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Best Famous Homer Poems

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

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See also: Best Member Poems

by John Keats | |

On first looking into Chapmans Homer

MUCH have I travell'd in the realms of gold  
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; 
Round many western islands have I been 
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told 5 That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne: Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; 10 Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific¡ªand all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise¡ª Silent upon a peak in Darien.


by Helen Hunt Jackson | |

Songs of Battle

 Old as the world--no other things so old; 
Nay, older than the world, else, how had sprung 
Such lusty strength in them when earth was young?-- 
Stand valor and its passion hot and bold, 
Insatiate of battle.
How, else, told Blind men, born blind, that red was fitting tongue Mute, eloquent, to show how trumpets rung When armies charged adn battle-flags unfurled? Who sings of valor speaks for life, for death, Beyond all death, and long as life is life, in rippled waves the eternal air hs breath Eternal bears to stir all noble strife.
Dead Homer from his lost and vanished grave Keeps battle glorious still and soldiers brave.


by Friedrich von Schiller | |

The Iliad

 Tear forever the garland of Homer, and number the fathers
Of the immortal work, that through all time will survive!
Yet it has but one mother, and bears that mother's own feature,
'Tis thy features it bears,--Nature,--thy features eterne!


by Lizette Woodworth Reese | |

Tears

 When I consider Life and its few years --
A wisp of fog betwixt us and the sun;
A call to battle, and the battle done
Ere the last echo dies within our ears;
A rose choked in the grass; an hour of fears;
The gusts that past a darkening shore do beat;
The burst of music down an unlistening street, --
I wonder at the idleness of tears.
Ye old, old dead, and ye of yesternight, Chieftains, and bards, and keepers of the sheep, By every cup of sorrow that you had, Loose me from tears, and make me see aright How each hath back what once he stayed to weep: Homer his sight, David his little lad!


by Joyce Kilmer | |

Vision

 (For Aline)

Homer, they tell us, was blind and could not see the beautiful 
faces
Looking up into his own and reflecting the joy of his dream,
Yet did he seem
Gifted with eyes that could follow the gods to their holiest places.
I have no vision of gods, not of Eros with love-arrows laden, Jupiter thundering death or of Juno his white-breasted queen, Yet have I seen All of the joy of the world in the innocent heart of a maiden.


by Robinson Jeffers | |

The Epic Stars

 The heroic stars spending themselves,
Coining their very flesh into bullets for the lost battle,
They must burn out at length like used candles;
And Mother Night will weep in her triumph, taking home her heroes.
There is the stuff for an epic poem-- This magnificent raid at the heart of darkness, this lost battle-- We don't know enough, we'll never know.
Oh happy Homer, taking the stars and the Gods for granted.


by Robinson Jeffers | |

On Building With Stone

 To be an ape in little of the mountain-making mother
Like swarthy Cheops, but my own hands
For only slaves, is a far sweeter toil than to cut
Passions in verse for a sick people.
I'd liefer bed one boulder in the house-wall than be the time's Archilochus: we name not Homer: who now Can even imagine the fabulous dawn when bay-leaves (to a blind Beggar) were not bitter in the teeth?


by Edward Lear | |

There was an old Person of Cromer

There was an old Person of Cromer,
Who stood on one leg to read Homer;
When he found he grew stiff, he jumped over the cliff,
Which concluded that Person of Cromer.


by Osip Mandelstam | |

Insomnia. Homer. Taut canvas.

 Insomnia.
Homer.
Taut canvas.
Half the catalogue of ships is mine: that flight of cranes, long stretched-out line, that once rose, out of Hellas.
To an alien land, like a phalanx of cranes – Foam of the gods on the heads of kings – Where do you sail? What would the things of Troy, be to you, Achaeans, without Helen? The sea, or Homer – all moves by love’s glow.
Which should I hear? Now Homer is silent, and the Black Sea thundering its oratory, turbulent, and, surging, roars against my pillow.


by Edgar Lee Masters | |

Petit The Poet

 Seeds in a dry pod, tick, tick, tick,
Tick, tick, tick, like mites in a quarrel--
Faint iambics that the full breeze wakens--
But the pine tree makes a symphony thereof.
Triolets, villanelles, rondels, rondeaus, Ballades by the score with the same old thought: The snows and the roses of yesterday are vanished; And what is love but a rose that fades? Life all around me here in the village: Tragedy, comedy, valor and truth, Courage, constancy, heroism, failure-- All in the loom, and oh what patterns! Woodlands, meadows, streams and rivers-- Blind to all of it all my life long.
Triolets, villanelles, rondels, rondeaus, Seeds in a dry pod, tick, tick, tick, Tick, tick, tick, what little iambics, While Homer and Whitman roared in the pines?


