Poems begining by O
/ page 131 of 137 /
Oh You Are Coming
© Sara Teasdale
Oh you are coming, coming, coming,
How will hungry Time put by the hours till then? --
But why does it anger my heart to long so
For one man out of the world of men?
On The Death Of Anne Bronte
© Charlotte Bronte
There's little joy in life for me,
And little terror in the grave;
I've lived the parting hour to see
Of one I would have died to save.
Of a Forgetful Sea
© Kelli Russell Agodon
In her palm,
she holds small creatures,
tracks an ant, a flea
moving over each grain.
On the Field of Kulicovo
© Alexander Blok
The river stretched. It flows, idly grieves,
And washes both banks.
In steppe, above light clay of cliffs
Rinks mourn in ranks.
October
© Siegfried Sassoon
Now do ye dream of Spring when greening shaws
Confer with the shrewd breezes, and of slopes
Flower-kirtled, and of April, virgin guest;
Days that ye love, despite their windy flaws,
Since they are woven with all joys and hopes
Whereof ye nevermore shall be possessed.
Out in the Garden
© Katherine Mansfield
Out in the garden,
Out in the windy, swinging dark,
Under the trees and over the flower-beds,
Over the grass and under the hedge border,
Opposites
© Katherine Mansfield
The Half-Soled-Boots-With-Toecaps-Child
Walked out into the street
And splashed in all the pubbles till
She had such shocking feet
On a Young Lady's Sixth Anniversary
© Katherine Mansfield
Baby Babbles--only one,
Now to sit up has begun.Little Babbles quite turned two
Walks as well as I and you.And Miss Babbles one, two, three,
Has a teaspoon at her tea.But her Highness at four
One Wants A Teller In A Time Like This
© Gwendolyn Brooks
One cannot walk this winding street with pride
Straight-shouldered, tranquil-eyed,
Knowing one knows for sure the way back home.
One wonders if one has a home.
On an Invitation to the United States
© Thomas Hardy
I My ardours for emprize nigh lost
Since Life has bared its bones to me,
I shrink to seek a modern coast
Whose riper times have yet to be;
On a Fine Morning
© Thomas Hardy
Whence comes Solace?--Not from seeing
What is doing, suffering, being,
Not from noting Life's conditions,
Nor from heeding Time's monitions;
One Flesh
© Elizabeth Jennings
Lying apart now, each in a separate bed,
He with a book, keeping the light on late,
She like a girl dreaming of childhood,
All men elsewhere - it is as if they wait
Some new event: the book he holds unread,
Her eyes fixed on the shadows overhead.
On Reading A Recent Greek Poet
© Bertolt Brecht
After the wailing had already begun
along the walls, their ruin certain,
the Trojans fidgeted with bits of wood
in the three-ply doors, itsy-bitsy
pieces of wood, fussing with them.
And began to get their nerve back and feel hopeful.
On The Critical Attitude
© Bertolt Brecht
Canalising a river
Grafting a fruit tree
Educating a person
Transforming a state
These are instances of fruitful criticism
And at the same time instances of art.
O Germany, Pale Mother!
© Bertolt Brecht
O Germany, pale mother!
How soiled you are
As you sit among the peoples.
You flaunt yourself
Among the besmirched.
O Daedalus, Fly Away Home
© Robert Hayden
Drifting night in the Georgia pines,
coonskin drum and jubilee banjo.
Pretty Malinda, dance with me.
On a certain Lady at Court
© Alexander Pope
I know the thing that's most uncommon;
(Envy be silent and attend!)
I know a Reasonable Woman,
Handsome and witty, yet a Friend.
Ode on Solitude
© Alexander Pope
Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air,
In his own ground.
On the Cliffs, Newport
© Alan Seeger
Tonight a shimmer of gold lies mantled o'er
Smooth lovely Ocean. Through the lustrous gloom
A savor steals from linden trees in bloom
And gardens ranged at many a palace door.
On a Theme in the Greek Anthology
© Alan Seeger
Thy petals yet are closely curled,
Rose of the world,
Around their scented, golden core;
Nor yet has Summer purpled o'er
