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Best Famous Dog Poems

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

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by Lew Welch | |

Dear Joanne

 Dear Joanne,

Last night Magda dreamed that she,
you, Jack, and I were driving around
Italy.
We parked in Florence and left our dog to guard the car.
She was worried because he doesn't understand Italian.


by William Henry Davies | |

The Moon

 The moon has a face like the clock in the hall; 
She shines on thieves on the garden wall, 
On streets and fields and harbour quays, 
And birdies asleep in the forks of the trees.
The squalling cat and the squeaking mouse, The howling dog by the door of the house, The bat that lies in bed at noon, All love to be out by the light of the moon.
But all of the things that belong to the day Cuddle to sleep to be out of her way; And flowers and children close their eyes Till up in the morning the sun shall arise.


by William Henry Davies | |

The Happy Child

 I saw this day sweet flowers grow thick -- 
But not one like the child did pick.
I heard the packhounds in green park -- But no dog like the child heard bark.
I heard this day bird after bird -- But not one like the child has heard.
A hundred butterflies saw I -- But not one like the child saw fly.
I saw the horses roll in grass -- But no horse like the child saw pass.
My world this day has lovely been -- But not like what the child has seen.


by William Lisle Bowles | |

On a Beautiful Landscape

 Beautiful landscape! I could look on thee 
For hours,--unmindful of the storm and strife, 
And mingled murmurs of tumultuous life.
Here, all is still as fair--the stream, the tree, The wood, the sunshine on the bank: no tear No thought of time's swift wing, or closing night Which comes to steal away the long sweet light, No sighs of sad humanity are here.
Here is no tint of mortal change--the day Beneath whose light the dog and peasant-boy Gambol with look, and almost bark, of joy-- Still seems, though centuries have passed, to stay.
Then gaze again, that shadowed scenes may teach Lessons of peace and love, beyond all speech.


by David Herbert Lawrence | |

Epilogue

 Patience, little Heart.
One day a heavy, June-hot woman Will enter and shut the door to stay.
And when your stifling heart would summon Cool, lonely night, her roused breasts will keep the night at bay, Sitting in your room like two tiger-lilies Flaming on after sunset, Destroying the cool, lonely night with the glow of their hot twilight; There in the morning, still, while the fierce strange scent comes yet Stronger, hot and red; till you thirst for the daffodillies With an anguished, husky thirst that you cannot assuage, When the daffodillies are dead, and a woman of the dog-days holds you in gage.
Patience, little Heart.


by Rainer Maria Rilke | |

The Sonnets To Orpheus: Book 2: XXIII

 Call to me to the one among your moments
that stands against you, ineluctably:
intimate as a dog's imploring glance
but, again, forever, turned away

when you think you've captured it at last.
What seems so far from you is most your own.
We are already free, and were dismissed where we thought we soon would be at home.
Anxious, we keep longing for a foothold- we, at times too young for what is old and too old for what has never been; doing justice only where we praise, because we are the branch, the iron blade, and sweet danger, ripening from within.


by Rainer Maria Rilke | |

To Say Before Going To Sleep

 I would like to sing someone to sleep,
have someone to sit by and be with.
I would like to cradle you and softly sing, be your companion while you sleep or wake.
I would like to be the only person in the house who knew: the night outside was cold.
And would like to listen to you and outside to the world and to the woods.
The clocks are striking, calling to eachother, and one can see right to the edge of time.
Outside the house a strange man is afoot and a strange dog barks, wakened from his sleep.
Beyond that there is silence.
My eyes rest upon your face wide-open; and they hold you gently, letting you go when something in the dark begins to move.


by Julie Hill Alger | |

Death in the Family

 They call it stroke.
Two we loved were stunned by that same blow of cudgel or axe to the brow.
Lost on the earth they left our circle broken.
One spent five months falling from our grasp mute, her grace, wit, beauty erased.
Her green eyes gazed at us as if asking, as if aware, as if hers.
One night she slipped away; machinery of mercy brought her back to die more slowly.
At long last she escaped.
Our collie dog fared better.
A lesser creature, she had to spend only one day drifting and reeling, her brown eyes beseeching.
Then she was tenderly lifted, laid on a table, praised, petted and set free.
-Julie Alger


by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | |

THE YELPERS.

 OUR rides in all directions bend,

For business or for pleasure,
Yet yelpings on our steps attend,

And barkings without measure.
The dog that in our stable dwells, After our heels is striding, And all the while his noisy yells But show that we are riding.
1815.
*


by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | |

THE SHEPHERDS LAMENT.

 ON yonder lofty mountain

A thousand times I stand,
And on my staff reclining,

Look down on the smiling land.
My grazing flocks then I follow, My dog protecting them well; I find myself in the valley, But how, I scarcely can tell.
The whole of the meadow is cover'd With flowers of beauty rare; I pluck them, but pluck them unknowing To whom the offering to bear.
In rain and storm and tempest, I tarry beneath the tree, But closed remaineth yon portal; 'Tis all but a vision to me.
High over yonder dwelling, There rises a rainbow gay; But she from home hath departed And wander'd far, far away.
Yes, far away bath she wander'd, Perchance e'en over the sea; Move onward, ye sheep, then, move onward! Full sad the shepherd must be.
1803.
*


by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | |

THE CRITIC.

