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Best Famous Health Poems

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

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by Alexander Pope | |

Ode on Solitude

I.
How happy he, who free from care The rage of courts, and noise of towns; Contented breathes his native air, In his own grounds.
II.
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire, Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire.
III.
Blest! who can unconcern'dly find Hours, days, and years slide swift away, In health of body, peace of mind, Quiet by day, IV.
Sound sleep by night; study and ease Together mix'd; sweet recreation, And innocence, which most does please, With meditation.
V.
Thus let me live, unheard, unknown; Thus unlamented let me die; Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie.


by Charlotte Turner Smith | |

Sonnet LXVI: The Night-Flood Rakes

 The night-flood rakes upon the stony shore;
Along the rugged cliffs and chalky caves
Mourns the hoarse Ocean, seeming to deplore
All that are buried in his restless waves—
Mined by corrosive tides, the hollow rock 
Falls prone, and rushing from its turfy height,
Shakes the broad beach with long-resounding shock,
Loud thundering on the ear of sullen Night;
Above the desolate and stormy deep,
Gleams the wan Moon, by floating mist opprest;
Yet here while youth, and health, and labour sleep,
Alone I wander—Calm untroubled rest,
"Nature's soft nurse," deserts the sigh-swoln breast,
And shuns the eyes, that only wake to weep!


by Stanley Kunitz | |

After The Last Dynasty

 Reading in Li Po
how "the peach blossom follows the water"
I keep thinking of you
because you were so much like
Chairman Mao,
naturally with the sex 
transposed
and the figure slighter.
Loving you was a kind of Chinese guerilla war.
Thanks to your lightfoot genius no Eighth Route Army kept its lines more fluid, traveled with less baggage so nibbled the advantage.
Even with your small bad heart you made a dance of departures.
In the cold spring rains when last you failed me I had nothing left to spend but a red crayon language on the character of the enemy to break appointments, to fight us not with his strength but with his weakness, to kill us not with his health but with his sickness.
Pet, spitfire, blue-eyed pony, here is a new note I want to pin on your door, though I am ten years late and you are nowhere: Tell me, are you stillmistress of the valley, what trophies drift downriver, why did you keep me waiting?


by Alexander Pope | |

Solitude: An Ode

 I.
How happy he, who free from care The rage of courts, and noise of towns; Contented breaths his native air, In his own grounds.
II.
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire, Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire.
III.
Blest! who can unconcern'dly find Hours, days, and years slide swift away, In health of body, peace of mind, Quiet by day, IV.
Sound sleep by night; study and ease Together mix'd; sweet recreation, And innocence, which most does please, With meditation.
V.
Thus let me live, unheard, unknown; Thus unlamented let me dye; Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lye.


by Alexander Pope | |

Solitude

 Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air
 In his own ground.
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire; Whose trees in summer yield shade, In winter, fire.
Blest, who can unconcern'dly find Hours, days, and years, slide soft away In health of body, peace of mind, Quiet by day.
Sound sleep by night; study and ease Together mixed; sweet recreation, And innocence, which most does please With meditation.
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown; Thus unlamented let me die; Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie.


by George Meredith | |

Modern Love XXXIV: Madam Would Speak With Me

 Madam would speak with me.
So, now it comes: The Deluge or else Fire! She's well, she thanks My husbandship.
Our chain on silence clanks.
Time leers between, above his twiddling thumbs.
Am I quite well? Most excellent in health! The journals, too, I diligently peruse.
Vesuvius is expected to give news: Niagara is no noisier.
By stealth Our eyes dart scrutinizing snakes.
She's glad I'm happy, says her quivering under-lip.
"And are not you?" "How can I be?" "Take ship! For happiness is somewhere to be had.
" "Nowhere for me!" Her voice is barely heard.
I am not melted, and make no pretence.
With commonplace I freeze her, tongue and sense.
Niagara or Vesuvius is deferred.


by George Meredith | |

Modern Love: XXXIV

 Madam would speak with me.
So, now it comes: The Deluge or else Fire! She's well, she thanks My husbandship.
Our chain on silence clanks.
Time leers between, above his twiddling thumbs.
Am I quite well? Most excellent in health! The journals, too, I diligently peruse.
Vesuvius is expected to give news: Niagara is no noisier.
By stealth Our eyes dart scrutinizing snakes.
She's glad I'm happy, says her quivering under-lip.
"And are not you?" "How can I be?" "Take ship! For happiness is somewhere to be had.
" "Nowhere for me!" Her voice is barely heard.
I am not melted, and make no pretence.
With commonplace I freeze her, tongue and sense.
Niagara or Vesuvius is deferred.


