Famous poems
/ page 24 of 40 /
Idylls of the King: The Passing of Arthur
© Alfred Tennyson
That story which the bold Sir Bedivere,
First made and latest left of all the knights,
Told, when the man was no more than a voice
In the white winter of his age, to those
With whom he dwelt, new faces, other minds.
The Ghost in the Martini
© Anthony Evan Hecht
Over the rim of the glass
Containing a good martini with a twist
I eye her bosom and consider a pass,
Certain we’d not be missed
Famous
© Naomi Shihab Nye
The loud voice is famous to silence,
which knew it would inherit the earth
before anybody said so.
How The Old Horse Won The Bet
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
What was it who was bound to do?
I did not hear and can't tell you,--
Pray listen till my story's through.
Lines In Memory Of Edmund Morris
© Duncan Campbell Scott
How shall we transmit in tendril-like images,
The tenuous tremor in the tissues of ether,
Before the round of colour buds like the dome of a shrine,
The preconscious moment when love has fluttered in the bosom,
Before it begins to ache?
Paradise Regain'd: Book III (1671)
© Patrick Kavanagh
SO spake the Son of God, and Satan stood
A while as mute confounded what to say,
The Recluse - Book First
© William Wordsworth
HOME AT GRASMERE
ONCE to the verge of yon steep barrier came
A roving school-boy; what the adventurer's age
Hath now escaped his memory--but the hour,
The Ghost Of Roger Casement
© William Butler Yeats
O WHAT has made that sudden noise?
What on the threshold stands?
A Satirical Elegy on the Death of a Late Famous General
© Jonathan Swift
His Grace! impossible! what dead!
Of old age too, and in his bed!
Beowulf
© Charles Baudelaire
LO, praise of the prowess of people-kings
of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped,
we have heard, and what honor the athelings won!
Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes,
Lycidas
© Patrick Kavanagh
Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more
Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere,
Tristram And Iseult
© Matthew Arnold
Tristram. Is she not come? The messenger was sure
Prop me upon the pillows once again
Raise me, my page! this cannot long endure.
Christ, what a night! how the sleet whips the pane!
What lights will those out to the northward be?
How We Made a New Art on Old Ground
© Eavan Boland
A famous battle happened in this valley.
You never understood the nature poem.
Till now. Till this moment—if these statements
seem separate, unrelated, follow this
Abraham Lincoln Walks at Midnight
© Roald Dahl
(In Springfield, Illinois)
It is portentous, and a thing of state
That here at midnight, in our little town
A mourning figure walks, and will not rest,
Near the old court-house pacing up and down.
The Ballad Of The Taylor Pup
© Eugene Field
Now lithe and listen, gentles all,
Now lithe ye all and hark
Unto a ballad I shall sing
About Buena Park.
In the Green Morning, Now, Once More
© Delmore Schwartz
In the green morning, before
Love was destiny,
The sun was king,
And God was famous.
Michael: A Pastoral Poem
© William Wordsworth
Thus in his Father's sight the Boy grew up:
And now, when he had reached his eighteenth year,
He was his comfort and his daily hope.
