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Best Famous Fear Poems

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

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by Edward Estlin (E E) Cummings | |

i carry your heart with me

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)  


by Emily Dickinson | |

I dreaded that first Robin

I dreaded that first Robin, so,
But He is mastered, now,
I'm some accustomed to Him grown,
He hurts a little, though—

I thought if I could only live
Till that first Shout got by—
Not all Pianos in the Woods
Had power to mangle me—

I dared not meet the Daffodils—
For fear their Yellow Gown
Would pierce me with a fashion
So foreign to my own—

I wished the Grass would hurry—
So—when 'twas time to see—
He'd be too tall, the tallest one
Could stretch—to look at me—

I could not bear the Bees should come,
I wished they'd stay away
In those dim countries where they go,
What word had they, for me?

They're here, though; not a creature failed—
No Blossom stayed away
In gentle deference to me—
The Queen of Calvary—

Each one salutes me, as he goes,
And I, my childish Plumes,
Lift, in bereaved acknowledgement
Of their unthinking Drums—


by Maya Angelou | |

Touched by An Angel

We, unaccustomed to courage
exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of loneliness
until love leaves its high holy temple
and comes into our sight
to liberate us into life.
Love arrives and in its train come ecstasies old memories of pleasure ancient histories of pain.
Yet if we are bold, love strikes away the chains of fear from our souls.
We are weaned from our timidity In the flush of love's light we dare be brave And suddenly we see that love costs all we are and will ever be.
Yet it is only love which sets us free.


by Emily Dickinson | |

I lived on dread; to those who know

I lived on dread; to those who know
The stimulus there is
In danger, other impetus
Is numb and vital-less.
As't were a spur upon the soul, A fear will urge it where To go without the spectre's aid Were challenging despair.


by Edward Estlin (E E) Cummings | |

along the brittle treacherous bright streets

along the brittle treacherous bright streets

of memory comes my heart singing like
an idiot whispering like drunken man

who(at a certain corner suddenly)meets
the tall policeman of my mind.
awake being not asleep elsewhere our dreams began which now are folded:but the year completes his life as a forgotten prisoner -"Ici?"-"Ah non mon chéri;il fait trop froid"- they are gone:along these gardens moves a wind br inging rain and leaves filling the air with fear and sweetness.
.
.
.
pauses.
(Halfwhispering.
.
.
.
half singing stirs the always smiling chevaux de bois) when you were in Paris we met here


by John Donne | |

A Hymn to God the Father

WILT Thou forgive that sin where I begun  
Which was my sin though it were done before? 
Wilt Thou forgive that sin through which I run  
And do run still though still I do deplore? 
When Thou hast done Thou hast not done; 5 
For I have more.
Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I have won Others to sin and made my sins their door? Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shun A year or two but wallow'd in a score? 10 When Thou hast done Thou hast not done; For I have more.
I have a sin of fear that when I've spun My last thread I shall perish on the shore; But swear by Thyself that at my death Thy Son 15 Shall shine as He shines now and heretofore: And having done that Thou hast done; I fear no more.


by Ralph Waldo Emerson | |

To Eva

O FAIR and stately maid whose eyes 
Were kindled in the upper skies 
At the same torch that lighted mine; 
For so I must interpret still 
Thy sweet dominion o'er my will 5 
A sympathy divine.
Ah! let me blameless gaze upon Features that seem at heart my own; Nor fear those watchful sentinels Who charm the more their glance forbids 10 Chaste-glowing underneath their lids With fire that draws while it repels.


by Percy Bysshe Shelley | |

I fear thy kisses gentle maiden

I FEAR thy kisses gentle maiden; 
Thou needest not fear mine; 
My spirit is too deeply laden 
Ever to burthen thine.
I fear thy mien thy tones thy motion; 5 Thou needest not fear mine; Innocent is the heart's devotion With which I worship thine.


by Philip Larkin | |

Autobiography At An Air-Station

 Delay, well, travellers must expect 
Delay.
For how long? No one seems to know.
With all the luggage weighed, the tickets checked, It can't be long.
.
.
We amble too and fro, Sit in steel chairs, buy cigarettes and sweets And tea, unfold the papers.
Ought we to smile, Perhaps make friends? No: in the race for seats You're best alone.
Friendship is not worth while.
Six hours pass: if I'd gone by boat last night I'd be there now.
Well, it's too late for that.
The kiosk girl is yawning.
I fell stale, Stupified, by inaction - and, as light Begins to ebb outside, by fear, I set So much on this Assumption.
Now it's failed.


by Philip Larkin | |

Is It For Now Or For Always

 Is it for now or for always,
The world hangs on a stalk?
Is it a trick or a trysting-place,
The woods we have found to walk?

Is it a mirage or miracle,
Your lips that lift at mine:
And the suns like a juggler's juggling-balls,
Are they a sham or a sign?

Shine out, my sudden angel,
Break fear with breast and brow,
I take you now and for always,
For always is always now.


by Christina Rossetti | |

Holy Innocents

 Sleep, little Baby, sleep,
The holy Angels love thee,
And guard thy bed, and keep
A blessed watch above thee.
No spirit can come near Nor evil beast to harm thee: Sleep, Sweet, devoid of fear Where nothing need alarm thee.
The Love which doth not sleep, The eternal arms around thee: The shepherd of the sheep In perfect love has found thee.
Sleep through the holy night, Christ-kept from snare and sorrow, Until thou wake to light And love and warmth to-morrow.