 I HAD a fellow as my guest,
Not knowing he was such a pest,
And gave him just my usual fare;
He ate his fill of what was there,

And for desert my best things swallow'd,
Soon as his meal was o'er, what follow'd?
Led by the Deuce, to a neighbour he went,
And talk'd of my food to his heart's content:
"The soup might surely have had more spice,
The meat was ill-brown'd, and the wine wasn't nice.
" A thousand curses alight on his head! 'Tis a critic, I vow! Let the dog be struck dead! 1776.
*


by Walter de la Mare | |

Toms Little Dog

 Tom told his dog called Tim to beg, 
And up at once he sat, 
His two clear amber eyes fixed fast, 
His haunches on his mat.
Tom poised a lump of sugar on His nose; then, "Trust!" says he; Stiff as a guardsman sat his Tim; Never a hair stirred he.
"Paid for!" says Tom; and in a trice Up jerked that moist black nose; A snap of teeth, a crunch, a munch, And down the sugar goes!


by Walter de la Mare | |

Silver

 Slowly, silently, now the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon;
This way, and that, she peers, and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
One by one the casements catch
Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;
Couched in his kennel, like a log,
With paws of silver sleeps the dog;
From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep
Of doves in silver feathered sleep
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws, and silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam,
By silver reeds in a silver stream.


by Ellis Parker Butler | |

The Final Tax

 Said Statesman A to Statesman Z:
“What can we tax that is not paying?
We’re taxing every blessed thing—
Here’s what our people are defraying:

“Tariff tax, income tax,
Tax on retail sales,
Club tax, school tax,
Tax on beers and ales,

“City tax, county tax,
Tax on obligations,
War tax.
wine tax, Tax on corporations, “Brewer tax, sewer tax, Tax on motor cars, Bond tax, stock tax, Tax on liquor bars, “Bridge tax, check tax, Tax on drugs and pills, Gas tax, ticket tax, Tax on gifts in wills, “Poll tax, dog tax, Tax on money loaned, State tax, road tax, Tax on all things owned, “Stamp tax, land tax, Tax on wedding ring, High tax, low tax, Tax on everything!” Said Statesman A to Statesman Z: “That is the list, a pretty bevy; No thing or act that is untaxed; There’s nothing more on which to levy.
” Said Statesman Z to Statesman A: “The deficit each moment waxes; This is no time for us to fail— We will decree a tax on taxes.


by Sir Walter Raleigh | |

To a Lady with an Unruly and Ill-mannered Dog Who Bit several Persons of Importance

 Your dog is not a dog of grace; 
He does not wag the tail or beg;
He bit Miss Dickson in the face;
He bit a Bailie in the leg.
What tragic choices such a dog Presents to visitor or friend! Outside there is the Glasgow fog; Within, a hydrophobic end.
Yet some relief even terror brings, For when our life is cold and gray We waste our strength on little things, And fret our puny souls away.
A snarl! A scruffle round the room! A sense that Death is drawing near! And human creatures reassume The elemental robe of fear.
So when my colleague makes his moan Of careless cooks, and warts, and debt, -- Enlarge his views, restore his tone, And introduce him to your Pet! Quod Raleigh.


by R S Thomas | |

The Village

 Scarcely a street, too few houses
To merit the title; just a way between
The one tavern and the one shop
That leads nowhere and fails at the top
Of the short hill, eaten away
By long erosion of the green tide
Of grass creeping perpetually nearer 
This last outpost of time past.
So little happens; the black dog Cracking his fleas in the hot sun Is history.
Yet the girl who crosses From door to door moves to a scale Beyond the bland day's two dimensions.
Stay, then, village, for round you spins On a slow axis a world as vast And meaningful as any posed By great Plato's solitary mind.


by R S Thomas | |

The Village

 Scarcely a street, too few houses
To merit the title; just a way between
The one tavern and the one shop
That leads nowhere and fails at the top
Of the short hill, eaten away
By long erosion of the green tide
Of grass creeping perpetually nearer 
This last outpost of time past.
So little happens; the black dog Cracking his fleas in the hot sun Is history.
Yet the girl who crosses From door to door moves to a scale Beyond the bland day's two dimensions.
Stay, then, village, for round you spins On a slow axis a world as vast And meaningful as any posed By great Plato's solitary mind.


by | by . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/famous/poem/22409/Caesars_Song' st_title='Caesar's Song'>|

Caesar's Song

 

  Bow-wow-wow!
Whose dog art thou?
Little Tom Tinker's dog,
  Bow-wow-wow!


by | |

Leg Over Leg


Leg over leg,
As the dog went to Dover;
When he came to a stile,
Jump, he went over.


by | |

My Little Maid


High diddle doubt, my candle's out
  My little maid is not at home;
Saddle my hog and bridle my dog,
  And fetch my little maid home.