Poems with rhymes of knees

And scattered here and there, with these,
The knarred and crooked cedar knees;

The rounded days and the safe years he sees,
Nor fears death's water mounting round his knees.

Keep evergreen the trees
That stand half-flayed and dying,
And the dead trees on their knees

Wheel with graceful ease,
And I, untiring in admiring,
Fall upon my knees

When glow-lamps budded in the light blue trees,
And girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim,-
In the old times, before he threw away his knees.

I see my past, its face hid in your knees.
How can I seek your languorous charm save in its
Own source, your heart and body formed to please.

Give myrrhy-threaded golden folds of ease.
Your scarce-sheathed bones are weary of being bent:
Lo, God shall strengthen all the feeble knees.

Oh, Adam was a gardener, and God who made him sees
That half a proper gardener's work is done upon his knees,

For every parcel I stoop down to seize
I lose some other off my arms and knees,

At the feet of the trees,
With her face on her knees,

They spiled along the water-course with trunks of willow-trees,
And planks of elms behind 'em and immortal oaken knees.

Yet let me with my head upon your knees,
Although I mourn the summer, white and torrid
Taste these last yellow rays before they freeze.

The red light fell about their knees
On heads that rose by slow degrees

7 His body bent, his arms and knees
8 Like to the roots of ancient trees.

Thy ears were deaf, and feeble were thy knees,--
I saw thee stagger in the summer breeze,

And then by gradual degrees,
Your shins and ankles, calves and knees,

A swarm of bees
insects, butterfly's & snakes
Left helpless again down on my knees

His helmet now shall make a hive for bees;
And, lovers' sonnets turn'd to holy psalms,
A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees,

Is slouching slowly at his ease,
Half-hidden in the windless blur
Of white dust puffiing to his knees.

Her limbs did creep and freeze;
But when they prayed, she thought she saw
Her mother on her knees.