by William Strode | |

On The Death Of A Twin

 Where are yee now, Astrologers, that looke
For petty accidents in Heavens booke?
Two Twins, to whom one Influence gave breath,
Differ in more than Fortune, Life and Death.
While both were warme (for that was all they were Unlesse some feeble cry sayd Life was there By wavering change of health they seem'd to trie Which of the two should live, for one must die.
As if one Soule, allotted to susteine The lumpe, which afterwards was cutt in twain, Now servde them both: whose limited restraynt From double vertue made them both to faynt: But when that common Soule away should flie, Death killing one, expected both should die: Shee hitt, and was deceivde: that other parte Went to supply the weake survivers heart: So Death, where shee was cruell, seemde most milde: She aymed at two, and killde but halfe a childe.


by Edward Thomas | |

When First I Came Here

 WHEN first I came here I had hope, 
Hope for I knew not what.
Fast beat My heart at the sight of the tall slope Or grass and yews, as if my feet Only by scaling its steps of chalk Would see something no other hill Ever disclosed.
And now I walk Down it the last time.
Never will My heart beat so again at sight Of any hill although as fair And loftier.
For infinite The change, late unperceived, this year, The twelfth, suddenly, shows me plain.
Hope now,--not health nor cheerfulness, Since they can come and go again, As often one brief hour witnesses,-- Just hope has gone forever.
Perhaps I may love other hills yet more Than this: the future and the maps Hide something I was waiting for.
One thing I know, that love with chance And use and time and necessity Will grow, and louder the heart's dance At parting than at meeting be.


by James Thomson | |

Gifts

 GIVE a man a horse he can ride, 
 Give a man a boat he can sail; 
And his rank and wealth, his strength and health, 
 On sea nor shore shall fail.
Give a man a pipe he can smoke, Give a man a book he can read: And his home is bright with a calm delight, Though the room be poor indeed.
Give a man a girl he can love, As I, O my love, love thee; And his heart is great with the pulse of Fate, At home, on land, on sea.


by Isaac Watts | |

Psalm 30 part 2

 v.
6 L.
M.
Health, sickness, and recovery.
Firm was my health, my day was bright, And I presumed 'twould ne'er be night; Fondly I said within my heart, "Pleasure and peace shall ne'er depart.
" But I forgot thine arm was strong Which made my mountain stand so long: Soon as thy face began to hide, My health was gone, my comforts died.
I cried aloud to thee, my God, "What canst thou profit by my blood? Deep in the dust can I declare Thy truth, or sing thy goodness there? "Hear me, O God of grace," I said, "And bring me from among the dead:" Thy word rebuked the pains I felt, Thy pard'ning love removed my guilt.
My groans, and tears, and forms of woe Are turned to joy and praises now; I throw my sackcloth on the ground, And ease and gladness gird me round My tongue, the glory of my frame, Shall ne'er be silent of thy name; Thy praise shall sound through earth and heav'n For sickness healed and sins forgiv'n.


by Isaac Watts | |

Psalm 107 part 3

 Intemperance punished and pardoned.
Vain man, on foolish pleasures bent, Prepares for his own punishment; What pains, what loathsome maladies, From luxury and lust arise! The drunkard feels his vitals waste, Yet drowns his health to please his taste; Till all his active powers are lost, And fainting life draws near the dust.
The glutton groans, and loathes to eat, His soul abhors delicious meat; Nature, with heavy loads oppressed, Would yield to death to be released.
Then how the frighted sinners fly To God for help with earnest cry! He hears their groans, prolongs their breath, And saves them from approaching death.
No med'cines could effect the cure So quick, so easy, or so sure; The deadly sentence God repeals, He sends his sovereign word, and heals.
O may the sons of men record The wondrous goodness of the Lord! And let their thankful off'rings prove How they adore their Maker's love


by Robert William Service | |

The Score

 I asked a silver sage
 With race nigh run:
'Tell me in old of age
 Your wisdom won?'
Said he: 'From fret and strife
 And vain vexation,
The all I've learned from life
 Is--Resignation.
' I asked a Bard who thrummed A harp clay-cold: 'How is your story summed Now you are old?' Though golden voice was his, And fame had he, He sighed: 'The finish is --Futility.
' I'm old; I have no wealth Toil to reward; Yet for the boon of health I thank the Lord.
While Beauty I can see, To live is good; And so life's crown to me Is--Gratitude


by Robert William Service | |

Birthday

 (16th January 1949)

I thank whatever gods may be
For all the happiness that's mine;
That I am festive, fit and free
To savour women, wit and wine;
That I may game of golf enjoy,
And have a formidable drive:
In short, that I'm a gay old boy
Though I be
 Seventy-and-five.
My daughter thinks.
because I'm old (I'm not a crock, when all is said), I mustn't let my feet get cold, And should wear woollen socks in bed; A worsted night-cap too, forsooth! To humour her I won't contrive: A man is in his second youth When he is Seventy-and-five.
At four-score years old age begins, And not till then, I warn my wife; At eighty I'll recant my sins, And live a staid and sober life.
But meantime let me whoop it up, And tell the world that I'm alive: Fill to the brim the bubbly cup - Here's health to Seventy-and-five!


