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Best Famous Alan Seeger Poems

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

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Written by Alan Seeger | |

I Have A Rendezvous With Death

 I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
When Spring comes back with rustling shade
And apple-blossoms fill the air— 
I have a rendezvous with Death
When Spring brings back blue days and fair.
It may be he shall take my hand And lead me into his dark land And close my eyes and quench my breath— It may be I shall pass him still.
I have a rendezvous with Death On some scarred slope of battered hill When Spring comes round again this year And the first meadow-flowers appear.
God knows 'twere better to be deep Pillowed in silk and scented down, Where Love throbs out in blissful sleep, Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath, Where hushed awakenings are dear.
But I've a rendezvous with Death At midnight in some flaming town, When Spring trips north again this year, And I to my pledged word am true, I shall not fail that rendezvous.

Written by Alan Seeger | |

At the Tomb of Napoleon

 I stood beside his sepulchre whose fame, 
Hurled over Europe once on bolt and blast, 
Now glows far off as storm-clouds overpast 
Glow in the sunset flushed with glorious flame.
Has Nature marred his mould? Can Art acclaim No hero now, no man with whom men side As with their hearts' high needs personified? There are will say, One such our lips could name; Columbia gave him birth.
Him Genius most Gifted to rule.
Against the world's great man Lift their low calumny and sneering cries The Pharisaic multitude, the host Of piddling slanderers whose little eyes Know not what greatness is and never can.

Written by Alan Seeger | |


 The rooks aclamor when one enters here 
Startle the empty towers far overhead; 
Through gaping walls the summer fields appear, 
Green, tan, or, poppy-mingled, tinged with red.
The courts where revel rang deep grass and moss Cover, and tangled vines have overgrown The gate where banners blazoned with a cross Rolled forth to toss round Tyre and Ascalon.
Decay consumes it.
The old causes fade.
And fretting for the contest many a heart Waits their Tyrtaeus to chant on the new.
Oh, pass him by who, in this haunted shade Musing enthralled, has only this much art, To love the things the birds and flowers love too.

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Written by Alan Seeger | |

After an Epigram of Clement Marot

 The lad I was I longer now 
Nor am nor shall be evermore.
Spring's lovely blossoms from my brow Have shed their petals on the floor.
Thou, Love, hast been my lord, thy shrine Above all gods' best served by me.
Dear Love, could life again be mine How bettered should that service be!

Written by Alan Seeger | |

All Thats Not Love . . .

 All that's not love is the dearth of my days, 
The leaves of the volume with rubric unwrit, 
The temple in times without prayer, without praise, 
The altar unset and the candle unlit.
Let me survive not the lovable sway Of early desire, nor see when it goes The courts of Life's abbey in ivied decay, Whence sometime sweet anthems and incense arose.
The delicate hues of its sevenfold rings The rainbow outlives not; their yellow and blue The butterfly sees not dissolve from his wings, But even with their beauty life fades from them too.
No more would I linger past Love's ardent bounds Nor live for aught else but the joy that it craves, That, burden and essence of all that surrounds, Is the song in the wind and the smile on the waves.

Written by Alan Seeger | |


 Stretched on a sunny bank he lay at rest, 
Ferns at his elbow, lilies round his knees, 
With sweet flesh patterned where the cool turf pressed, 
Flowerlike crept o'er with emerald aphides.
Single he couched there, to his circling flocks Piping at times some happy shepherd's tune, Nude, with the warm wind in his golden locks, And arched with the blue Asian afternoon.
Past him, gorse-purpled, to the distant coast Rolled the clear foothills.
There his white-walled town, There, a blue band, the placid Euxine lay.
Beyond, on fields of azure light embossed He watched from noon till dewy eve came down The summer clouds pile up and fade away

Written by Alan Seeger | |


 Lay me where soft Cyrene rambles down 
In grove and garden to the sapphire sea; 
Twine yellow roses for the drinker's crown; 
Let music reach and fair heads circle me, 
Watching blue ocean where the white sails steer 
Fruit-laden forth or with the wares and news 
Of merchant cities seek our harbors here, 
Careless how Corinth fares, how Syracuse; 
But here, with love and sleep in her caress, 
Warm night shall sink and utterly persuade 
The gentle doctrine Aristippus bare, -- 
Night-winds, and one whose white youth's loveliness, 
In a flowered balcony beside me laid, 
Dreams, with the starlight on her fragrant hair.

