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Best Famous Confusion Poems

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

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by Richard Wilbur | |

Transit

 A woman I have never seen before
Steps from the darkness of her town-house door
At just that crux of time when she is made
So beautiful that she or time must fade.
What use to claim that as she tugs her gloves A phantom heraldry of all the loves Blares from the lintel? That the staggered sun Forgets, in his confusion, how to run? Still, nothing changes as her perfect feet Click down the walk that issues in the street, Leaving the stations of her body there Like whips that map the countries of the air.


by Edwin Arlington Robinson | |

Siege Perilous

 Long warned of many terrors more severe 
To scorch him than hell’s engines could awaken, 
He scanned again, too far to be so near, 
The fearful seat no man had ever taken.
So many other men with older eyes Than his to see with older sight behind them Had known so long their one way to be wise,— Was any other thing to do than mind them? So many a blasting parallel had seared Confusion on his faith,—could he but wonder If he were mad and right, or if he feared God’s fury told in shafted flame and thunder? There fell one day upon his eyes a light Ethereal, and he heard no more men speaking; He saw their shaken heads, but no long sight Was his but for the end that he went seeking.
The end he sought was not the end; the crown He won shall unto many still be given.
Moreover, there was reason here to frown: No fury thundered, no flame fell from heaven.


by Henry Van Dyke | |

Four Things

 Four things a man must learn to do 
If he would make his record true: 
To think without confusion clearly; 
To love his fellow man sincerely; 
To act from honest motives purely; 
To trust in God and Heaven securely.


by Mark Van Doren | |

The Deepest Dream

 The deepest dream is of mad governors, 
Down, down we feel it, till the very crust 
Of the world cracks, and where there was no dust, 
Atoms of ruin rise.
Confusion stirs, And fear; and all our thoughts--dark scavengers-- Feed on the center's refuse.
Hope is thrust Like wind away, and love sinks into lust For merest safety, meanest of levelers.
And then we wake.
Or do we? Sleep endures More than the morning can, when shadows lie Sharper than mountains, and the cleft is real Between us and our kings.
What sun assures Our courage, and what evening by and by Descends to rest us, and perhaps to heal?


by Robert Graves | |

In Broken Images

 He is quick, thinking in clear images;
I am slow, thinking in broken images.
He becomes dull, trusting to his clear images; I become sharp, mistrusting my broken images.
Trusting his images, he assumes their relevance; Mistrusting my images, I question their relevance.
Assuming their relevance, he assumes the fact; Questioning their relevance, I question their fact.
When the fact fails him, he questions his senses; when the fact fails me, I approve my senses.
He continues quick and dull in his clear images; I continue slow and sharp in my broken images.
He in a new confusion of his understanding; I in a new understanding of my confusion.


by Rg Gregory | |

(filtered)

 a nearby field provides the plants
sometimes with a wild profusion
(organisation seems a long way off)

it takes an eye used to ink or paint
to confront such a rich confusion
and draw it inwards to a proof

that pattern too within constraints
has room for a wild fling - passion's
best rendered when the heart's aloof

images creep up through the vents
seeding voids with light explosions
chaos must come before the truth

art is nature (filtered) sucking sense
from unimaginable delusions
nowhere-to-go-to finds its path

out of thin air a formal dance
of paint or ink has reached conclusion
and in a nutshell cosmos coughs


by Ezra Pound | |

Francesca

 You came in out of the night
And there were flowers in your hand,
Now you will come out of a confusion of people,
Out of a turmoil of speech about you.
I who have seen you amid the primal things Was angry when they spoke your name IN ordinary places.
I would that the cool waves might flow over my mind, And that the world should dry as a dead leaf, Or as a dandelion see-pod and be swept away, So that I might find you again, Alone.


by Delmore Schwartz | |

Phoenix Lyrics

 I

If nature is life, nature is death:
It is winter as it is spring:
Confusion is variety, variety
And confusion in everything
Make experience the true conclusion
Of all desire and opulence,
All satisfaction and poverty.
II When a hundred years had passed nature seemed to man a clock Another century sank away and nature seemed a jungle in a rock And now that nature has become a ticking and hidden bomb how we must mock Newton, Democritus, the Deity The heart's ingenuity and the mind's infinite uncontrollable insatiable curiosity.
III Purple black cloud at sunset: it is late August and the light begins to look cold, and as we look, listen and look, we hear the first drums of autumn.


by Stevie Smith | |

I Remember

 It was my bridal night I remember,
An old man of seventy-three
I lay with my young bride in my arms,
A girl with t.
b.
It was wartime, and overhead The Germans were making a particularly heavy raid on Hampstead.
What rendered the confusion worse, perversely Our bombers had chosen that moment to set out for Germany.
Harry, do they ever collide? I do not think it has ever happened, Oh my bride, my bride.


by Rabindranath Tagore | |

The Gardener XVIII: When Two Sisters

 When the two sisters go to fetch
water, they come to this spot and
they smile.
They must be aware of somebody who stands behind the trees when- ever they go to fetch water.
The two sisters whisper to each other when they pass this spot.
They must have guessed the secret of that somebody who stands behind the trees whenever they go to fetch water.
Their pitchers lurch suddenly, and water spills when they reach this spot.
They must have found out that somebody's heart is beating who stands behind the trees whenever they go to fetch water.
The two sisters glance at each other when they come to this spot, and they smile.
There is a laughter in their swift- stepping feet, which makes confusion in somebody's mind who stands behind the trees whenever they go to fetch water.


