Top 100 Poems About: AUGUST

In this page, poems on / about “august” are listed.
  • 1.

    When my eyes are weeds,
    And my lips are petals, spinning
    Down the wind that has beginning
    Where the crumpled beeches start read more »

    Dorothy Parker
  • 2.
    Dark August

    So much rain, so much life like the swollen sky
    of this black August. My sister, the sun,
    broods in her yellow room and won't come out. read more »

    Derek Walcott
  • 3.
    August 8th

    Listen here. I've never played it safe
    in spite of what the critics say. read more »

    Anne Sexton
  • 4.

    This was its promise, held to faithfully:
    The early morning sun came in this way
    Until the angle of its saffron beam read more »

    Boris Pasternak
  • 5.
    August 1914

    What in our lives is burnt
    In the fire of this?
    The heart’s dear granary?
    The much we shall miss? read more »

    Isaac Rosenberg
  • 6.
    August 17th

    Surely I will be disquieted
    by the hospital, that body zone- read more »

    Anne Sexton
  • 7.
    An August Midnight


    A shaded lamp and a waving blind,
    And the beat of a clock from a distant floor: read more »

    Thomas Hardy
  • 8.
    A Call For August

    There is a blue fragrance, essence of dusk.
    The smoke of last things lingers on old clothes.
    Sun has become as rare as goldenrod.
    I call for August, but no answer comes. read more »

    Sandra Fowler
  • 9.
    A Calendar Of Sonnets: August

    Silence again. The glorious symphony
    Hath need of pause and interval of peace.
    Some subtle signal bids all sweet sounds cease,
    Save hum of insects' aimless industry. read more »

    Helen Hunt Jackson
  • 10.
    California Hills In August

    I can imagine someone who found
    these fields unbearable, who climbed
    the hillside in the heat, cursing the dust,
    cracking the brittle weeds underfoot, read more »

    Dana Gioia
  • 11.
    Composed By The Sea-Side, Near Calais, August 1802

    FAIR Star of evening, Splendour of the west,
    Star of my Country!--on the horizon's brink
    Thou hangest, stooping, as might seem, to sink read more »

    William Wordsworth
  • 12.

    'Blomsten dufter, for at brydes!
    Frugten modnes, for at nydes!
    - Lev og nyd! trara! trara!'

    Ja, Øieblikket ene er det just, read more »

    Hans Christian Andersen
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