by Robert William Service | |

The Choice

 Some inherit manly beauty,
Some come into worldly wealth;
Some have lofty sense of duty,
Others boast exultant health.
Though the pick may be confusing, Health, wealth, charm or character, If you had the chance of choosing Which would you prefer? I'm not sold on body beauty, Though health I appreciate; Character and sense of duty I resign to Men of State.
I don't need a heap of money; Oh I know I'm hard to please.
Though to you it may seem funny, I want none of these.
No, give me Imagination, And the gift of weaving words Into patterns of creation, With the lilt of singing birds; Passion and the power to show it, Sense of life with love expressed: Let my be a bloody poet,-- You can keep the rest.


by Robert William Service | |

Class-Mates

 Bob Briggs went in for Government,
 And helps to run the State;
Some day they say he'll represent
 His party in debate:
But with punk politics his job,
 I do not envy Bob.
Jim Jones went in for writing books, Best sellers were his aim; He's ten years younger than he looks, And licks the heels of Fame: Though shop-girls make a fuss of him I do not envy Jim.
Joe Giles went in for grabbing gold, And grovelled in the dirt; He, too, looks prematurely old, His gastric ulcers hurt: Although he has a heap of dough.
I do not envy Joe.
I've neither fame nor power nor wealth, I fish and hunt for food; But I have heaps of rugged health, And life seems mighty good.
So when my class-mates come to spend A week-end in my shack, With lake and wood at journey's end --They envy Jack.


by Robert William Service | |

The Contented Man

 "How good God is to me," he said;
"For have I not a mansion tall,
With trees and lawns of velvet tread,
And happy helpers at my call?
With beauty is my life abrim,
With tranquil hours and dreams apart;
You wonder that I yield to Him
That best of prayers, a grateful heart?"

"How good God is to me," he said;
"For look! though gone is all my wealth,
How sweet it is to earn one's bread
With brawny arms and brimming health.
Oh, now I know the joy of strife! To sleep so sound, to wake so fit.
Ah yes, how glorious is life! I thank Him for each day of it.
" "How good God is to me," he said; "Though health and wealth are gone, it's true; Things might be worse, I might be dead, And here I'm living, laughing too.
Serene beneath the evening sky I wait, and every man's my friend; God's most contented man am I .
.
.
He keeps me smiling to the End.
"


by Robert William Service | |

My Will

 I've made my Will.
I don't believe In luxury and wealth; And to those loving ones who grieve My age and frailing health I give the meed to soothe their ways That they may happy be, And pass serenely all their days In snug security.
That duty done, I leave behind The all I have to give To crippled children and the blind Who lamentably live; Hoping my withered hand may freight To happiness a few Poor innocents whom cruel fate Has cheated of their due.
A am no grey philanthropist, Too humble is my lot Yet how I'm glad to give the grist My singing mill has brought.
For I have had such lyric days, So rich, so full, so sweet, That I with gratitude and praise Would make my life complete.
I'VE MADE MY WILL: now near the end, At peace with all mankind, To children lame I would be friend, And brother to the blind .
.
.
And if there be a God, I pray He bless my last bequest, And in His love and pity say: "Good servant,--rest!"


by Robert William Service | |

Why?

 He was our leader and our guide;
He was our saviour and our star.
We walked in friendship by his side, Yet set him where our heroes are.
He taught disdain of fame and wealth; With courage he inspired our youth; He preached the purity of health, And held aloft the torch of truth.
He bade us battle for the Right, And led us in the carnage grim; He was to us a living light, And like a God we worshiped him.
He raised us from the grievous gloom, And brimmed our hearts with radiant cheer; And then he climbed up to his room, And .
.
.
cut his throat from ear to ear.
Let us not judge his seeming lapse; His secret soul we could not see; He smiled and left us, and perhaps Death was his crowning victory.


by Robert William Service | |

A Little Prayer

 Let us be thankful, Lord, for little things -
The song of birds, the rapture of the rose;
Cloud-dappled skies, the laugh of limpid springs,
Drowned sunbeams and the perfume April blows;
Bronze wheat a-shimmer, purple shade of trees -
Let us be thankful, Lord of Life, for these!

Let us be praiseful, Sire, for simple sights; -
The blue smoke curling from a fire of peat;
Keen stars a-frolicking on frosty nights,
Prismatic pigeons strutting in a street;
Daisies dew-diamonded in smiling sward -
For simple sights let us be praiseful, Lord!

Let us be grateful, God, for health serene,
The hope to do a kindly deed each day;
The faith of fellowship, a conscience clean,
The will to worship and the gift to pray;
For all of worth in us, of You a part,
Let us be grateful, God, with humble heart.