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Best Famous Farewell Poems

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

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Written by Alfred Lord Tennyson | |

Crossing the Bar

Sunset and evening star, 
And one clear call for me! 
And may there be no moaning of the bar, 
When I put out to sea, 

But such a tide as moving seems asleep, 
Too full for sound and foam, 
When that which drew from out the boundless deep 
Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For though from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar.


Written by John Dryden | |

To the Memory of Mr. Oldham

Farewell, too little, and too lately known,
Whom I began to think and call my own:
For sure our souls were near allied, and thine
Cast in the same poetic mold with mine.
One common note on either lyre did strike, And knaves and fools we both abhorred alike.
To the same goal did both our studies drive; The last set out the soonest did arrive.
Thus Nisus fell upon the slippery place, While his young friend performed and won the race.
O early ripe! to thy abundant store What could advancing age have added more? It might (what nature never gives the young) Have taught the numbers of thy native tongue.
But satire needs not those, and wit will shine Through the harsh cadence of a rugged line: A noble error, and but seldom made, When poets are by too much force betrayed.
Thy generous fruits, though gathered ere their prime, Still showed a quickness, and maturing time But mellows what we write to the dull sweets of rhyme.
Once more, hail and farewell; farewell, thou young, But ah too short, Marcellus of our tongue; Thy brows with ivy, and with laurels bound; But fate and gloomy night encompass thee around.


Written by Sir Walter Raleigh | |

A Farewell to False Love

Farewell false love, the oracle of lies, 
A mortal foe and enemy to rest, 
An envious boy, from whom all cares arise, 
A bastard vile, a beast with rage possessed, 
A way of error, a temple full of treason, 
In all effects contrary unto reason.
A poisoned serpent covered all with flowers, Mother of sighs, and murderer of repose, A sea of sorrows whence are drawn such showers As moisture lend to every grief that grows; A school of guile, a net of deep deceit, A gilded hook that holds a poisoned bait.
A fortress foiled, which reason did defend, A siren song, a fever of the mind, A maze wherein affection finds no end, A raging cloud that runs before the wind, A substance like the shadow of the sun, A goal of grief for which the wisest run.
A quenchless fire, a nurse of trembling fear, A path that leads to peril and mishap, A true retreat of sorrow and despair, An idle boy that sleeps in pleasure's lap, A deep mistrust of that which certain seems, A hope of that which reason doubtful deems.
Sith* then thy trains my younger years betrayed, [since] And for my faith ingratitude I find; And sith repentance hath my wrongs bewrayed*, [revealed] Whose course was ever contrary to kind*: [nature] False love, desire, and beauty frail, adieu.
Dead is the root whence all these fancies grew.


More great poems below...

Written by William Blake | |

Night

THE sun descending in the west  
The evening star does shine; 
The birds are silent in their nest.
And I must seek for mine.
The moon like a flower 5 In heaven's high bower With silent delight Sits and smiles on the night.
Farewell green fields and happy grove Where flocks have took delight: 10 Where lambs have nibbled silent move The feet of angels bright; Unseen they pour blessing And joy without ceasing On each bud and blossom 15 And each sleeping bosom.
They look in every thoughtless nest Where birds are cover'd warm; They visit caves of every beast To keep them all from harm: 20 If they see any weeping That should have been sleeping They pour sleep on their head And sit down by their bed.
When wolves and tigers howl for prey 25 They pitying stand and weep Seeking to drive their thirst away And keep them from the sheep.
But if they rush dreadful The angels most heedful 30 Receive each mild spirit New worlds to inherit.
And there the lion's ruddy eyes Shall flow with tears of gold: And pitying the tender cries 35 And walking round the fold: Saying 'Wrath by His meekness And by His health sickness Are driven away From our immortal day.
40 'And now beside thee bleating lamb I can lie down and sleep Or think on Him who bore thy name Graze after thee and weep.
For wash'd in life's river 45 My bright mane for ever Shall shine like the gold As I guard o'er the fold.
'


Written by Wang Wei | |

TO QIWU QIAN BOUND HOME AFTER FAILING IN AN EXAMINATION

In a happy reign there should be no hermits; 
The wise and able should consult together.
.
.
.
So you, a man of the eastern mountains, Gave up your life of picking herbs And came all the way to the Gate of Gold -- But you found your devotion unavailing.
.
.
.
To spend the Day of No Fire on one of the southern rivers, You have mended your spring clothes here in these northern cities.
I pour you the farewell wine as you set out from the capital -- Soon I shall be left behind here by my bosomfriend.
In your sail-boat of sweet cinnamon-wood You will float again toward your own thatch door, Led along by distant trees To a sunset shining on a far-away town.
.
.
.
What though your purpose happened to fail, Doubt not that some of us can hear high music.


