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Best Famous Robert Louis Stevenson Poems

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

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Written by Robert Louis Stevenson |

Autumn Fires

 In the other gardens 
And all up the vale, 
From the autumn bonfires 
See the smoke trail! 

Pleasant summer over 
And all the summer flowers, 
The red fire blazes, 
The grey smoke towers.
Sing a song of seasons! Something bright in all! Flowers in the summer, Fires in the fall!

Written by Robert Louis Stevenson |

Pirate Story

 Three of us afloat in the meadow by the swing, 
Three of us abroad in the basket on the lea.
Winds are in the air, they are blowing in the spring, And waves are on the meadow like the waves there are at sea.
Where shall we adventure, to-day that we're afloat, Wary of the weather and steering by a star? Shall it be to Africa, a-steering of the boat, To Providence, or Babylon or off to Malabar? Hi! but here's a squadron a-rowing on the sea-- Cattle on the meadow a-charging with a roar! Quick, and we'll escape them, they're as mad as they can be, The wicket is the harbour and the garden is the shore.

Written by Robert Louis Stevenson |

An English Breeze

 UP with the sun, the breeze arose,
Across the talking corn she goes,
And smooth she rustles far and wide
Through all the voiceful countryside.
Through all the land her tale she tells; She spins, she tosses, she compels The kites, the clouds, the windmill sails And all the trees in all the dales.
God calls us, and the day prepares With nimble, gay and gracious airs: And from Penzance to Maidenhead The roads last night He watered.
God calls us from inglorious ease, Forth and to travel with the breeze While, swift and singing, smooth and strong She gallops by the fields along.

More great poems below...

Written by Robert Louis Stevenson |

Swallows Travel To And Fro

 SWALLOWS travel to and fro,
And the great winds come and go,
And the steady breezes blow,
Bearing perfume, bearing love.
Breezes hasten, swallows fly, Towered clouds forever ply, And at noonday, you and I See the same sunshine above.
Dew and rain fall everywhere, Harvests ripen, flowers are fair, And the whole round earth is bare To the moonshine and the sun; And the live air, fanned with wings, Bright with breeze and sunshine, brings Into contact distant things, And makes all the countries one.
Let us wander where we will, Something kindred greets us still; Something seen on vale or hill Falls familiar on the heart; So, at scent or sound or sight, Severed souls by day and night Tremble with the same delight - Tremble, half the world apart.

Written by Robert Louis Stevenson |

Happy Thought

 The world is so full of a number of things, 
I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings.

Written by Robert Louis Stevenson |

To My Name-Child


Some day soon this rhyming volume, if you learn with proper speed, 
Little Louis Sanchez, will be given you to read.
Then you shall discover, that your name was printed down By the English printers, long before, in London town.
In the great and busy city where the East and West are met, All the little letters did the English printer set; While you thought of nothing, and were still too young to play, Foreign people thought of you in places far away.
Ay, and when you slept, a baby, over all the English lands Other little children took the volume in their hands; Other children questioned, in their homes across the seas: Who was little Louis, won't you tell us, mother, please? 2 Now that you have spelt your lesson, lay it down and go and play, Seeking shells and seaweed on the sands of Monterey, Watching all the mighty whalebones, lying buried by the breeze, Tiny sandpipers, and the huge Pacific seas.
And remember in your playing, as the sea-fog rolls to you, Long ere you could read it, how I told you what to do; And that while you thought of no one, nearly half the world away Some one thought of Louis on the beach of Monterey!

Written by Robert Louis Stevenson |

Thou Strainest Through The Mountain Fern

 THOU strainest through the mountain fern,
A most exiguously thin Burn.
For all thy foam, for all thy din, Thee shall the pallid lake inurn, With well-a-day for Mr.
Swin-Burne! Take then this quarto in thy fin And, O thou stoker huge and stern, The whole affair, outside and in, Burn! But save the true poetic kin, The works of Mr.
Robert Burn' And William Wordsworth upon Tin-Tern!

