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Best Famous Happiness Poems

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

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by Philip Larkin | |

High Windows

 When I see a couple of kids
And guess he's fucking her and she's
Taking pills or wearing a diaphragm,
I know this is paradise

Everyone old has dreamed of all their lives--
Bonds and gestures pushed to one side
Like an outdated combine harvester,
And everyone young going down the long slide

To happiness, endlessly.
I wonder if Anyone looked at me, forty years back, And thought, That'll be the life; No God any more, or sweating in the dark About hell and that, or having to hide What you think of the priest.
He And his lot will all go down the long slide Like free bloody birds.
And immediately Rather than words comes the thought of high windows: The sun-comprehending glass, And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.


by Philip Larkin | |

Mother Summer I

 My mother, who hates thunder storms, 
Holds up each summer day and shakes 
It out suspiciously, lest swarms 
Of grape-dark clouds are lurking there; 
But when the August weather breaks 
And rains begin, and brittle frost 
Sharpens the bird-abandoned air, 
Her worried summer look is lost, 

And I her son, though summer-born 
And summer-loving, none the less 
Am easier when the leaves are gone 
Too often summer days appear 
Emblems of perfect happiness 
I can't confront: I must await 
A time less bold, less rich, less clear: 
An autumn more appropriate.


by Philip Larkin | |

Wedding Wind

 The wind blew all my wedding-day,
And my wedding-night was the night of the high wind;
And a stable door was banging, again and again,
That he must go and shut it, leaving me
Stupid in candlelight, hearing rain,
Seeing my face in the twisted candlestick,
Yet seeing nothing.
When he came back He said the horses were restless, and I was sad That any man or beast that night should lack The happiness I had.
Now in the day All's ravelled under the sun by the wind's blowing.
He has gone to look at the floods, and I Carry a chipped pail to the chicken-run, Set it down, and stare.
All is the wind Hunting through clouds and forests, thrashing My apron and the hanging cloths on the line.
Can it be borne, this bodying-forth by wind Of joy my actions turn on, like a thread Carrying beads? Shall I be let to sleep Now this perpetual morning shares my bed? Can even death dry up These new delighted lakes, conclude Our kneeling as cattle by all-generous waters?


by Philip Larkin | |

Reasons For Attendance

 The trumpet's voice, loud and authoritative,
Draws me a moment to the lighted glass
To watch the dancers - all under twenty-five -
Solemnly on the beat of happiness.
- Or so I fancy, sensing the smoke and sweat, The wonderful feel of girls.
Why be out there ? But then, why be in there? Sex, yes, but what Is sex ? Surely to think the lion's share Of happiness is found by couples - sheer Inaccuracy, as far as I'm concerned.
What calls me is that lifted, rough-tongued bell (Art, if you like) whose individual sound Insists I too am individual.
It speaks; I hear; others may hear as well, But not for me, nor I for them; and so With happiness.
Therefor I stay outside, Believing this, and they maul to and fro, Believing that; and both are satisfied, If no one has misjudged himself.
Or lied.


by Margaret Widdemer | |

If you should tire of loving me

 If you should tire of loving me 
 Some one of our far days, 
Oh, never start to hide your heart 
 Or cover thought with praise.
For every word you would not say Be sure my heart has heard, So go from me all silently Without a kiss or word; For God must give you happiness, And Oh, it may befall In listening long to Heaven-song I may not care at all!


by Walter Savage Landor | |

The Three Roses

 When the buds began to burst,
Long ago, with Rose the First
I was walking; joyous then
Far above all other men,
Till before us up there stood
Britonferry's oaken wood,
Whispering, "Happy as thou art,
Happiness and thou must part.
" Many summers have gone by Since a Second Rose and I (Rose from the same stem) have told This and other tales of old.
She upon her wedding day Carried home my tenderest lay: From her lap I now have heard Gleeful, chirping, Rose the Third.
Not for her this hand of mine Rhyme with nuptial wreath shall twine; Cold and torpid it must lie, Mute the tongue, and closed the eye.


