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Best Famous Journey Poems

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

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by Wang Wei | |

A GREEN STREAM

I have sailed the River of Yellow Flowers, 
Borne by the channel of a green stream, 
Rounding ten thousand turns through the mountains 
On a journey of less than thirty miles.
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Rapids hum over heaped rocks; But where light grows dim in the thick pines, The surface of an inlet sways with nut-horns And weeds are lush along the banks.
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Down in my heart I have always been as pure As this limpid water is.
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Oh, to remain on a broad flat rock And to cast a fishing-line forever!


by Philip Larkin | |

The North Ship

 Legend

I saw three ships go sailing by,
Over the sea, the lifting sea,
And the wind rose in the morning sky,
And one was rigged for a long journey.
The first ship turned towards the west, Over the sea, the running sea, And by the wind was all possessed And carried to a rich country.
The second ship turned towards the east, Over the sea, the quaking sea, And the wind hunted it like a beast To anchor in captivity.
The third ship drove towards the north, Over the sea, the darkening sea, But no breath of wind came forth, And the decks shone frostily.
The northern sky rose high and black Over the proud unfruitful sea, East and west the ships came back Happily or unhappily: But the third went wide and far Into an unforgiving sea Under a fire-spilling star, And it was rigged for a long journey.


by Christina Rossetti | |

Uphill

 DOES the road wind uphill all the way? 
 Yes, to the very end.
Will the day's journey take the whole long day? From morn to night, my friend.
But is there for the night a resting-place? A roof for when the slow, dark hours begin.
May not the darkness hide it from my face? You cannot miss that inn.
Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? Those who have gone before.
Then must I knock, or call when just in sight? They will not keep you waiting at that door.
Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak? Of labour you shall find the sum.
Will there be beds for me and all who seek? Yea, beds for all who come.


by Wang Wei | |

Farewell

 I have got my leave.
Bid me farewell, my brothers! I bow to you all and take my departure.
Here I give back the keys of my door ---and I give up all claims to my house.
I only ask for last kind words from you.
We were neighbors for long, but I received more than I could give.
Now the day has dawned and the lamp that lit my dark corner is out.
A summons has come and I am ready for my journey.


by Wang Wei | |

A Green Stream.

 I have sailed the River of Yellow Flowers, 
Borne by the channel of a green stream, 
Rounding ten thousand turns through the mountains 
On a journey of less than thirty miles.
.
.
.
Rapids hum over heaped rocks; But where light grows dim in the thick pines, The surface of an inlet sways with nut-horns And weeds are lush along the banks.
.
.
.
Down in my heart I have always been as pure As this limpid water is.
.
.
.
Oh, to remain on a broad flat rock And to cast a fishing-line forever!


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 William Lisle Bowles | |

V. To the River Tweed.

 O TWEED! a stranger, that with wand'ring feet 
O'er hill and dale has journey'd many a mile, 
(If so his weary thoughts he might beguile) 
Delighted turns thy beauteous scenes to greet.
The waving branches that romantick bend O'er thy tall banks, a soothing charm bestow; The murmurs of thy wand'ring wave below Seem to his ear the pity of a friend.
Delightful stream! tho' now along thy shore, When spring returns in all her wonted pride, The shepherd's distant pipe is heard no more, Yet here with pensive peace could I abide, Far from the stormy world's tumultuous roar, To muse upon thy banks at eventide.


by William Lisle Bowles | |

Sonnet: Languid And Sad And Slow From Day To Day

 Languid, and sad, and slow, from day to day
I journey on, yet pensive turn to view
(Where the rich landscape gleams with softer hue)
The streams and vales, and hills, that steal away.
So fares it with the children of the earth: For when life's goodly prospect opens round, Their spirits beat to tread that fairy ground, Where every vale sounds to the pipe of mirth.
But them vain hope and easy youth beguiles, And soon a longing look, like me, they cast Back on the pleasing prospect of the past: Yet Fancy points where still far onward smiles Some sunny spot, and her fair colouring blends, Till cheerless on their path the night descends!


by William Lisle Bowles | |

Languid And Sad And Slow From Day To Day

 Languid, and sad, and slow, from day to day 
I journey on, yet pensive turn to view 
(Where the rich landscape gleams with softer hue) 
The streams and vales, and hills, that steal away.
So fares it with the children of the earth: For when life's goodly prospect opens round, Their spirits beat to tread that fairy ground, Where every vale sounds to the pipe of mirth.
But them vain hope and easy youth beguiles, And soon a longing look, like me, they cast Back on the pleasing prospect of the past: Yet Fancy points where still far onward smiles Some sunny spot, and her fair colouring blends, Till cheerless on their path the night descends!


by George William Russell | |

The Mid-World

 THIS is the red, red region
Your heart must journey through:
Your pains will here be legion
And joy be death for you.
Rejoice to-day: to-morrow A turning tide shall flow Through infinite tones of sorrow To reach an equal woe.
You pass by love unheeding To gain the goal you long— But my heart, my heart is bleeding: I cannot sing this song.


by Henry Van Dyke | |

The Gentle Traveller

 Through many a land your journey ran,
And showed the best the world can boast:
Now tell me, traveller, if you can,
The place that pleased you most.
" She laid her hands upon my breast, And murmured gently in my ear, "The place I loved and liked the best Was in your arms, my dear!"


