Poems begining by P
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Pheasant
© Sylvia Plath
You said you would kill it this morning.
Do not kill it. It startles me still,
The jut of that odd, dark head, pacing
Pentadii
© Richard Lovelace
PENTADII.
Non est, fulleris, haec beata non est
Quod vos creditis esse, vita non est:
Fulgentes manibus videre gemmas
Part Two: Nature: There's a certain slant of light
© Emily Dickinson
THERES a certain slant of light,
On winter afternoons,
Points And Lines
© Aldous Huxley
Instants in the quiet, small sharp stars,
Pierce my spirit with a thrust whose speed
Philiper Flash
© James Whitcomb Riley
Young Philiper Flash was a promising lad,
His intentions were good--but oh, how sad
Parisina
© George Gordon Byron
It is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingale's high note is heard;
Presented To The King, At His Arrival In Holland, After The Discovery Of The Conspiracy. 1696
© Matthew Prior
Britain Her Safety to your Guidance owns,
That She can sep'rate Parricides from Sons;
That, impious Rage disarm'd, She lives and Reigns,
Her Freedom kept by Him, who broke Her Chains.
Phyllis Lobt Den Wein
© Gotthold Ephraim Lessing
Seht, mein Damon tanzt und springet!
Seht, wie wiegt er Leib und Fuss!
Seht, mein Damon lacht und singet,
Singt von Ruhe, Wein und Kuss.
Seht, wie Mund und Augen gluehn!
Wir beleben uns durch ihn.
Pictured
© Madison Julius Cawein
This is the face of her
I've dreamed of long;
Here in my heart's despair,
This is the face of her
Pictured in song.
Publicationis the Auction
© Emily Dickinson
Publicationis the Auction
Of the Mind of Man
Povertybe justifying
For so foul a thing
Place De La Bastille, Paris
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
How dear the sky has been above this place!
Small treasures of this sky that we see here
Premonition
© George Santayana
The muffled syllables that Nature speaks
Fill us with deeper longing for her word;
She hides a meaning that the spirit seeks,
She makes a sweeter music than is heard.
Perch Fishing
© Edmund Blunden
On the far hill the cloud of thunder grew
And sunlight blurred below; but sultry blue
Penumbra
© Pierre Louys
Under the sheet of transparent wool we
slipped, she and I. Even our heads were sunk
under, and the lamp illumined the stuff over
us. Thus I behld her dear body in a mysterious
Peter the Piccaninny
© Henry Kendall
I never loved a nigger belle
My tastes are too aesthetic!
The perfume from a gin iswell,
A rather strong emetic.
