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Best Famous Goodbye Poems

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

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by Constantine P Cavafy | |

The God Abandons Antony

 When suddenly, at midnight, you hear
an invisible procession going by
with exquisite music, voices,
don't mourn your luck that's failing now,
work gone wrong, your plans
all proving deceptive -- don't mourn them uselessly.
As one long prepared, and graced with courage, say goodbye to her, the Alexandria that is leaving.
Above all, don't fool yourself, don't say it was a dream, your ears deceived you: don't degrade yourself with empty hopes like these.
As one long prepared, and graced with courage, as is right for you who were given this kind of city, go firmly to the window And listen with deep emotion, but not with whining, the pleas of a coward; listen -- your final delectation -- to the voices, to the exquisite music of that strange procession, and say goodbye to her, to the Alexandria you are losing.


by Li Bai | |

Yellow Crane Terrace

Here he is, my good old friend!
He's at Yellow Crane Terrace on a western departure.
And--we're saying goodbye, goodbye.
He's in a cloud of third-month blossoms.
He's off downstream to Yang-chou.
That shadow there is his lonely sail.
Now there's nothing left of it.
All the blue is empty now.
All you can see is that long, long river.
It flows to the edge of the sky.


by Jorge Luis Borges | |

We are the time. We are the famous

 We are the time.
We are the famous metaphor from Heraclitus the Obscure.
We are the water, not the hard diamond, the one that is lost, not the one that stands still.
We are the river and we are that greek that looks himself into the river.
His reflection changes into the waters of the changing mirror, into the crystal that changes like the fire.
We are the vain predetermined river, in his travel to his sea.
The shadows have surrounded him.
Everything said goodbye to us, everything goes away.
Memory does not stamp his own coin.
However, there is something that stays however, there is something that bemoans.


by Adam Lindsay Gordon | |

GONE

 THE last, late guest 
To the gate we followed; 
Goodbye -- and the rest 
The night-wind swallowed.
House, garden, street, Lay tenfold gloomy, Where accents sweet Had made music to me.
It was but a feast With the dark coming on; She was but a guest -- And now, she is gone.


by Marilyn L Taylor | |

Reading the Obituaries

 Now the Barbaras have begun to die,
trailing their older sisters to the grave,
the Helens, Margies, Nans—who said goodbye
just days ago, it seems, taking their leave 
a step or two behind the hooded girls 
who bloomed and withered with the century—
the Dorotheas, Eleanors and Pearls
now swaying on the edge of memory.
Soon, soon, the scythe will sweep for Jeanne and Angela, Patricia and Diane— pause, and return for Karen and Christine while Susan spends a sleepless night again.
Ah, Debra, how can you be growing old? Jennifer, Michelle, your hands are cold.


by Sergei Yesenin | |

Goodbye my friend goodbye

Goodbye, my friend, goodbye
My love, you are in my heart.
It was preordained we should part And be reunited by and by.
Goodbye: no handshake to endure.
Let's have no sadness — furrowed brow.
There's nothing new in dying now Though living is no newer.


by Tupac Shakur | |

So I Say GOODBYE

Im going in 2 this not knowing what i"ll find
but I've decided 2 follow my heart and abandon my mind
and if there be pain i know that at least i gave my all
and it's better to have loved and lost than 2 not love at all
in the morning i may wake 2 smile or maybe 2 cry
but first to those of my past i must say goodbye 


by Louise Gluck | |

Circes Grief

 In the end, I made myself
Known to your wife as
A god would, in her own house, in
Ithaca, a voice
Without a body: she
Paused in her weaving, her head turning
First to the right, then left
Though it was hopeless of course
To trace that sound to any
Objective source: I doubt
She will return to her loom
With what she knows now.
When You see her again, tell her This is how a god says goodbye: If I am in her head forever I am in your life forever.


by Rg Gregory | |

at the sixty-ninth station

 (after hiroshige – stations of oi)

here at the sixty-ninth station
of the gregokaido road
i have a sense of completion
that is not completed yet

the long journey to this moment
has many disparate paths
fragments of people within me
have stuttered their broken mantras

what a bowl of uneasy pieces
litters the well of my bed - my name
doesn't know how to welcome
tomorrow with its single demands

this christmas will say goodbye
to the last traces of middle age
the sere's banners will be ready
to set off on its late procession

i have not gathered myselves together
with anything like that composure
wisdom and age should concoct
i have lost control of my strivings

christmas a game of new birth
the light giving hope to the dark
i wish i had the will to recover
the young coals that kept me bright


by Rg Gregory | |

the red man says hello

 the red man says hello
the green tree says i'm here
all grown-ups are sleeping
only the children hear

decorations are delighted
presents hug the floor
the room in its festive hat
hides behind the door

through the glittering day
two worlds split the one
grown-ups lose their tempers 
children have the fun

the red man says goodbye
the green tree says next year
grown ups are exhausted
only the children hear


by David Lehman | |

January 24

 I was about to be mugged by a man 
with a chain so angry he growled
at the Lincoln Center subway station
when out of nowhere appeared a tall
chubby-faced Hasidic Jew with peyot
and a black hat a black coat white shirt
with prayer-shawl fringes showing 
we walked together out of the station
and when we got outside and shook hands 
I noticed he was blind.
Goodbye, I said, as giddy as a man waking from an anesthetic in the recovery room, happy, with a hard-on.
The cabs were on strike on Broadway so beautiful a necklace of yellow beads I breathed in the fumes impossibly happy


by Linda Pastan | |

To A Daughter Leaving Home

 When I taught you
at eight to ride
a bicycle, loping along
beside you
as you wobbled away
on two round wheels,
my own mouth rounding
in surprise when you pulled
ahead down the curved
path of the park,
I kept waiting
for the thud
of your crash as I
sprinted to catch up,
while you grew
smaller, more breakable
with distance,
pumping, pumping
for your life, screaming
with laughter,
the hair flapping
behind you like a
handkerchief waving
goodbye.


