin
© Charles Harpur
Who sees him walk the street, can scarce forbear
To question thus his friend, What prig goes there?
Mirandas Tomb
© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
MIRANDA? She died soon, and sick for home.
And dark Ilario the Milanese
'Mid the Piteous Heaps of Dead
© Katharine Tynan
'MID the piteous heaps of dead
Goes one weary golden head
Tossing ever to and fro,
Calling loud and calling low.
Morningmeans
© Emily Dickinson
"Morning"means "Milking"to the Farmer
Dawnto the Teneriffe
Diceto the Maid
Morning means just Riskto the Lover
Just revelationto the Beloved
Morning
© John Keble
Hues of the rich unfolding morn,
That, ere the glorious sun be born,
By some soft touch invisible
Around his path are taught to swell; -
My Only Title
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
My only title to her grace
Is her sad, too silent face;
All my right to call her mine
The twin tears that on it shine,
Mother Carey (As told Me by the Bo'sun)
© John Masefield
Mother Carey? She's the mother o' the witches
'N' all them sort o' rips;