by Edgar Lee Masters | |

Homer Clapp

 Often Aner Clute at the gate
Refused me the parting kiss,
Saying we should be engaged before that;
And just with a distant clasp of the hand
She bade me good-night, as I brought her home
From the skating rink or the revival.
No sooner did my departing footsteps die away Than Lucius Atherton, (So I learned when Aner went to Peoria) Stole in at her window, or took her riding Behind his spanking team of bays Into the country.
The shock of it made me settle down, And I put all the money I got from my father's estate Into the canning factory, to get the job Of head accountant, and lost it all.
And then I knew I was one of Life's fools, Whom only death would treat as the equal Of other men, making me feel like a man.


by Edgar Lee Masters | |

Gustav Richter

 After a long day of work in my hot-houses
Sleep was sweet, but if you sleep on your left side
Your dreams may be abruptly ended.
I was among my flowers where some one Seemed to be raising them on trial, As if after-while to be transplanted To a larger garden of freer air.
And I was disembodied vision Amid a light, as it were the sun Had floated in and touched the roof of glass Like a toy balloon and softly bursted, And etherealized in golden air.
And all was silence, except the splendor Was immanent with thought as clear As a speaking voice, and I, as thought, Could hear a Presence think as he walked Between the boxes pinching off leaves, Looking for bugs and noting values, With an eye that saw it all: -- "Homer, oh yes! Pericles, good.
Caesar Borgia, what shall be done with it? Dante, too much manure, perhaps.
Napoleon, leave him awhile as yet.
Shelley, more soil.
Shakespeare, needs spraying --" Clouds, eh! --


by Robert Burns | |

179. To Miss Ferrier enclosing Elegy on Sir J. H. Blair

 NAE heathen name shall I prefix,
 Frae Pindus or Parnassus;
Auld Reekie dings them a’ to sticks,
 For rhyme-inspiring lasses.
Jove’s tunefu’ dochters three times three Made Homer deep their debtor; But, gien the body half an e’e, Nine Ferriers wad done better! Last day my mind was in a bog, Down George’s Street I stoited; A creeping cauld prosaic fog My very sense doited.
Do what I dought to set her free, My saul lay in the mire; Ye turned a neuk—I saw your e’e— She took the wing like fire! The mournfu’ sang I here enclose, In gratitude I send you, And pray, in rhyme as weel as prose, A’ gude things may attend you!


by John Keats | |

To Homer

 Standing aloof in giant ignorance,
 Of thee I hear and of the Cyclades,
As one who sits ashore and longs perchance
 To visit dolphin-coral in deep seas.
So thou wast blind;--but then the veil was rent, For Jove uncurtain'd Heaven to let thee live, And Neptune made for thee a spumy tent, And Pan made sing for thee his forest-hive; Aye on the shores of darkness there is light, And precipices show untrodden green, There is a budding morrow in midnight, There is a triple sight in blindness keen; Such seeing hadst thou, as it once befel To Dian, Queen of Earth, and Heaven, and Hell.


by William Butler Yeats | |

Mad As The Mist And Snow

 Bolt and bar the shutter,
For the foul winds blow:
Our minds are at their best this night,
And I seem to know
That everything outside us is
Mad as the mist and snow.
Horace there by Homer stands, Plato stands below, And here is Tully's open page.
How many years ago Were you and I unlettered lads Mad as the mist and snow? You ask what makes me sigh, old friend, What makes me shudder so? I shudder and I sigh to think That even Cicero And many-minded Homer were Mad as the mist and snow.


by William Butler Yeats | |

A Woman Homer Sung

 If any man drew near
When I was young,
I thought, 'He holds her dear,'
And shook with hate and fear.
But O! 'twas bitter wrong If he could pass her by With an indifferent eye.
Whereon I wrote and wrought, And now, being grey, I dream that I have brought To such a pitch my thought That coming time can say, 'He shadowed in a glass What thing her body was.
' For she had fiery blood When I was young, And trod so sweetly proud As 'twere upon a cloud, A woman Homer sung, That life and letters seem But an heroic dream.