For the season and its greenery, from poetryfoundation.org.
from Mistletoe / by Walter de la Mare
Sitting under the mistletoe
(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),
One last candle burning low,
All the sleepy dancers gone,
Just one candle burning on,
Shadows lurking everywhere:
Some one came, and kissed me there.
For novelist-poets or poet-novelists, from Poem A Day, Volume 2, edited by Laurie Sheck.
from The White Horse / by D.H. Lawrence (1885-1930)
The youth walks up to the white horse, to put its halter on
And the horse looks at him in silence.
No Auden yet? This one’s for and from Auden and for Ireland, from The Oxford Book of American Verse, edited by David Lehman (2006).
from In Memory of W.B. Yeats (d. January 1939) / by W.H. Auden (1907-1973)
By mourning tongues
The death of the poet was kept from his poems
One on one of the perils of war, from the Poetry Foundation. The rest of the poem is here:
from August, 1914 / by Very Mary Brittain
God said, “Men have forgotten Me:
The souls that sleep shall wake again,
For home, from the Poetry Foundation. The rest of the poem is here:
from Home [“Often I had gone this way before”] / by Edward Thomas (1878–1917)
But now it seemed I never could be
And never had been anywhere else;
Well, it’s a switchback while hiking from Rossetti to Hughes, but a natural path to Birthday Letters.
from Robbing Myself / by Ted Hughes
I peered awhile, as through the keyhole,
Into my darkened, hushed casket
From which (I did not know)
I had already lost the treasure.