by Isaac Watts | |

Psalm 48 part 1

 v.
1-8 S.
M.
The church is the honor and safety of a nation.
[Great is the Lord our God, And let his praise be great; He makes his churches his abode, His most delightful seat.
These temples of his grace, How beautiful they stand! The honors of our native place, And bulwarks of our land.
] In Zion God is known, A refuge in distress; How bright has his salvation shone Through all her palaces! When kings against her joined, And saw the Lord was there, In wild confusion of the mind They fled with hasty fear.
When navies tall and proud Attempt to spoil our peace, He sends his tempests roaring loud, And sinks them in the seas.
Oft have our fathers told, Our eyes have often seen, How well our God secures the fold Where his own sheep have been.
In every new distress We'll to his house repair; We'll think upon his wondrous grace, And seek deliv'rance there.


by Alfred Lord Tennyson | |

Beautiful City

 Beautiful city

Beautiful city, the centre and crater of European confusion,
O you with your passionate shriek for the rights of an equal
humanity,
How often your Re-volution has proven but E-volution
Roll’d again back on itself in the tides of a civic insanity!


by Rupert Brooke | |

Hauntings

 In the grey tumult of these after years
Oft silence falls; the incessant wranglers part;
And less-than-echoes of remembered tears
Hush all the loud confusion of the heart;
And a shade, through the toss'd ranks of mirth and crying
Hungers, and pains, and each dull passionate mood, --
Quite lost, and all but all forgot, undying,
Comes back the ecstasy of your quietude.
So a poor ghost, beside his misty streams, Is haunted by strange doubts, evasive dreams, Hints of a pre-Lethean life, of men, Stars, rocks, and flesh, things unintelligible, And light on waving grass, he knows not when, And feet that ran, but where, he cannot tell.


by John Keats | |

How Many Bards Gild The Lapses Of Time!

 How many bards gild the lapses of time!
A few of them have ever been the food
Of my delighted fancy,—I could brood
Over their beauties, earthly, or sublime:
And often, when I sit me down to rhyme,
These will in throngs before my mind intrude:
But no confusion, no disturbance rude
Do they occasion; 'tis a pleasing chime.
So the unnumbered sounds that evening store; The songs of birds—the whispering of the leaves— The voice of waters—the great bell that heaves With solemn sound,—and thousand others more, That distance of recognizance bereaves, Makes pleasing music, and not wild uproar.


by Rudyard Kipling | |

The Queens Men

 Valour and Innocence 
 Have latterly gone hence
 To certain death by certain shame attended.
Envy--ah! even to tears! -- The fortune of their years Which, though so few, yet so divinely ended.
Scarce had they lifted up Life's full and fiery cup, Than they had set it down untouched before them.
Before their day arose They beckoned it to close-- Close in confusion and destruction o'er them.
They did not stay to ask What prize should crown their task-- Well sure that prize was such as no man strives for; But passed into eclipse, Her kiss upon their lips-- Even Belphoebe's, whom they gave their lives for!


by Rudyard Kipling | |

When the Great Ark

 When the Great Ark, in Vigo Bay,
 Rode stately through the half-manned fleet,
From every ship about her way 
 She heard the mariners entreat--
Before we take the seas again
Let down your boats and send us men!

"We have no lack of victual here
 With work--God knows!--enough for all,
To hand and reef and watch and steer,
 Because our present strength is small.
While your three decks are crowded so Your crews can scarcely stand or go.
"In war, your numbers do but raise Confusion and divided will; In storm, the mindless deep obeys Not multitudes but single skills.
In calm, your numbers, closely pressed, Must breed a mutiny or pest.
"We even on unchallenged seas, Dare not adventure where we would, But forfeit brave advantages For lack of men to make 'em good; Whereby, to England's double cost, Honour and profit both are lost!"


by Emily Dickinson | |

He preached upon Breadth till it argued him narrow --

 He preached upon "Breadth" till it argued him narrow --
The Broad are too broad to define
And of "Truth" until it proclaimed him a Liar --
The Truth never flaunted a Sign --

Simplicity fled from his counterfeit presence
As Gold the Pyrites would shun --
What confusion would cover the innocent Jesus
To meet so enabled a Man!


by William Butler Yeats | |

The Spirit Medium

 Poetry, music, I have loved, and yet
Because of those new dead
That come into my soul and escape
Confusion of the bed,
Or those begotten or unbegotten
Perning in a band,
I bend my body to the spade
Or grope with a dirty hand.
Or those begotten or unbegotten, For I would not recall Some that being unbegotten Are not individual, But copy some one action, Moulding it of dust or sand, I bend my body to the spade Or grope with a dirty hand.
An old ghost's thoughts are lightning, To follow is to die; Poetry and music I have banished, But the stupidity Of root, shoot, blossom or clay Makes no demand.
I bend my body to the spade Or grope with a dirty hand.


by William Butler Yeats | |

The Cold Heaven

 Suddenly I saw the cold and rook-delighting heaven
That seemed as though ice burned and was but the more ice,
And thereupon imagination and heart were driven
So wild that every casual thought of that and this
Vanished, and left but memories, that should be out of season
With the hot blood of youth, of love crossed long ago;
And I took all thc blame out of all sense and reason,
Until I cried and trembled and rocked to and fro,
Riddled with light.
Ah! when the ghost begins to quicken, Confusion of the death-bed over, is it sent Out naked on the roads, as the books say, and stricken By the injustice of the skies for punishment?


by William Butler Yeats | |

Paudeen

 Indignant at the fumbling wits, the obscure spite
Of our old paudeen in his shop, I stumbled blind
Among the stones and thorn-trees, under morning light;
Until a curlew cried and in the luminous wind
A curlew answered; and suddenly thereupon I thought
That on the lonely height where all are in God's eye,
There cannot be, confusion of our sound forgot,
A single soul that lacks a sweet crystalline cry.