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Best Famous Brother Poems

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

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See also: Best Member Poems

by Percy Bysshe Shelley | |

Loves Philosophy

THE fountains mingle with the river 
And the rivers with the ocean  
The winds of heaven mix for ever 
With a sweet emotion; 
Nothing in the world is single 5 
All things by a law divine 
In one another's being mingle¡ª 
Why not I with thine? 

See the mountains kiss high heaven  
And the waves clasp one another; 10 
No sister-flower would be forgiven 
If it disdain'd its brother; 
And the sunlight clasps the earth  
And the moonbeams kiss the sea¡ª 
What are all these kissings worth 15 
If thou kiss not me?


by Gerard Manley Hopkins | |

Thee God I Come from

 Thee, God, I come from, to thee go, 
All day long I like fountain flow 
From thy hand out, swayed about 
Mote-like in thy mighty glow.
What I know of thee I bless, As acknowledging thy stress On my being and as seeing Something of thy holiness.
Once I turned from thee and hid, Bound on what thou hadst forbid; Sow the wind I would; I sinned: I repent of what I did.
Bad I am, but yet thy child.
Father, be thou reconciled.
Spare thou me, since I see With thy might that thou art mild.
I have life before me still And thy purpose to fulfil; Yea a debt to pay thee yet: Help me, sir, and so I will.
But thou bidst, and just thou art, Me shew mercy from my heart Towards my brother, every other Man my mate and counterpart.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.


by Oliver Wendell Holmes | |

A Parody on “A Psalm of Life”

 Life is real, life is earnest, 
And the shell is not its pen –
“Egg thou art, and egg remainest”
Was not spoken of the hen.
Art is long and Time is fleeting, Be our bills then sharpened well, And not like muffled drums be beating On the inside of the shell.
In the world’s broad field of battle, In the great barnyard of life, Be not like those lazy cattle! Be a rooster in the strife! Lives of roosters all remind us, We can make our lives sublime, And when roasted, leave behind us, Hen tracks on the sands of time.
Hen tracks that perhaps another Chicken drooping in the rain, Some forlorn and henpecked brother, When he sees, shall crow again.


by Edwin Arlington Robinson | |

Thomas Hood

 The man who cloaked his bitterness within
This winding-sheet of puns and pleasantries,
God never gave to look with common eyes
Upon a world of anguish and of sin:
His brother was the branded man of Lynn;
And there are woven with his jollities
The nameless and eternal tragedies
That render hope and hopelessness akin.
We laugh, and crown him; but anon we feel A still chord sorrow-swept, -- a weird unrest; And thin dim shadows home to midnight steal, As if the very ghost of mirth were dead -- As if the joys of time to dreams had fled, Or sailed away with Ines to the West.


by George William Russell | |

Weariness

 WHERE are now the dreams divine,
Fires that lit the dawning soul,
As the ruddy colours shine
Through an opal aureole?


Moving in a joyous trance,
We were like the forest glooms
Rumorous of old romance,
Fraught with unimagined dooms.
Titans we or morning stars, So we seemed in days of old, Mingling in the giant wars Fought afar in deeps of gold.
God, an elder brother dear, Filled with kindly light our thought: Many a radiant form was near Whom our hearts remember not.
Would they know us now? I think Old companions of the prime From our garments well might shrink, Muddied with the lees of Time.
Fade the heaven-assailing moods: Slave to petty tasks I pine For the quiet of the woods, And the sunlight seems divine.
And I yearn to lay my head Where the grass is green and sweet, Mother, all the dreams are fled From the tired child at thy feet.