by Henry Van Dyke | |

Life

 Let me but live my life from year to year, 
With forward face and unreluctant soul; 
Not hurrying to, nor turning from the goal; 
Not mourning for the things that disappear 
In the dim past, nor holding back in fear 
From what the future veils; but with a whole 
And happy heart, that pays its toll 
To Youth and Age, and travels on with cheer.
So let the way wind up the hill or down, O'er rough or smooth, the journey will be joy: Still seeking what I sought when but a boy, New friendship, high adventure, and a crown, My heart will keep the courage of the quest, And hope the road's last turn will be the best.


by David Herbert Lawrence | |

The End

 If I could have put you in my heart, 
If but I could have wrapped you in myself, 
How glad I should have been! 
And now the chart 
Of memory unrolls again to me 
The course of our journey here, before we had to part.
And oh, that you had never, never been Some of your selves, my love, that some Of your several faces I had never seen! And still they come before me, and they go, And I cry aloud in the moments that intervene.
And oh, my love, as I rock for you to-night, And have not any longer any hope To heal the suffering, or make requite For all your life of asking and despair, I own that some of me is dead to-night.


by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

To My Enemy

 Let those who will of friendship sing,
And to its guerdon grateful be,
But I a lyric garland bring
To crown thee, O, mine enemy! 

Thanks, endless thanks, to thee I owe
For that my lifelong journey through
Thine honest hate has done for me
What love perchance had failed to do.
I had not scaled such weary heights But that I held thy scorn in fear, And never keenest lure might match The subtle goading of thy sneer.
Thine anger struck from me a fire That purged all dull content away, Our mortal strife to me has been Unflagging spur from day to day.
And thus, while all the world may laud The gifts of love and loyalty, I lay my meed of gratitude Before thy feet, mine enemy!


by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | |

ROLLICKING HANS.

 HALLO there! A glass!

Ha! the draught's truly sweet!
If for drink go my shoes,

I shall still have my feet.
A maiden and wine, With sweet music and song,-- I would they were mine, All life's journey along! If I depart from this sad sphere, And leave a will behind me here, A suit at law will be preferr'd, But as for thanks,--the deuce a word! So ere I die, I squander all, And that a proper will I call.
HIS COMRADE.
Hallo there! A glass! Ha! the draught's truly sweet If thou keepest thy shoes, Thou wilt then spare thy feet.
A maiden and wine, With sweet music and song, On pavement, are thine, All life's journey along!


by James Henry Leigh Hunt | |

A Thought of the Nile

 It flows through old hushed Egypt and its sands,
Like some grave mighty thought threading a dream,
And times and things, as in that vision, seem
Keeping along it their eternal stands,--
Caves, pillars, pyramids, the shepherd bands
That roamed through the young world, the glory extreme
Of high Sesostris, and that southern beam,
The laughing queen that caught the world's great hands.
Then comes a mightier silence, stern and strong, As of a world left empty of its throng, And the void weighs on us; and then we wake, And hear the fruitful stream lapsing along Twixt villages, and think how we shall take Our own calm journey on for human sake.


by James Henry Leigh Hunt | |

The Nile

 It flows through old hushed Egypt and its sands, 
Like some grave mighty thought threading a dream, 
And times and things, as in that vision, seem 
Keeping along it their eternal stands,-- 
Caves, pillars, pyramids, the shepherd bands 
That roamed through the young world, the glory extreme 
Of high Sesostris, and that southern beam, 
The laughing queen that caught the world's great hands.
Then comes a mightier silence, stern and strong, As of a world left empty of its throng, And the void weighs on us; and then we wake, And hear the fruitful stream lapsing along 'Twixt villages, and think how we shall take Our own calm journey on for human sake.


by Walter de la Mare | |

Alone

 Over the fence, the dead settle in
for a journey.
Nine o'clock.
You are alone for the first time today.
Boys asleep.
Husband out.
A beer bottle sweats in your hand, and sea lavender clogs the air with perfume.
Think of yourself.
Your arms rest with nothing to do after weeks spent attending to others.
Your thoughts turn to whether butter will last the week, how much longer the car can run on its partial tank of gas.


by Walter de la Mare | |

Winter

 Clouded with snow 
The cold winds blow, 
And shrill on leafless bough 
The robin with its burning breast 
Alone sings now.
The rayless sun, Day's journey done, Sheds its last ebbing light On fields in leagues of beauty spread Unearthly white.
Thick draws the dark, And spark by spark, The frost-fires kindle, and soon Over that sea of frozen foam Floats the white moon.


by J R R Tolkien | |

Bilbos Last Song (At the Grey Havens)

 Day is ended, dim my eyes,
But journey long before me lies.
Farewell, friends! I hear the call.
The ship's beside the stony wall.
Foam is white and waves are grey; beyond the sunset leads my way.
Foam is salt, the wind is free; I hear the rising of the sea.
Farewell, friends! The sails are set, the wind is east, the moorings fret.
Shadows long before me lie, beneath the ever-bending sky, but islands lie behind the Sun that i shall raise ere all is done; lands there are to west of West, where night is quiet and sleep is rest.
Guided by the Lonely Star, beyond the utmost harbour-bar, I'll find the heavens fair and free, and beaches of the Starlit Sea.
Ship my ship! I seek the West, and fields and mountains ever blest.
Farewell to Middle-earth at last.
I see the star above my mast!