Written by Siegfried Sassoon | |

Morning Express

ALONG the wind-swept platform pinched and white 
The travellers stand in pools of wintry light 
Offering themselves to morn¡¯s long slanting arrows.
The train¡¯s due; porters trundle laden barrows.
The train steams in volleying resplendent clouds 5 Of sun-blown vapour.
Hither and about Scared people hurry storming the doors in crowds.
The officials seem to waken with a shout Resolved to hoist and plunder; some to the vans Leap; others rumble the milk in gleaming cans.
10 Boys indolent-eyed from baskets leaning back Question each face; a man with a hammer steals Stooping from coach to coach; with clang and clack Touches and tests and listens to the wheels.
Guard sounds a warning whistle points to the clock 15 With brandished flag and on his folded flock Claps the last door: the monster grunts: ¡®Enough!¡¯ Tightening his load of links with pant and puff.
Under the arch then forth into blue day Glide the processional windows on their way 20 And glimpse the stately folk who sit at ease To view the world like kings taking the seas in prosperous weather: drifting banners tell Their progress to the counties; with them goes The clamour of their journeying; while those 25 Who sped them stand to wave a last farewell.


Written by | |

A Farewell to the World

FALSE world good night! since thou hast brought 
That hour upon my morn of age; 
Henceforth I quit thee from my thought  
My part is ended on thy stage.
Yes threaten do.
Alas! I fear 5 As little as I hope from thee: I know thou canst not show nor bear More hatred than thou hast to me.
My tender first and simple years Thou didst abuse and then betray; 10 Since stir'd'st up jealousies and fears When all the causes were away.
Then in a soil hast planted me Where breathe the basest of thy fools; Where envious arts profess¨¨d be 15 And pride and ignorance the schools; Where nothing is examined weigh'd But as 'tis rumour'd so believed; Where every freedom is betray'd And every goodness tax'd or grieved.
20 But what we're born for we must bear: Our frail condition it is such That what to all may happen here If 't chance to me I must not grutch.
Else I my state should much mistake 25 To harbour a divided thought From all my kind¡ªthat for my sake There should a miracle be wrought.
No I do know that I was born To age misfortune sickness grief: 30 But I will bear these with that scorn As shall not need thy false relief.
Nor for my peace will I go far As wanderers do that still do roam; But make my strengths such as they are 35 Here in my bosom and at home.


Written by | |

On Elizabeth L. H.

 Epitaphs: i


WOULDST thou hear what Man can say 
In a little? Reader stay.
Underneath this stone doth lie As much Beauty as could die: Which in life did harbour give 5 To more Virtue than doth live.
If at all she had a fault Leave it buried in this vault.
One name was Elizabeth The other let it sleep with death: 10 Fitter where it died to tell Than that it lived at all.
Farewell.


Written by Sir Thomas Wyatt | |

In Spain

 Tagus, farewell! that westward with thy streams 
Turns up the grains of gold already tried
With spur and sail, for I go to seek the Thames
Gainward the sun that shewth her wealthy pride, 
And to the town which Brutus sought by dreams, 
Like bended moon doth lend her lusty side.
My king, my country, alone for whome I live, Of mighty love the wings for this me give.


Written by Sir Thomas Wyatt | |

Farewell Love and All Thy Laws Forever

 Farewell love and all thy laws forever;
Thy baited hooks shall tangle me no more.
Senec and Plato call me from thy lore To perfect wealth, my wit for to endeavour.
In blind error when I did persever, Thy sharp repulse, that pricketh aye so sore, Hath taught me to set in trifles no store And scape forth, since liberty is lever.
Therefore farewell; go trouble younger hearts And in me claim no more authority.
With idle youth go use thy property And thereon spend thy many brittle darts, For hitherto though I have lost all my time, Me lusteth no lenger rotten boughs to climb.


Written by Sir Thomas Wyatt | |

A Revocation

 WHAT should I say? 
 --Since Faith is dead, 
And Truth away 
 From you is fled? 
 Should I be led 
 With doubleness? 
 Nay! nay! mistress.
I promised you, And you promised me, To be as true As I would be.
But since I see Your double heart, Farewell my part! Thought for to take 'Tis not my mind; But to forsake One so unkind; And as I find So will I trust.
Farewell, unjust! Can ye say nay But that you said That I alway Should be obeyed? And--thus betrayed Or that I wist! Farewell, unkist!