Written by Alan Seeger | |


 I who, conceived beneath another star, 
Had been a prince and played with life, instead 
Have been its slave, an outcast exiled far 
From the fair things my faith has merited.
My ways have been the ways that wanderers tread And those that make romance of poverty -- Soldier, I shared the soldier's board and bed, And Joy has been a thing more oft to me Whispered by summer wind and summer sea Than known incarnate in the hours it lies All warm against our hearts and laughs into our eyes.
I know not if in risking my best days I shall leave utterly behind me here This dream that lightened me through lonesome ways And that no disappointment made less dear; Sometimes I think that, where the hilltops rear Their white entrenchments back of tangled wire, Behind the mist Death only can make clear, There, like Brunhilde ringed with flaming fire, Lies what shall ease my heart's immense desire: There, where beyond the horror and the pain Only the brave shall pass, only the strong attain.
Truth or delusion, be it as it may, Yet think it true, dear friends, for, thinking so, That thought shall nerve our sinews on the day When to the last assault our bugles blow: Reckless of pain and peril we shall go, Heads high and hearts aflame and bayonets bare, And we shall brave eternity as though Eyes looked on us in which we would seem fair -- One waited in whose presence we would wear, Even as a lover who would be well-seen, Our manhood faultless and our honor clean.

Written by Alan Seeger | |


 In Lyonesse was beauty enough, men say: 
Long Summer loaded the orchards to excess, 
And fertile lowlands lengthening far away, 
In Lyonesse.
Came a term to that land's old favoredness: Past the sea-walls, crumbled in thundering spray, Rolled the green waves, ravening, merciless.
Through bearded boughs immobile in cool decay, Where sea-bloom covers corroding palaces, The mermaid glides with a curious glance to-day, In Lyonesse.

Written by Alan Seeger | |

Sonnet 04

 If I was drawn here from a distant place, 
'Twas not to pray nor hear our friend's address, 
But, gazing once more on your winsome face, 
To worship there Ideal Loveliness.
On that pure shrine that has too long ignored The gifts that once I brought so frequently I lay this votive offering, to record How sweet your quiet beauty seemed to me.
Enchanting girl, my faith is not a thing By futile prayers and vapid psalm-singing To vent in crowded nave and public pew.
My creed is simple: that the world is fair, And beauty the best thing to worship there, And I confess it by adoring you.

Written by Alan Seeger | |

Sonnet 05

 Seeing you have not come with me, nor spent 
This day's suggestive beauty as we ought, 
I have gone forth alone and been content 
To make you mistress only of my thought.
And I have blessed the fate that was so kind In my life's agitations to include This moment's refuge where my sense can find Refreshment, and my soul beatitude.
Oh, be my gentle love a little while! Walk with me sometimes.
Let me see you smile.
Watching some night under a wintry sky, Before the charge, or on the bed of pain, These blessed memories shall revive again And be a power to cheer and fortify