by Christina Rossetti | |

Cobwebs

 It is a land with neither night nor day, 
Nor heat nor cold, nor any wind, nor rain, 
Nor hills nor valleys; but one even plain 
Stretches thro' long unbroken miles away: 
While thro' the sluggish air a twilight grey 
Broodeth; no moons or seasons wax and wane, 
No ebb and flow are there among the main, 
No bud-time no leaf-falling there for aye, 
No ripple on the sea, no shifting sand, 
No beat of wings to stir the stagnant space, 
And loveless sea: no trace of days before, 
No guarded home, no time-worn restingplace 
No future hope no fear forevermore.


by Richard Wilbur | |

Boy at the Window

 Seeing the snowman standing all alone
In dusk and cold is more than he can bear.
The small boy weeps to hear the wind prepare A night of gnashings and enormous moan.
His tearful sight can hardly reach to where The pale-faced figure with bitumen eyes Returns him such a God-forsaken stare As outcast Adam gave to paradise.
The man of snow is, nonetheless, content, Having no wish to go inside and die.
Still, he is moved to see the youngster cry.
Though frozen water is his element, He melts enough to drop from one soft eye A trickle of the purest rain, a tear For the child at the bright pane surrounded by Such warmth, such light, such love, and so much fear.


by Richard Wilbur | |

The Ride

 The horse beneath me seemed 
To know what course to steer 
Through the horror of snow I dreamed,
And so I had no fear,

Nor was I chilled to death 
By the wind’s white shudders, thanks 
To the veils of his patient breath 
And the mist of sweat from his flanks.
It seemed that all night through, Within my hand no rein And nothing in my view But the pillar of his mane, I rode with magic ease At a quick, unstumbling trot Through shattering vacancies On into what was not, Till the weave of the storm grew thin, With a threading of cedar-smoke, And the ice-blind pane of an inn Shimmered, and I awoke.
How shall I now get back To the inn-yard where he stands, Burdened with every lack, And waken the stable-hands To give him, before I think That there was no horse at all, Some hay, some water to drink, A blanket and a stall?


by Gerard Manley Hopkins | |

The Caged Skylark

 As a dare-gale skylark scanted in a dull cage
 Man's mounting spirit in his bone-house, mean house, dwells—
 That bird beyond the remembering his free fells;
This in drudgery, day-labouring-out life's age.
Though aloft on turf or perch or poor low stage, Both sing sometímes the sweetest, sweetest spells, Yet both droop deadly sómetimes in their cells Or wring their barriers in bursts of fear or rage.
Not that the sweet-fowl, song-fowl, needs no rest— Why, hear him, hear him babble and drop down to his nest, But his own nest, wild nest, no prison.
Man's spirit will be flesh-bound when found at best, But uncumbered: meadow-down is not distressed For a rainbow footing it nor he for his bónes rísen.


by Anne Kingsmill Finch | |

The House of Socrates

 FOR Socrates a House was built, 
Of but inferiour Size; 
Not highly Arch'd, nor Carv'd, nor Gilt; 
The Man, 'tis said, was Wise.
But Mob despis'd the little Cell, That struck them with no Fear; Whilst Others thought, there should not dwell So great a Person there.
How shou'd a due Recourse be made To One, so much Admir'd? Where shou'd the spacious Cloth be laid, Or where the Guests retir'd? Believe me, quoth the list'ning Sage, 'Twas not to save the Charge; That in this over-building Age, My House was not more large.
But this for faithful Friends, and kind, Was only meant by me; Who fear that what too streight you find, Must yet contracted be.


by Anne Kingsmill Finch | |

Verses

 Observe this Piece, which to our Sight does bring 
The fittest Posture for the Swedish King; 
(Encompass'd, as we think, with Armies round, 
Tho' not express'd within this narrow Bound) 
Who, whilst his warlike and extended Hand 
Directs the foremost Ranks to Charge or Stand, 
Reverts his Face, lest That, so Fair and Young, 
Should call in doubt the Orders of his Tongue: 
Whilst the excited, and embolden'd Rear 
Such Youth beholding, and such Features there, 
Devote their plainer Forms, and are asham'd to Fear.
Thus! ev'ry Action, ev'ry Grace of thine, O latest Son of Fame, Son of Gustavus Line! Affects thy Troops, with all that can inspire A blooming Sweetness, and a martial Fire, Fatal to none, but thy invading Foe.
So Lightnings, which to all their Brightness shew, Strike but the Man alone, who has provok'd the Blow


by Constantine P Cavafy | |

Neros Term

 Nero was not worried when he heard
the prophecy of the Delphic Oracle.
"Let him fear the seventy three years.
" He still had ample time to enjoy himself.
He is thirty.
More than sufficient is the term the god allots him to prepare for future perils.
Now he will return to Rome slightly tired, but delightfully tired from this journey, full of days of enjoyment -- at the theaters, the gardens, the gymnasia.
.
.
evenings at cities of Achaia.
.
.
Ah the delight of nude bodies, above all.
.
.
Thus fared Nero.
And in Spain Galba secretly assembles and drills his army, the old man of seventy three.


by Constantine P Cavafy | |

Dangerous Things

 Said Myrtias (a Syrian student
in Alexandria; in the reign of
Augustus Constans and Augustus Constantius;
in part a pagan, and in part a christian);
"Fortified by theory and study,
I shall not fear my passions like a coward.
I shall give my body to sensual delights, to enjoyments dreamt-of, to the most daring amorous desires, to the lustful impulses of my blood, without any fear, for whenever I want -- and I shall have the will, fortified as I shall be by theory and study -- at moments of crisis I shall find again my spirit, as before, ascetic.
"


by Constantine P Cavafy | |

Finalities

 Amid fear and suspicions,
with agitated mind and frightened eyes,
we melt and plan how to act
to avoid the certain
danger that so horribly threatens us.
And yet we err, this was not in our paths; the messages were false (or we did not hear, or fully understand them).
Another catastrophe, one we never imagined, sudden, precipitous, falls upon us, and unprepared -- there is no more time -- carries us off.