Written by Robert Louis Stevenson |

Aunties Skirts

 Whenever Auntie moves around,
Her dresses make a curious sound,
They trail behind her up the floor,
And trundle after through the door.

Written by Robert Louis Stevenson |

My Kingdom

 A little kingdom I possess 
where thoughts and feelings dwell, 
And very hard I find the task 
of governing it well; 
For passion tempts and troubles me, 
A wayward will misleads, 
And selfishness its shadow casts 
On all my words and deeds.
How can I learn to rule myself, to be the child I should, Honest and brave, nor ever tire Of trying to be good? How can I keep a sunny soul To shine along life's way? How can I tune my little heart To sweetly sing all day? Dear Father, help me with the love that casteth out my fear; Teach me to lean on thee, and feel That thou art very near, That no temptation is unseen No childish grief too small, Since thou, with patience infinite, Doth soothe and comfort all.
I do not ask for any crown But that which all may win Nor seek to conquer any world Except the one within.
Be thou my guide until I find, Led by a tender hand, Thy happy kingdom in myself And dare to take command.

Written by Robert Louis Stevenson |

Looking Forward

 When I am grown to man's estate 
I shall be very proud and great, 
And tell the other girls and boys 
Not to meddle with my toys.

Written by Robert Louis Stevenson |

The Land of Story-Books

 At evening when the lamp is lit, 
Around the fire my parents sit; 
They sit at home and talk and sing, 
And do not play at anything.
Now, with my little gun, I crawl All in the dark along the wall, And follow round the forest track Away behind the sofa back.
There, in the night, where none can spy, All in my hunter's camp I lie, And play at books that I have read Till it is time to go to bed.
These are the hills, these are the woods, These are my starry solitudes; And there the river by whose brink The roaring lions come to drink.
I see the others far away As if in firelit camp they lay, And I, like to an Indian scout, Around their party prowled about.
So when my nurse comes in for me, Home I return across the sea, And go to bed with backward looks At my dear land of Story-books.

Written by Robert Louis Stevenson |

Block City

 What are you able to build with your blocks?
Castles and palaces, temples and docks.
Rain may keep raining, and others go roam, But I can be happy and building at home.
Let the sofa be mountains, the carpet be sea, There I'll establish a city for me: A kirk and a mill and a palace beside, And a harbor as well where my vessels may ride.
Great is the palace with pillar and wall, A sort of a tower on top of it all, And steps coming down in an orderly way To where my toy vessels lie safe in the bay.
This one is sailing and that one is moored: Hark to the song of the sailors on board! And see on the steps of my palace, the kings Coming and going with presents and things!

Written by Robert Louis Stevenson |

Long Time I Lay In Little Ease


LONG time I lay in little ease
Where, placed by the Turanian,
Marseilles, the many-masted, sees
The blue Mediterranean.
Now songful in the hour of sport, Now riotous for wages, She camps around her ancient port, As ancient of the ages.
Algerian airs through all the place Unconquerably sally; Incomparable women pace The shadows of the alley.
And high o'er dark and graving yard And where the sky is paler, The golden virgin of the guard Shines, beckoning the sailor.
She hears the city roar on high, Thief, prostitute, and banker; She sees the masted vessels lie Immovably at anchor.
She sees the snowy islets dot The sea's immortal azure, And If, that castellated spot, Tower, turret, and embrasure.

Written by Robert Louis Stevenson |

To Friends At Home

 TO friends at home, the lone, the admired, the lost
The gracious old, the lovely young, to May
The fair, December the beloved,
These from my blue horizon and green isles,
These from this pinnacle of distances I,
The unforgetful, dedicate.

Written by Robert Louis Stevenson |

To Any Reader

 As from the house your mother sees
You playing round the garden trees,
So you may see, if you will look
Through the windows of this book,
Another child, far, far away,
And in another garden, play.
But do not think you can at all, By knocking on the window, call That child to hear you.
He intent Is all on his play-business bent.
He does not hear; he will not look, Nor yet be lured out of this book.
For, long ago, the truth to say, He has grown up and gone away, And it is but a child of air That lingers in the garden there.