Submit a Poem
Get Your Premium Membership
spacer

Best Famous John Gould Fletcher Poems


Here is a collection of the all-time best famous John Gould Fletcher poems. This is a select list of the best famous John Gould Fletcher poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous John Gould Fletcher poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of John Gould Fletcher poems.

Search for the best famous John Gould Fletcher poems, articles about John Gould Fletcher poems, poetry blogs, or anything else John Gould Fletcher poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See also: Best Member Poems

Go Back




by John Gould Fletcher |

Spring

 When daisies pied, and violets blue, 
And lady-smocks all silver-white, 
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue 
Do paint the meadows with delight, 
The cuckoo then, on every tree, 
Mocks married men, for thus sings he: 
'Cuckoo! 
Cuckoo, cuckoo!' O word of fear, 
Unpleasing to a married ear. 
When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, 
And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, 
When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, 
And maidens bleach their summer smocks, 
The cuckoo then, on every tree, 
Mocks married men, for thus sings he: 
'Cuckoo! 
Cuckoo, cuckoo!' O word of fear, 
Unpleasing to a married ear.


by John Gould Fletcher |

Sleep

 she was a short one
getting fat and she had once been
beautiful and
she drank the wine
she drank the wine in bed and
talked and screamed and cursed at
me
and i told her 
please, I need some
sleep. 
-sleep? sleep? ya son of a
bitch, ya never sleep, ya
don't need any
sleep! 
I buried her one morning early
I carried her down the sides of the Hollywood Hills
brambles and rabbits and rocks
running in front of me
and by the time I'd dug the ditch
and stuck her in
belly down
and put the dirt back on
the sun was up and it was warm
and the flies were lazy and
I could hardly see anything out of my eyes
everything was so
warm and yellow. 
I managed to drive home and I got into bed and I
slept for 5 days and 4
nights. 
from "poems written before jumping out of an 8 story window" - 1966


by John Gould Fletcher |

Spring

 Birds' love and birds' song
Flying here and there,
Birds' songand birds' love
And you with gold for hair!
Birds' songand birds' love
Passing with the weather,
Men's song and men's love,
To love once and forever.

Men's love and birds' love,
And women's love and men's!
And you my wren with a crown of gold,
You my queen of the wrens!
You the queen of the wrens --
We'll be birds of a feather,
I'll be King of the Queen of the wrens,
And all in a nest together.


by John Gould Fletcher |

Sleep

 Do you give yourself to me utterly,

Body and no-body, flesh and no-flesh

Not as a fugitive, blindly or bitterly, 

But as a child might, with no other wish?

Yes, utterly.



Then I shall bear you down my estuary,

Carry you and ferry you to burial mysteriously,

Take you and receive you,

Consume you, engulf you,

In the huge cave, my belly, lave you

With huger waves continually.

And you shall cling and clamber there

And slumber there, in that dumb chamber,

Beat with my blood's beat, hear my heart move

Blindly in bones that ride above you,

Delve in my flesh, dissolved and bedded,

Through viewless valves embodied so –



Till daylight, the expulsion and awakening,

The riving and the driving forth,

Life with remorseless forceps beckoning –

Pangs and betrayal of harsh birth.


by John Gould Fletcher |

Bridal Song

 ROSES, their sharp spines being gone, 
Not royal in their smells alone, 
 But in their hue; 
Maiden pinks, of odour faint, 
Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint, 
 And sweet thyme true; 

Primrose, firstborn child of Ver; 
Merry springtime's harbinger, 
 With her bells dim; 
Oxlips in their cradles growing, 
Marigolds on death-beds blowing, 
 Larks'-heels trim; 

All dear Nature's children sweet 
Lie 'fore bride and bridegroom's feet, 
 Blessing their sense! 
Not an angel of the air, 
Bird melodious or bird fair, 
 Be absent hence! 

The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor 
The boding raven, nor chough hoar, 
 Nor chattering pye, 
May on our bride-house perch or sing, 
Or with them any discord bring, 
 But from it fly!


by John Gould Fletcher |

Sleep

 In the night of weariness 
let me give myself up to sleep without struggle, 
resting my trust upon thee. 

Let me not force my flagging spirit into a poor preparation for thy worship. 

It is thou who drawest the veil of night upon the tired eyes of the day 
to renew its sight in a fresher gladness of awakening.


by John Gould Fletcher |

Aspatias Song

 LAY a garland on my herse
 Of the dismal yew;
Maidens, willow branches bear;
 Say, I died true.

My love was false, but I was firm
 From my hour of birth.
Upon my buried body lie
 Lightly, gentle earth!


by John Gould Fletcher |

Beauty Clear and Fair

 BEAUTY clear and fair,
 Where the air
Rather like a perfume dwells;
 Where the violet and the rose
 Their blue veins and blush disclose,
And come to honour nothing else:

 Where to live near
 And planted there
Is to live, and still live new;
 Where to gain a favour is
 More than light, perpetual bliss--
Make me live by serving you!

Dear, again back recall
 To this light,
A stranger to himself and all!
 Both the wonder and the story
 Shall be yours, and eke the glory;
I am your servant, and your thrall.


by John Gould Fletcher |

Care-charming Sleep

 Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes,
Brother to Death, sweetly thyself dispose
On this afflicted prince; fall like a cloud
In gentle showers; give nothing that is loud
Or painful to his slumbers; easy, sweet,
And as a purling stream, thou son of Night,
Pass by his troubled senses; sing his pain,
Like hollow murmuring wind or silver rain;
Into this prince gently, oh gently slide,
And kiss him into slumbers like a bride.


by John Gould Fletcher |

Away Delights

 AWAY, delights! go seek some other dwelling,
 For I must die.
Farewell, false love! thy tongue is ever telling
 Lie after lie.
For ever let me rest now from thy smarts;
 Alas, for pity go
 And fire their hearts
That have been hard to thee! Mine was not so.

Never again deluding love shall know me,
 For I will die;
And all those griefs that think to overgrow me
 Shall be as I:
For ever will I sleep, while poor maids cry--
 'Alas, for pity stay,
 And let us die
With thee! Men cannot mock us in the clay.'