Written by Oliver Wendell Holmes | |

A Farewell to Agassiz

 How the mountains talked together,
Looking down upon the weather,
When they heard our friend had planned his
Little trip among the Andes
How they'll bare their snowy scalps
To the climber of the Alps
When the cry goes through their passes,
"Here comes the great Agassiz!"
"Yes, I'm tall," says Chimborazo,
"But I wait for him to say so,--
That's the only thing that lacks,-- he
Must see me, Cotopaxi!"
"Ay! ay!" the fire-peak thunders,
"And he must view my wonders
I'm but a lonely crater
Till I have him for spectator!"
The mountain hearts are yearning,
The lava-torches burning,
The rivers bend to meet him,
The forests bow to greet him,
It thrills the spinal column
Of fossil fishes solemn,
And glaciers crawl the faster
To the feet of their old master!
Heaven keep him well and hearty,
Both him and all his party!
From the sun that broils and smites,
From the centipede that bites,
From the hail-storm and the thunder,
From the vampire and the condor,
From the gust upon the river,
From the sudden earthquake shiver,
From the trip of mule or donkey,
From the midnight howling monkey,
From the stroke of knife or dagger,
From the puma and the jaguar,
From the horrid boa-constrictor
That has scared us in the picture,
From the Indians of the Pampas
Who would dine upon their grampas,
From every beast and vermin
That to think of sets us squirmin',
From every snake that tries on
The traveller his p'ison,
From every pest of Natur',
Likewise the alligator,
And from two things left behind him,
(Be sure they'll try to find him,)
The tax-bill and assessor,--
Heaven keep the great Professor!
May he find, with his apostles,
That the land is full of fossils,
That the waters swarm with fishes
Shaped according to his wishes,
That every pool is fertile
In fancy kinds of turtle,
New birds around him singing,
New insects, never stinging,
With a million novel data
About the articulata,
And facts that strip off all husks
From the history of mollusks.
And when, with loud Te Deum, He returns to his Museum May he find the monstrous reptile That so long the land has kept ill By Grant and Sherman throttled, And by Father Abraham bottled, (All specked and streaked and mottled With the scars of murderous battles, Where he clashed the iron rattles That gods and men he shook at,) For all the world to look at! God bless the great Professor! And Madam, too, God bless her! Bless him and all his band, On the sea and on the land, Bless them head and heart and hand, Till their glorious raid is o'er, And they touch our ransomed shore! Then the welcome of a nation, With its shout of exultation, Shall awake the dumb creation, And the shapes of buried aeons Join the living creature's paeans, Till the fossil echoes roar; While the mighty megalosaurus Leads the palaeozoic chorus, God bless the great Professor, And the land his proud possessor,-- Bless them now and evermore!


Written by Oliver Wendell Holmes | |

The September Gale

 I'M not a chicken; I have seen 
Full many a chill September, 
And though I was a youngster then, 
That gale I well remember; 
The day before, my kite-string snapped, 
And I, my kite pursuing, 
The wind whisked off my palm-leaf hat; 
For me two storms were brewing!

It came as quarrels sometimes do, 
When married folks get clashing;
There was a heavy sigh or two, 
Before the fire was flashing, 
A little stir among the clouds,
Before they rent asunder,--
A little rocking of the trees, 
And then came on the thunder.
Lord! how the ponds and rivers boiled! They seemed like bursting craters! And oaks lay scattered on the ground As if they were p'taters And all above was in a howl, And all below a clatter, The earth was like a frying-pan, Or some such hissing matter.
It chanced to be our washing-day, And all our things were drying; The storm came roaring through the lines, And set them all a flying; I saw the shirts and petticoats Go riding off like witches; I lost, ah! bitterly I wept,-- I lost my Sunday breeches! I saw them straddling through the air, Alas! too late to win them; I saw them chase the clouds, as if The devil had been in them; They were my darlings and my pride, My boyhood's only riches,-- "Farewell, farewell," I faintly cried,-- "My breeches! O my breeches!" That night I saw them in my dreams, How changed from what I knew them! The dews had steeped their faded threads, The winds had whistled through them! I saw the wide and ghastly rents Where demon claws had torn them; A hole was in their amplest part, As if an imp had worn them.
I have had many happy years, And tailors kind and clever, But those young pantaloons have gone Forever and forever! And not till fate has cut the last Of all my earthly stitches, This aching heart shall cease to mourn My loved, my long-lost breeches!


Written by William Lisle Bowles | |

VII. At a Village in Scotland....

 O NORTH! as thy romantic vales I leave, 
And bid farewell to each retiring hill, 
Where thoughtful fancy seems to linger still, 
Tracing the broad bright landscape; much I grieve 
That mingled with the toiling croud, no more 
I shall return, your varied views to mark, 
Of rocks winding wild, and mountains hoar, 
Or castle gleaming on the distant steep.
Yet not the less I pray your charms may last, And many a soften'd image of the past Pensive combine; and bid remembrance keep To cheer me with the thought of pleasure flown, When I am wand'ring on my way alone.


Written by William Lisle Bowles | |

I. Written at Tinemouth Northumberland after a Tempestuous Voyage

 AS slow I climb the cliff's ascending side, 
Much musing on the track of terror past 
When o'er the dark wave rode the howling blast 
Pleas'd I look back, and view the tranquil tide, 
That laves the pebbled shore; and now the beam 
Of evening smiles on the grey battlement, 
And yon forsaken tow'r, that time has rent.
The lifted oar far off with silver gleam Is touch'd and the hush'd billows seem to sleep.
Sooth'd by the scene, ev'n thus on sorrow's breast A kindred stillness steals and bids her rest; Whilst the weak winds that sigh along the deep, The ear, like lullabies of pity, meet, Singing the saddest notes of farewell sweet.