by Ella Wheeler Wilcox | |

Refuted

 ‘Anticipation is sweeter than realisation.
’ It may be, yet I have not found it so.
In those first golden dreams of future fame I did not find such happiness as came When toil was crowned with triumph.
Now I know My words have recognition, and will go Straight to some listening heart, my early aim, To win the idle glory of a name, Pales like a candle in the noonday’s glow.
So with the deeper joys of which I dreamed: Life yields more rapture than did childhood’s fancies, And each year brings more pleasure than I waited.
Friendship proves truer than of old it seemed, And, all beyond youth’s passion-hued romances, Love is more perfect than anticipated.


by Friedrich von Schiller | |

The Two Guides Of Life - The Sublime And The Beautiful

 Two genii are there, from thy birth through weary life to guide thee;
Ah, happy when, united both, they stand to aid beside thee?
With gleesome play to cheer the path, the one comes blithe with beauty,
And lighter, leaning on her arm, the destiny and duty.
With jest and sweet discourse she goes unto the rock sublime, Where halts above the eternal sea the shuddering child of time.
The other here, resolved and mute and solemn, claspeth thee, And bears thee in her giant arms across the fearful sea.
Never admit the one alone!--Give not the gentle guide Thy honor--nor unto the stern thy happiness confide!


by Algernon Charles Swinburne | |

In San Lorenzo

 Is thine hour come to wake, O slumbering Night?
Hath not the Dawn a message in thine ear?
Though thou be stone and sleep, yet shalt thou hear
When the word falls from heaven--Let there be light.
Thou knowest we would not do thee the despite To wake thee while the old sorrow and shame were near; We spake not loud for thy sake, and for fear Lest thou shouldst lose the rest that was thy right, The blessing given thee that was thine alone, The happiness to sleep and to be stone: Nay, we kept silence of thee for thy sake Albeit we knew thee alive, and left with thee The great good gift to feel not nor to see; But will not yet thine Angel bid thee wake?


by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

The Seeker

 I sought for my happiness over the world,
Oh, eager and far was my quest;
I sought it on mountain and desert and sea,
I asked it of east and of west.
I sought it in beautiful cities of men, On shores that were sunny and blue, And laughter and lyric and pleasure were mine In palaces wondrous to view; Oh, the world gave me much to my plea and my prayer But never I found aught of happiness there! Then I took my way back to a valley of old And a little brown house by a rill, Where the winds piped all day in the sentinel firs That guarded the crest of the hill; I went by the path that my childhood had known Through the bracken and up by the glen, And I paused at the gate of the garden to drink The scent of sweet-briar again; The homelight shone out through the dusk as of yore And happiness waited for me at the door!


by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

For Little Things

 Last night I looked across the hills
And through an arch of darkling pine
Low-swung against a limpid west
I saw a young moon shine.
And as I gazed there blew a wind, Loosed where the sylvan shadows stir, Bringing delight to soul and sense The breath of dying fir.
This morn I saw a dancing host Of poppies in a garden way, And straight my heart was mirth-possessed And I was glad as they.
I heard a song across the sea As sweet and faint as echoes are, And glimpsed a poignant happiness No care of earth might mar.
Dear God, our life is beautiful In every splendid gift it brings, But most I thank Thee humbly for The joy of little things.


by Maria Mazziotti Gillan | |

My Daughter at 14 Christmas Dance 1981

 Panic in your face, you write questions
to ask him.
When he arrives, you are serene, your fear unbetrayed.
How unlike me you are.
After the dance, I see your happiness; he holds your hand.
Though you barely speak, your body pulses messages I can read all too well.
He kisses you goodnight, his body moving toward yours, and yours responding.
I am frightened, guard my tongue for fear my mother will pop out of my mouth.
"He is not shy," I say.
You giggle, a little girl again, but you tell me he kissed you on the dance floor.
"Once?" I ask.
"No, a lot.
" We ride through rain-shining 1 a.
m.
streets.
I bite back words which long to be said, knowing I must not shatter your moment, fragile as a spun-glass bird, you, the moment, poised on the edge of flight, and I, on the ground, afraid.
Maria Mazziotti Gillan Copyright © 1995


by Annie Louisa Walker | |

Womens Rights

 You cannot rob us of the rights we cherish,
Nor turn our thoughts away
From the bright picture of a "Woman's Mission"
Our hearts portray.
We claim to dwell, in quiet and seclusion, Beneath the household roof,-- From the great world's harsh strife, and jarring voices, To stand aloof;-- Not in a dreamy and inane abstraction To sleep our life away, But, gathering up the brightness of home sunshine, To deck our way.
As humble plants by country hedgerows growing, That treasure up the rain, And yield in odours, ere the day's declining, The gift again; So let us, unobtrusive and unnoticed, But happy none the less, Be privileged to fill the air around us With happiness; To live, unknown beyond the cherished circle, Which we can bless and aid; To die, and not a heart that does not love us Know where we're laid.