by George William Russell | |

Mystery

 WHY does this sudden passion smite me?
I stretch my hands, all blind to see:
I need the lamp of the world to light me,
 Lead me and set me free.
Something a moment seemed to stoop from The night with cool, cool breath on my face: Or did the hair of the twilight droop from Its silent wandering ways? About me in the thick wood netted The wizard glow looks human-wise; And over the tree-tops barred and fretted Ponders with strange old eyes.
The tremulous lips of air blow by me And hymn their time-old melody: Its secret strain comes nigh and nigh me: “Ah, brother, come with me; “For here the ancient mother lingers To dip her hands in the diamond dew, And lave thine ache with cloud-cool fingers Till sorrow die from you.


by Ella Wheeler Wilcox | |

Begin The Day

 Begin each morning with a talk to God,
And ask for your divine inheritance
Of usefulness, contentment, and success.
Resign all fear, all doubt, and all despair.
The stars doubt not, and they are undismayed, Though whirled through space for countless centuries, And told not why or wherefore: and the sea With everlasting ebb and flow obeys, And leaves the purpose with the unseen Cause.
The star sheds its radiance on a million worlds, The sea is prodigal with waves, and yet No lustre from the star is lost, and not One dropp missing from the ocean tides.
Oh! brother to the star and sea, know all God’s opulence is held in trust for those Who wait serenely and who work in faith.


by Algernon Charles Swinburne | |

Mourning

 Alas my brother! the cry of the mourners of old
That cried on each other,
All crying aloud on the dead as the death-note rolled,
Alas my brother!

As flashes of dawn that mists from an east wind smother
With fold upon fold,
The past years gleam that linked us one with another.
Time sunders hearts as of brethren whose eyes behold No more their mother: But a cry sounds yet from the shrine whose fires wax cold, Alas my brother!


by Algernon Charles Swinburne | |

Birth And Death

 Birth and death, twin-sister and twin-brother,
Night and day, on all things that draw breath,
Reign, while time keeps friends with one another
Birth and death.
Each brow-bound with flowers diverse of wreath, Heaven they hail as father, earth as mother, Faithful found above them and beneath.
Smiles may lighten tears, and tears may smother Smiles, for all that joy or sorrow saith: Joy nor sorrow knows not from each other Birth and death.


by Algernon Charles Swinburne | |

To Catullus

 My brother, my Valerius, dearest head
Of all whose crowning bay-leaves crown their mother
Rome, in the notes first heard of thine I read
My brother.
No dust that death or time can strew may smother Love and the sense of kinship inly bred From loves and hates at one with one another.
To thee was Caesar's self nor dear nor dread, Song and the sea were sweeter each than other: How should I living fear to call thee dead My brother?


by Godfrey Mutiso Gorry | |

AN ODE TO MY JAILED FRIEND

 Unmasked –
The spirits' face is a black hole
Swallowing the celestial beauty
Of the stars.
Caged – The sentinel is crouched Subsumed in seething pain Not pain but anger of being guiltless Yet ‘guilty’ for being in jail.
The cell – No crime equals its greasy grey walls Thickly dark with no grills for light Till the eyes, sore, feel pain no more.
The sentinel – Was once a brother Used to sit by my feet But wandered away, Till err passed his way.
Who is to blame When the mind is aflight And discretion is abandoned For valor?


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 A S J Tessimond | |

Black Morning Lovesong

 In love's dances, in love's dances
One retreats and one advances,
One grows warmer and one colder,
One more hesitant, one bolder.
One gives what the other needed Once, or will need, now unheeded.
One is clenched, compact, ingrowing While the other's melting, flowing.
One is smiling and concealing While the other's asking kneeling.
One is arguing or sleeping While the other's weeping, weeping.
And the question finds no answer And the tune misleads the dancer And the lost look finds no other And the lost hand finds no brother And the word is left unspoken Till the theme and thread are broken.
When shall these divisions alter? Echo's answer seems to falter: 'Oh the unperplexed, unvexed time Next time.
.
.
one day.
.
.
one day.
.
.
next time!'


