Here is a list of poems with alliteration, highlighting in bold the syllables, words or sounds that show said literary resource. Alliteration is a literary device that consists of repeating or reiterating words, syllables, letters or sounds, which in poetry is used as a rhetorical figure to embellish poems.
These repetitions must be given in consecutive or close words to fulfill their function and effect. Alliteration can occur throughout the entire poem or in some verses or lines of it.
In poetry, it is more common to find repetitions of a letter or sound than repetition of complete words, although there are also of this type.
By a head
of a noble potricry
that right in the raalready
loosen up llegar
and that when you return
seems to say
Don't forget brother
you know, you don't have to play
By a head
of that flirt
and smiling woman
that when swearing smiling
the love that is lying
burn in a bonfire
all my love
By a head
all the crazy things
His boca what kisses
borra la trisroof
calm the bitterness
By a head
if she forgets me
what does it matter to lose myself
one thousand gocease the sawgives
what for to live
How many disappointments
by a head
I swore a thousand times
I will not insist again
But if a look
it hurts me in passing
his mouth of fire
I want to kiss again.
Author: Alfredo Le Pera
A torch is the sea and, poured out
through your mouth, a voice of nouns,
from final, fleeting, runaway
fires burned on your skin founded.
A snow sails slipped
on reeye glow reinflectional,
from successive silences
and of Sun on the Salt wet for you.
The mob of color seeks
leave on your complexion is tattooed
whole foam miniature.
Your body sounds like the sea. And your figure,
in the sand of the air reflected,
to sun, to salt, to be, to son, to sum.
Author: Marina de Jaime Siles
I am the one who only said yesterday
the blue verse and the profane song,
on whose night a nightingale had
which was a lark of light in the morning.
I was the owner of my garden of dream,
full of roses and lazy swans;
the owner of the turtledoves, the owner
of gondolas and lyres on the lakes;
and very eighteenth century and very old
and very modern; bold, cosmopolitan;
with Hugo strong and Verlaine ambiguous,
and an infinite thirst for illusions.
I knew of pain since my childhood,
me youth…. It was youth mine?
Your roses still leave me fragrance...
a fragrance of melancholy ...
Colt without brake my instinct was launched,
my youth rode colt without brake;
She was drunk and with a dagger around her belt;
if it did not fall, it was because God is good.
In Myself hardin a beautiful statue was seen;
I know ThuIt was marbled and raw;
a soul joCome lived in it,
sentimental, sensitive, sensitive.
And shy before the world, so
what inECrrada in Yeslencio no sabundle,
Yesnot when in the sweetEC spring
it was time for the melody ...
Hour of sunset and of a discreet kiss;
hour twilight and retreat;
hour of madrigal and of rapture,
of "I adore you", and of "oh!" and sigh.
And then the dulzaina was a game
of mysterious crystalline ranges,
a renew of drops of the Greek bread
and a reel of Latin music.
With air such and with ardor so alive,
what is ittattoo they were born suddenlytea
on the virile thigh patas goat
and two horns of sayouriver on the fronttea.
As the Galatea gongorina
I loved the Marquise Verleniana,
and thus joined the divine passion
a sensual hyperesthesia human;
everything craving, all burning, sensation pure
and natural vigor; and without falsehood,
and without comedy and without literature ...:
Yes there are a soul withoutwax that's mine.
The tower ivory tempted my longing;
I wanted to lock myself inside myself,
and i was hungry for space and thirst for heaven
from the shadows of my own abyss.
Oh, the sacred jungle! Oh, the deep
emanation of the divine heart
of the sacred jungle! Oh, the fertile
source whose virtue conquers destiny!
Life, light and truth, such a triple call
produces the interior call infinite.
Pure Art as Christ exclaims:
Ego sum lux et veritas et vita!
And life it's mystery, the blind light
and the truth inaccessible amazes;
grim perfection never surrenders,
and the ideal secret sleeps in the shade.
By eSW to be sincere it is to be powerful;
of ofsnuda what are you, the star shines;
the water says the soul of the fountain
in the crystal voice that flows from her.
Step a stone thrown by a sling;
step an arrow that sharpened a violent.
The stone of the Honda was cool,
and the arrow of hatred went to the wind.
Author: Rubén Darío
Where did you hide,
Beloved, and I you left with moan?
Like the deer you ran away
having hurt me;
I came out after you crying out and you were gone.
Pastors, whoever you are
there by the sheepfolds to the hill,
if by any chance you see
the one I love the most,
tell him that I suffer, I suffer and I die.
Looking for my loves
I will go through those mountains and banks;
I will not take the flowers,
nor will I fear wild beasts,
and I will pass the forts and borders.
Oh forests and thickets
planted by the hand of the Beloved!,
Oh vegetable meadow
say if it has happened to you.
Thank you pouring out
passed through these groves with haste;
and, leaving them looking,
with only her figure
dresses left them of their beauty.
Oh, who can heal me?
He has just really given you;
don't want to send me
today more messenger
who do not know how to tell me what I want.
And all who wander
Thank you very much for you referring,
and everyone else hurts me,
and leave me dying
I don't know what they are left stammering.
But how do you persevere,
Oh life, not seeing where you live,
and making you die
the arrows you receive
of what you conceive of the Beloved?
Why then have you come
this heart, you did not heal him?
And, well, you have Stolen,
Why did you leave him like that,
and you don't drink the robbery you stole?
Turn them away, Beloved,
what I'm going on a flight!
Come back, dove,
that he harmed deer
through the knoll it appears
to the air of your flight, and fresh take.
My beloved the mountains,
the lonely nemorous valleys,
the strange islands,
the sonorous rivers,
the whistle of loving airs,
the quiet night
in pair of the dawn of the dawn,
the sonorous loneliness,
the dinner that recreates and falls in love.
Author: Saint John of the Cross
¿What whoare those clouds what with rage group
of transparent air through the blue region?
¿What do they want when the passage of its emptiness occupybread
from the zenith suspending its dark tulle?
¿What instinct drags them? ¿What essence keeps them?
¿With what secret drive through space van?
¿What to be veiled in them crossing comes
the concave plains that are without a louvre?
How fast crowd!How they roll and they widen,
and to the sky they climb in a gloomy heap,
and the pure joyful blue of the firmament stains
their mysterious groups in grim confusion!
Moon fled looking at them; the stars fled;
its scarce clarity the immensity sucked;
already they reign only for the spaces they,
darkness is seen everywhere, but no sky ...
I know, yes, your shadow that passes without colors
behind those cloudy that roam in droves;
I know in those groups of gloomy vapors
the pale ghosts, the dreams Daniel's.
Your infinite spirit slips before my eyes,
although my impure sight your appearance does not see;
my soul trembles, and before your face of fennel
my lonely faith adores you in those clouds.
Grader and more majestic than the echo of the torrent
That the immense loneliness crosses the desert,
Greater and more solemn than on the boiling sea
The noise with which the hoarse tempest rolls.
Author: José Zorrila