by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | |

THE CONVERT.

 As at sunset I was straying

Silently the wood along,
Damon on his flute was playing,

And the rocks gave back the song,
So la, Ia! &c.
Softly tow'rds him then he drew me; Sweet each kiss he gave me then! And I said, "Play once more to me!" And he kindly play'd again, So la, la! &c.
All my peace for aye has fleeted, All my happiness has flown; Yet my ears are ever greeted With that olden, blissful tone, So la, la! &c.
1791.


by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | |

THE LOVING ONE WRITES.

 THE look that thy sweet eyes on mine impress

The pledge thy lips to mine convey,--the kiss,--

He who, like me, hath knowledge sure of this,
Can he in aught beside find happiness?

Removed from thee, friend-sever'd, in distress,

These thoughts I vainly struggle to dismiss:

They still return to that one hour of bliss,
The only one; then tears my grief confess.
But unawares the tear makes haste to dry: He loves, methinks, e'en to these glades so still,-- And shalt not thou to distant lands extend? Receive the murmurs of his loving sigh; My only joy on earth is in thy will, Thy kindly will tow'rd me; a token send! 1807?8.


by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | |

FOOD IN TRAVEL.

 IF to her eyes' bright lustre I were blind,

No longer would they serve my life to gild.
The will of destiny must be fulfilid,-- This knowing, I withdrew with sadden'd mind.
No further happiness I now could find: The former longings of my heart were still'd; I sought her looks alone, whereon to build My joy in life,--all else was left behind.
Wine's genial glow, the festal banquet gay, Ease, sleep, and friends, all wonted pleasures glad I spurn'd, till little there remain'd to prove.
Now calmly through the world I wend my way: That which I crave may everywhere be had, With me I bring the one thing needful--love.
1807?8.


by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | |

CHARADE.

 Two words there are, both short, of beauty rare,

Whose sounds our lips so often love to frame,

But which with clearness never can proclaim
The things whose own peculiar stamp they bear.
'Tis well in days of age and youth so fair, One on the other boldly to inflame; And if those words together link'd we name, A blissful rapture we discover there.
But now to give them pleasure do I seek, And in myself my happiness would find; I hope in silence, but I hope for this: Gently, as loved one's names, those words to speak To see them both within one image shrin'd, Both in one being to embrace with bliss.
1807.


by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | |

FOR EVER.

 THE happiness that man, whilst prison'd here,

Is wont with heavenly rapture to compare,--
The harmony of Truth, from wavering clear,--

Of Friendship that is free from doubting care,--
The light which in stray thoughts alone can cheer

The wise,--the bard alone in visions fair,--
In my best hours I found in her all this,
And made mine own, to mine exceeding bliss.
1820.
*


by Ellis Parker Butler | |

The Rich Boy’s Christmas

 And now behold this sulking boy,
His costly presents bring no joy;
Harsh tears of anger fill his eye
Tho’ he has all that wealth can buy.
What profits it that he employs His many gifts to make a noise? His playroom is so placed that he Can cause his folks no agony.
MORAL: Mere worldly wealth does not possess The power of giving happiness.


by Sara Teasdale | |

Houses Of Dreams

 You took my empty dreams
 And filled them every one
With tenderness and nobleness,
 April and the sun.
The old empty dreams Where my thoughts would throng Are far too full of happiness To even hold a song.
Oh, the empty dreams were dim And the empty dreams were wide, They were sweet and shadowy houses Where my thoughts could hide.
But you took my dreams away And you made them all come true -- My thoughts have no place now to play, And nothing now to do.