by Linda Pastan | |

Prosody 101

 When they taught me that what mattered most
was not the strict iambic line goose-stepping
over the page but the variations
in that line and the tension produced
on the ear by the surprise of difference,
I understood yet didn't understand
exactly, until just now, years later
in spring, with the trees already lacy
and camellias blowsy with middle age,
I looked out and saw what a cold front had done
to the garden, sweeping in like common language,
unexpected in the sensuous
extravagance of a Maryland spring.
There was a dark edge around each flower as if it had been outlined in ink instead of frost, and the tension I felt between the expected and actual was like that time I came to you, ready to say goodbye for good, for you had been a cold front yourself lately, and as I walked in you laughed and lifted me up in your arms as if I too were lacy with spring instead of middle aged like the camellias, and I thought: so this is Poetry!


by Jennifer Reeser | |

Imagining you’d come to say goodbye...

 Imagining you’d come to say goodbye,
I made a doll of raffia and string.
I gave her thatch hair, and a broomstick skirt of patchwork satin rags.
Around each eye I stitched thick lashes.
Such a touching thing she was! That even you could not debate – impassive, undemanding and inert.
Yes, surely she’d cause you yourself to sigh.
Around her breast, I sewed a loden ring to guard her cotton heart from being hurt, then sat down in the fabric scraps to wait, between the rafters and the furnace grate, needle in hand, and never so aware no craft on earth is master to despair.


by Robert William Service | |

Six Feet Of Sod

 This is the end of all my ways,
 My wanderings on earth,
My gloomy and my golden days,
 My madness and my mirth.
I've bought ten thousand blades of grass To bed me down below, And here I wait the days to pass Until I go.
Until I bid good bye to friend, To feast and fast goodbye, And in a stint of soil the end I seek of sun and sky.
My farings far on land and sea, My trails of global girth Sum up to this,--to cover me Six feet of earth.
My home of homes I hold in fee For centuries to pass, When snug my skeleton will be And grin up through the grass; When my grey ghost will bend above, And grieve to gracious God This endless end of life and love,-- Six feet of sod.


by Robert William Service | |

Gentle Gaoler

 Being a gaoler I'm supposed
 To be a hard-boiled guy;
Yet never prison walls enclosed
 A kinder soul than I:
Passing my charges precious pills
 To end their ills.
And if in gentle sleep they die, And pass to pleasant peace, No one suspects that it is I Who gave them their release: No matter what the Doctor thinks, The Warden winks.
A lifer's is a fearful fate; It wrings the heart of me.
And what a saving to the State A sudden death must be! Doomed men should have the legal right To end their plight.
And so my veronel they take, And bid goodbye to pain; And sleep, and never, never wake To living hell again: Oh call me curst or call me blest,-- I give them rest.


by James Schuyler | |

Closed Gentian Distances

 A nothing day full of
wild beauty and the
timer pings.
Roll up the silver off the bay take down the clouds sort the spruce and send to laundry marked, more starch.
Goodbye golden- and silver- rod, asters, bayberry crisp in elegance.
Little fish stream by, a river in water.


by Mark Strand | |

The Remains

 I empty myself of the names of others.
I empty my pockets.
I empty my shoes and leave them beside the road.
At night I turn back the clocks; I open the family album and look at myself as a boy.
What good does it do? The hours have done their job.
I say my own name.
I say goodbye.
The words follow each other downwind.
I love my wife but send her away.
My parents rise out of their thrones into the milky rooms of clouds.
How can I sing? Time tells me what I am.
I change and I am the same.
I empty myself of my life and my life remains.


by Mark Twain | |

To Jennie

 Good-bye! a kind good-bye,
I bid you now, my friend,
And though 'tis sad to speak the word,
To destiny I bend

And though it be decreed by Fate
That we ne'er meet again,
Your image, graven on my heart,
Forever shall remain.
Aye, in my heart thoult have a place, Among the friends held dear,- Nor shall the hand of Time efface The memories written there.
Goodbye, S.
L.
C.


by Emily Dickinson | |

We grow accustomed to the Dark

 We grow accustomed to the Dark --
When light is put away --
As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp
To witness her Goodbye --

A Moment -- We uncertain step
For newness of the night --
Then -- fit our Vision to the Dark --
And meet the Road -- erect --

And so of larger -- Darkness --
Those Evenings of the Brain --
When not a Moon disclose a sign --
Or Star -- come out -- within --

The Bravest -- grope a little --
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead --
But as they learn to see --

Either the Darkness alters --
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnight --
And Life steps almost straight.