Written by Alan Seeger | |


 Deep in the sloping forest that surrounds 
The head of a green valley that I know, 
Spread the fair gardens and ancestral grounds 
Of Bellinglise, the beautiful chateau.
Through shady groves and fields of unmown grass, It was my joy to come at dusk and see, Filling a little pond's untroubled glass, Its antique towers and mouldering masonry.
Oh, should I fall to-morrow, lay me here, That o'er my tomb, with each reviving year, Wood-flowers may blossom and the wood-doves croon; And lovers by that unrecorded place, Passing, may pause, and cling a little space, Close-bosomed, at the rising of the moon.
II Here, where in happier times the huntsman's horn Echoing from far made sweet midsummer eves, Now serried cannon thunder night and morn, Tearing with iron the greenwood's tender leaves.
Yet has sweet Spring no particle withdrawn Of her old bounty; still the song-birds hail, Even through our fusillade, delightful Dawn; Even in our wire bloom lilies of the vale.
You who love flowers, take these; their fragile bells Have trembled with the shock of volleyed shells, And in black nights when stealthy foes advance They have been lit by the pale rockets' glow That o'er scarred fields and ancient towns laid low Trace in white fire the brave frontiers of France.

Written by Alan Seeger | |


 Broceliande! in the perilous beauty of silence and menacing shade, 
Thou art set on the shores of the sea down the haze 
of horizons untravelled, unscanned.
Untroubled, untouched with the woes of this world are the moon-marshalled hosts that invade Broceliande.
Only at dusk, when lavender clouds in the orient twilight disband, Vanishing where all the blue afternoon they have drifted in solemn parade, Sometimes a whisper comes down on the wind from the valleys of Fairyland ---- Sometimes an echo most mournful and faint like the horn of a huntsman strayed, Faint and forlorn, half drowned in the murmur of foliage fitfully fanned, Breathes in a burden of nameless regret till I startle, disturbed and affrayed: Broceliande -- Broceliande -- Broceliande.

Written by Alan Seeger | |

El Extraviado

 Over the radiant ridges borne out on the offshore wind, 
I have sailed as a butterfly sails whose priming wings unfurled 
Leave the familiar gardens and visited fields behind 
To follow a cloud in the east rose-flushed on the rim of the world.
I have strayed from the trodden highway for walking with upturned eyes On the way of the wind in the treetops, and the drift of the tinted rack.
For the will to be losing no wonder of sunny or starlit skies I have chosen the sod for my pillow and a threadbare coat for my back.
Evening of ample horizons, opaline, delicate, pure, Shadow of clouds on green valleys, trailed over meadows and trees, Cities of ardent adventure where the harvests of Joy mature, Forests whose murmuring voices are amorous prophecies, World of romance and profusion, still round my journey spread The glamours, the glints, the enthralments, the nurture of one whose feet From hours unblessed by beauty nor lighted by love have fled As the shade of the tomb on his pathway and the scent of the winding-sheet.
I never could rest from roving nor put from my heart this need To be seeing how lovably Nature in flower and face hath wrought, -- In flower and meadow and mountain and heaven where the white clouds breed And the cunning of silken meshes where the heart's desire lies caught.
Over the azure expanses, on the offshore breezes borne, I have sailed as a butterfly sails, nor recked where the impulse led, Sufficed with the sunshine and freedom, the warmth and the summer morn, The infinite glory surrounding, the infinite blue ahead

Written by Alan Seeger | |


 O happiness, I know not what far seas, 
Blue hills and deep, thy sunny realms surround, 
That thus in Music's wistful harmonies 
And concert of sweet sound 
A rumor steals, from some uncertain shore, 
Of lovely things outworn or gladness yet in store: 

Whether thy beams be pitiful and come, 
Across the sundering of vanished years, 
From childhood and the happy fields of home, 
Like eyes instinct with tears 
Felt through green brakes of hedge and apple-bough 
Round haunts delightful once, desert and silent now; 

Or yet if prescience of unrealized love 
Startle the breast with each melodious air, 
And gifts that gentle hands are donors of 
Still wait intact somewhere, 
Furled up all golden in a perfumed place 
Within the folded petals of forthcoming days.
Only forever, in the old unrest Of winds and waters and the varying year, A litany from islands of the blessed Answers, Not here .
not here! And over the wide world that wandering cry Shall lead my searching heart unsoothed until I die.