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Poems with rhymes of mare

Displaying 20 out of 54 poems with rhymes of mare.

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  1. Remember, dear wife, that I said so last year,
    When you lost your white heifer, and I my brown mare.
  2. The dark-brown steed on the left was there,
    On the right was a dappled grey,
    And between the pair, on a chestnut mare,
  3. So myghte he lightly brynge me in the snare;
    Yet hadde I levere payen for the mare,
  4. And their owners, the men of estate, would be there,
    Refusing gold guineas for a colt or a mare.
  5. One night he saddled his sorrel mare,
    And started over to Ripton, where
  6. Here's a health to her memory! shirk it who dare-
    If you love what is noble, pledge Turpin's brave mare;
  7. Then Oran and that wild man forth did fare,
    And o'er the little lake they rowed in haste,
    And mounting each a small and shaggy mare,
  8. Play that my knee was a calico mare
    Saddled and bridled for Bumpville;
    Leap to the back of this steed, if you dare,
  9. Decoyed from her paddock, a Murray-bred mare
    Had fled to the hills with a warrigal band;
    A pretty bay foal had been born to her there,
  10. The man's mad—Two hours to daybreak I'd swear
    Stark mad—why, there isn't a glimmer of light.'
    'Take Bolingbroke, Alec, give Jack the young mare ;
  11. His horses died -- just one pulled through with nothing much to spare;
    God bless the beast that brought him home, the old white Arab mare!
  12. And Rogan gets his old grey mare,
    That matches well his own grey hair,
  13. Mounted upon his old gray mare,
    Seen here and there and everywhere,
  14. On a tall brown mare,
    And a fine gold band
    He brought me there.
  15. Sports with a fitful glare.
    The dumb and dreadful world is full
    Of darkness and night-mare.
  16. But the velvet ears of the listening mare
    Lifted and twitched. They were there – still there;
  17. Is enough, and a little to spare.
    But the blood that will tell at the end of the race
    Is the blood of the Yattendon mare.
  18. 'Rover, rover, cattle-drover, how do you get there?'
    For twenty miles I amble on upon my pony mare,
  19. Through street and through square,
    His high-trotting mare,
  20. The cattle-call above the moan of prayer;
    And slowly out of fields their fancy grazed,
    Among the droves, defiled a horse and mare:

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