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Best Famous Heartbroken Poems

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

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Written by Lisa Zaran |

Love Is Believable

 love is believable 
in every moment of exhaustion 
in every heartbroken home 
in every dark spirit, 
the meaning unfolds.
in every night that sings of tomorrow.
in every suicide i carry deep inside my head.
in every lonely smile that plays across my lips.
love is believable i tell you, in every scrap of history, in every sheen of want.
what can be wrong that some days i have a tough time believing.
and in each chamber of my heart i pray.
Copyright © Lisa Zaran, 2006

Written by Amy Levy |


 The lion remembers the forest,
The lion in chains;
To the bird that is captive a vision
Of woodland remains.
One strains with his strength at the fetter, In impotent rage; One flutters in flights of a moment, And beats at the cage.
If the lion were loosed from the fetter, To wander again; He would seek the wide silence and shadow Of his jungle in vain.
He would rage in his fury, destroying; Let him rage, let him roam! Shall he traverse the pitiless mountain, Or swim through the foam? If they opened the cage and the casement, And the bird flew away; He would come back at evening, heartbroken, A captive for aye.
Would come if his kindred had spared him, Free birds from afar-- There was wrought what is stronger than iron In fetter and bar.
I cannot remember my country, The land whence I came; Whence they brought me and chained me and made me Nor wild thing nor tame.
This only I know of my country, This only repeat :-- It was free as the forest, and sweeter Than woodland retreat.
When the chain shall at last be broken, The window set wide; And I step in the largeness and freedom Of sunlight outside ; Shall I wander in vain for my country? Shall I seek and not find? Shall I cry for the bars that encage me The fetters that bind?

Written by Stephen Vincent Benet |

The Fiddling Wood

 Gods, what a black, fierce day! The clouds were iron, 
Wrenched to strange, rugged shapes; the red sun winked 
Over the rough crest of the hairy wood 
In angry scorn; the grey road twisted, kinked, 
Like a sick serpent, seeming to environ 
The trees with magic.
All the wood was still -- Cracked, crannied pines bent like malicious cripples Before the gusty wind; they seemed to nose, Nudge, poke each other, cackling with ill mirth -- Enchantment's days were over -- sh! -- Suppose That crouching log there, where the white light stipples Should -- break its quiet! WAS THAT CRIMSON -- EARTH? It smirched the ground like a lewd whisper, "Danger!" -- I hunched my cloak about me -- then, appalled, Turned ice and fire by turns -- for -- someone stirred The brown, dry needles sharply! Terror crawled Along my spine, as forth there stepped -- a Stranger! And all the pines crooned like a drowsy bird! His stock was black.
His great shoe-buckles glistened.
His fur cuffs ended in a sheen of rings.
And underneath his coat a case bulged blackly -- He swept his beaver in a rush of wings! Then took the fiddle out, and, as I listened, Tightened and tuned the yellowed strings, hung slackly.
Ping! Pang! The clear notes swooped and curved and darted, Rising like gulls.
Then, with a finger skinny, He rubbed the bow with rosin, said, "Your pardon Signor! -- Maestro Nicolo Paganini They used to call me! Tchk! -- The cold grips hard on A poor musician's fingers!" -- His lips parted.
A tortured soul screamed suddenly and loud, From the brown, quivering case! Then, faster, faster, Dancing in flame-like whorls, wild, beating, screaming, The music wailed unutterable disaster; Heartbroken murmurs from pale lips once proud, Dead, choking moans from hearts once nobly dreaming.
Till all resolved in anguish -- died away Upon one minor chord, and was resumed In anguish; fell again to a low cry, Then rose triumphant where the white fires fumed, Terrible, marching, trampling, reeling, gay, Hurling mad, broken legions down to die Through everlasting hells -- The tears were salt Upon my fingers -- Then, I saw, behind The fury of the player, all the trees Crouched like violinists, boughs crooked, jerking, blind, Sweeping mad bows to music without fault, Grey cheeks to greyer fiddles, withered knees.
Gasping, I fled! -- but still that devilish tune Stunned ears and brain alike -- till clouds of dust Blotted the picture, and the noise grew dim -- Shaking, I reached the town -- and turned -- in trust -- Wind-smitten, dread, against the sky-line's rim, Black, dragon branches whipped below a moon!

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