by Sir Walter Raleigh | |

Song of Myself

 I was a Poet! 
But I did not know it,
Neither did my Mother,
Nor my Sister nor my Brother.
The Rich were not aware of it; The Poor took no care of it.
The Reverend Mr.
Drewitt Never knew it.
The High did not suspect it; The Low could not detect it.
Aunt Sue Said it was obviously untrue.
Uncle Ned Said I was off my head: (This from a Colonial Was really a good testimonial.
) Still everybody seemed to think That genius owes a good deal to drink.
So that is how I am not a poet now, And why My inspiration has run dry.
It is no sort of use To cultivate the Muse If vulgar people Can't tell a village pump from a church steeple.
I am merely apologizing For the lack of the surprising In what I write To-night.
I am quite well-meaning, But a lot of things are always intervening Between What I mean And what it is said I had in my head.
It is all very puzzling.
Uncle Ned Says Poets need muzzling.
He might Be right.
Good-night!


by Arthur Hugh Clough | |

Ah! Yet Consider it Again!

 "Old things need not be therefore true,"
O brother men, nor yet the new;
Ah! still awhile the old thought retain,
And yet consider it again!

The souls of now two thousand years
Have laid up here their toils and tears,
And all the earnings of their pain,--
Ah, yet consider it again!

We! what do we see? each a space
Of some few yards before his face;
Does that the whole wide plan explain?
Ah, yet consider it again!

Alas! the great world goes its way,
And takes its truth from each new day;
They do not quit, nor can retain,
Far less consider it again.


by Sir Henry Newbolt | |

The War Films

 O living pictures of the dead, 
O songs without a sound, 
O fellowship whose phantom tread 
Hallows a phantom ground -- 
How in a gleam have these revealed 
The faith we had not found.
We have sought God in a cloudy Heaven, We have passed by God on earth: His seven sins and his sorrows seven, His wayworn mood and mirth, Like a ragged cloak have hid from us The secret of his birth.
Brother of men, when now I see The lads go forth in line, Thou knowest my heart is hungry in me As for thy bread and wine; Thou knowest my heart is bowed in me To take their death for mine.


by | by . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/famous/poem/22457/ILl_Tell_You_A_Story' st_title='I'Ll Tell You A Story'>|

I'Ll Tell You A Story


  I'll tell you a story
  About Jack-a-Nory:
And now my story's begun.
  I'll tell you another
  About his brother:
And now my story is done.



by | |

Robin And Richard

 
Robin and Richard were two pretty men,
They lay in bed till the clock struck ten;
Then up starts Robin and looks at the sky,
"Oh, brother Richard, the sun's very high!
You go before, with the bottle and bag,
And I will come after on little Jack Nag.
"


by | |

The Soldier

I climbed the barren mountain,
 And my gaze swept far and wide
For the red-lit eaves of my father's home,
 And I fancied that he sighed:
    My son has gone for a soldier,
     For a soldier night and day;
    But my son is wise, and may yet return,
     When the drums have died away.
I climbed the grass-clad mountain, And my gaze swept far and wide For the rosy lights of a little room, Where I thought my mother sighed: My boy has gone for a soldier, He sleeps not day and night; But my boy is wise, and may yet return, Though the dead lie far from sight.
I climbed the topmost summit, And my gaze swept far and wide For the garden roof where my brother stood, And I fancied that he sighed: My brother serves as a soldier With his comrades night and day; But my brother is wise, and may yet return, Though the dead lie far away.


by Ben Jonson | |

On Margaret Ratcliffe


XL.
 ? ON MARGARET RATCLIFFE.
  
M arble, weep, for thou dost cover
A dead beauty underneath thee,
R ich as nature could bequeath thee :
G rant then, no rude hand remove her.

A ll the gazers on the skies
R ead not in fair heaven's story,
E xpresser truth, or truer glory,
T han they might in her bright eyes.

