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Best Famous Christopher Smart Poems

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

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by Katherine Anne Porter | |

Another Sarah

 for Christopher Smart

When winter was half over
God sent three angels to the 
 apple-tree
Who said to her
"Be glad, you little rack
Of empty sticks,
Because you have been chosen.
In May you will become A wave of living sweetness A nation of white petals A dynasty of apples.
"


by Steve Kowit | |

Notice

 This evening, the sturdy Levi's
I wore every day for over a year
& which seemed to the end
in perfect condition,
suddenly tore.
How or why I don't know, but there it was: a big rip at the crotch.
A month ago my friend Nick walked off a racquetball court, showered, got into this street clothes, & halfway home collapsed & died.
Take heed, you who read this, & drop to your knees now & again like the poet Christopher Smart, & kiss the earth & be joyful, & make much of your time, & be kindly to everyone, even to those who do not deserve it.
For although you may not believe it will happen, you too will one day be gone, I, whose Levi's ripped at the crotch for no reason, assure you that such is the case.
Pass it on.


by Christopher Smart | |

The Sweets of Evening

 The sweets of evening charm the mind, 
Sick of the sultry day; 
The body then no more confin'd, 
But exercise with freedom join'd, 
When Phoebus sheathes his ray.
While all-serene the summer moon Sends glances thro' the trees, And Philomel begins her tune,.
And Asteria too shall help her soon With voice of skillful ease.
A nosegay, every thing that grows, And music, every sound To lull the sun to his repose; The skies are colour'd like the rose With lively streaks around.
Of all the changes rung by time None half so sweet appear, As those when thoughts themselves sublime, And with superior natures chime In fancy's highest sphere.


by Christopher Smart | |

On My Wifes Birth-Day

 'Tis Nancy's birth-day--raise your strains, 
Ye nymphs of the Parnassian plains, 
And sing with more than usual glee 
To Nancy, who was born for me.
Tell the blythe Graces as they bound, Luxuriant in the buxom round; They're not more elegantly free, Than Nancy, who was born for me.
Tell royal Venus, tho' she rove, The queen of the immortal grove, That she must share her golden fee With Nancy, who was born for me.
Tell Pallas, tho' th'Athenian school, And ev'ry trite pedantic fool, On her to place the palm agree, 'Tis Nancy's, who was born for me.
Tell spotless Dian, tho' she range, The regent of the up-land grange, In chastity she yields to thee, O Nancy, who was born for me.
Tell Cupid, Hymen, and tell Jove, With all the pow'rs of life and love, That I'd disdain to breathe or be, If Nancy was not born for me.


by Christopher Smart | |

On a Lady Throwing Snow-Balls at Her Lover

 [From the Latin of Petronious Ascanius.
] When, wanton fair, the snowy orb you throw, I feel a fire before unknown in snow.
E'en coldest snow I find has pow'r to warm My breast, when flung by Julia's lovely arm.
T'elude love's pow'rful arts I strive in vain, If ice and snow can latent fires contain.
These frolics leave: the force of beauty prove, With equal passion cool my ardent love.


by Christopher Smart | |

The Long-Nosed Fair

 Once on a time I fair Dorinda kiss'd, 
Whose nose was too distinguish'd to be miss'd; 
My dear, says I, I fain would kiss you closer, 
But tho' your lips say aye--your nose says, no, Sir.
-- The maid was equally to fun inclin'd, And plac'd her lovely lily-hand behind; Here, swain, she cry'd, may'st thou securely kiss, Where there's no nose to interrupt thy bliss.


by Christopher Smart | |

Psalm XXIII

 The shepherd Christ from heav'n arriv'd, 
My flesh and spirit feeds; 
I shall not therefore be depriv'd 
Of all my nature needs.
As slop'd against the glist'ning beam The velvet verdure swells, He keeps, and leads me by the stream Where consolation dwells.
My soul He shall from sin restore, And her free pow'rs awake, In paths of heav'nly truth to soar, For love and mercy's sake.
Yea, tho' I walk death's gloomy vale, The dread I shall disdain; For Thou art with me, lest I fail, To check me and sustain.
Thou shalt my plenteous board appoint Before the braving foe; Thine oil and wine my head anoint, And make my goblet flow.
But great still Thy love and grace Shall all my life attend; And in Thine hallow'd dwelling place My knees shall ever bend.