Found Poetry

Sometimes when I’m bored I’ll scan the first line index of poetry anthologies to see if a few of the adjacent lines in the index actually rhyme or make a kind of bent sense. The following, then, are "found poems" from the first line index of the Oxford Anthology of English Literature:

A bloody and a sudden end,
A dead man,
A little black thing among the snow,
A man that had six mortal wounds,
a man,
A mighty change it is and ominous


Come down O’ maid, from yonder
mountain hieght,
Come to me in the silence of the night


Creation and Creator’s crowning good,
Creep into thy narrow bed,
Dark angel with thine aching lust


Deep in the shady sadness of a vale,
Do not go gently into that good night,
Does the eagle know what is in the pit?
Does the road wind uphill all the way?
Down wanton, down! Have you no shame?

I sought a theme and sought for it
in vain,
I strove with none, for none was worth
my strife,
I think continually of those who were
truly great


It is holy thing to see,
It is a beauteous evening calm and free


Much have I travelled in realms of
gold,
My first thought was, he lied in every
word

Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing
to me,
Sole Positive of Night!
Sombre the night,
Some people admire the work of a fool


That’s my last Duchess on the wall,
The awful shadow of some unseen power,
The blessed damozel leaned out

The guns spell money’s ultimate reason,
The Hebrew nation did not write it

Well, so that is that. Now we must
dismantle the tree,
We’ll to the woods no more,
We’ve made a great mess of love


With blackest moss the flower pots,
With Donne, whose muse on dromedary
trots

Yes! in the sea of life enisled,
Your arms will clasp the gathered grain!

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