R are as wonder was her wit ;
A nd, like nectar, ever flowing :
T ill time, strong by her bestowing,
C onquer'd hath both life and it ;
L ife, whose grief was out of fashion
I n these times.
  Few so have rued
F ate in a brother.
  To conclude,
F or wit, feature, and true passion,
E arth, thou hast not such another.

[ AJ Note:
   Margaret Ratcliffe was one of Queen Elizabeth's
   ladies-in-waiting.
 She wasted away from grief in
   November 1599, after long mourning the deaths
   of four of her brothers.
]


by Edna St Vincent Millay | |

If Still Your Orchards Bear

 Brother, that breathe the August air
Ten thousand years from now,
And smell—if still your orchards bear
Tart apples on the bough—

The early windfall under the tree,
And see the red fruit shine,
I cannot think your thoughts will be
Much different from mine.
Should at that moment the full moon Step forth upon the hill, And memories hard to bear at noon, By moonlight harder still, Form in the shadow of the trees, — Things that you could not spare And live, or so you thought, yet these All gone, and you still there, A man no longer what he was, Nor yet the thing he'd planned, The chilly apple from the grass Warmed by your living hand— I think you will have need of tears; I think they will not flow; Supposing in ten thousand years Men ache, as they do now.


by Joyce Kilmer | |

Folly

 (For A.
K.
K.
) What distant mountains thrill and glow Beneath our Lady Folly's tread? Why has she left us, wise in woe, Shrewd, practical, uncomforted? We cannot love or dream or sing, We are too cynical to pray, There is no joy in anything Since Lady Folly went away.
Many a knight and gentle maid, Whose glory shines from years gone by, Through ignorance was unafraid And as a fool knew how to die.
Saint Folly rode beside Jehanne And broke the ranks of Hell with her, And Folly's smile shone brightly on Christ's plaything, Brother Juniper.
Our minds are troubled and defiled By study in a weary school.
O for the folly of the child! The ready courage of the fool! Lord, crush our knowledge utterly And make us humble, simple men; And cleansed of wisdom, let us see Our Lady Folly's face again.


by Robert Creeley | |

Other

 Having begun in thought there
in that factual embodied wonder
what was lost in the emptied lovers
patience and mind I first felt there
wondered again and again what for
myself so meager and finally singular
despite all issued therefrom whether
sister or mother or brother and father
come to love's emptied place too late
to feel it again see again first there
all the peculiar wet tenderness the care
of her for whom to be other was first fate.


by Percy Bysshe Shelley | |

An Exhortation

 Chameleons feed on light and air: 
Poets' food is love and fame: 
If in this wide world of care 
Poets could but find the same 
With as little toil as they, 
Would they ever change their hue 
As the light chameleons do, 
Suiting it to every ray 
Twenty times a day? 

Poets are on this cold earth, 
As chameleons might be, 
Hidden from their early birth 
In a cave beneath the sea; 
Where light is, chameleons change: 
Where love is not, poets do: 
Fame is love disguised: if few 
Find either, never think it strange 
That poets range.
Yet dare not stain with wealth or power A poet's free and heavenly mind: If bright chameleons should devour Any food but beams and wind, They would grow as earthly soon As their brother lizards are.
Children of a sunnier star, Spirits from beyond the moon, O, refuse the boon!


by Sylvia Plath | |

Balloons

 Since Christmas they have lived with us,
Guileless and clear,
Oval soul-animals,
Taking up half the space,
Moving and rubbing on the silk

Invisible air drifts,
Giving a shriek and pop
When attacked, then scooting to rest, barely trembling.
Yellow cathead, blue fish ---- Such queer moons we live with Instead of dead furniture! Straw mats, white walls And these traveling Globes of thin air, red, green, Delighting The heart like wishes or free Peacocks blessing Old ground with a feather Beaten in starry metals.
Your small Brother is making His balloon squeak like a cat.
Seeming to see A funny pink world he might eat on the other side of it, He bites, Then sits Back, fat jug Contemplating a world clear as water.
A red Shred in his little fist.