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Best Famous Miracle Poems

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

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by Siegfried Sassoon | |

David Cleek

I CANNOT think that Death will press his claim
To snuff you out or put you off your game:
You¡¯ll still contrive to play your steady round 
Though hurricanes may sweep the dismal ground 
And darkness blur the sandy-skirted green 5
Where silence gulfs the shot you strike so clean.
Saint Andrew guard your ghost old David Cleek And send you home to Fifeshire once a week! Good fortune speed your ball upon its way When Heaven decrees its mightiest Medal Day; 10 Till saints and angels hymn for evermore The miracle of your astounding score; And He who keeps all players in His sight Walking the royal and ancient hills of light Standing benignant at the eighteenth hole 15 To everlasting Golf consigns your soul.


by Siegfried Sassoon | |

The Heritage

CRY out on Time that he may take away
Your cold philosophies that give no hint
Of spirit-quickened flesh; fall down and pray
That Death come never with a face of flint:
Death is our heritage; with Life we share 5
The sunlight that must own his darkening hour:
Within his very presence yet we dare
To gather gladness like a fading flower.
For even as this our joy not long may live Perfect; and most in change the heart can trace 10 The miracle of life and human things: All we have held to destiny we give; Dawn glimmers on the soul-forsaken face; Not we but others hear the bird that sings.


by Philip Larkin | |

Is It For Now Or For Always

 Is it for now or for always,
The world hangs on a stalk?
Is it a trick or a trysting-place,
The woods we have found to walk?

Is it a mirage or miracle,
Your lips that lift at mine:
And the suns like a juggler's juggling-balls,
Are they a sham or a sign?

Shine out, my sudden angel,
Break fear with breast and brow,
I take you now and for always,
For always is always now.


by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

You

 You came – 
determined, 
because I was large,
because I was roaring,
but on close inspection
you saw a mere boy.
You seized and snatched away my heart and began to play with it – like a girl with a bouncing ball.
And before this miracle every woman was either a lady astounded or a maiden inquiring: “Love such a fellow? Why, he'll pounce on you! She must be a lion tamer, a girl from the zoo!” But I was triumphant.
I didn’t feel it – the yoke! Oblivious with joy, I jumped and leapt about, a bride-happy redskin, I felt so elated and light.
Transcribed: by Mitch Abidor.


by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | |

I. THE PARIAHS PRAYER

 DREADED Brama, lord of might!

All proceed from thee alone;
Thou art he who judgeth right!

Dost thou none but Brahmins own?
Do but Rajahs come from thee?

None but those of high estate?

Didst not thou the ape create,
Aye, and even such as we?

We are not of noble kind,

For with woe our lot is rife;
And what others deadly find

Is our only source of life.
Let this be enough for men, Let them, if they will, despise us; But thou, Brama, thou shouldst prize us, All are equal in thy ken.
Now that, Lord, this prayer is said, As thy child acknowledge me; Or let one be born in-stead, Who may link me on to thee! Didst not thou a Bayadere As a goddess heavenward raise? And we too to swell thy praise, Such a miracle would hear.
1821.


by Sara Teasdale | |

After Love

 There is no magic any more,
 We meet as other people do,
You work no miracle for me
 Nor I for you.
You were the wind and I the sea -- There is no splendor any more, I have grown listless as the pool Beside the shore.
But though the pool is safe from storm And from the tide has found surcease, It grows more bitter than the sea, For all its peace.


by Robert Seymour Bridges | |

Lord Kitchner

 Unflinching hero, watchful to foresee 
And face thy country's peril wheresoe'er, 
Directing war and peace with equal care, 
Till by long toil ennobled thou wert he 
Whom England call'd and bade "Set my arm free 
To obey my will and save my honour fair," -- 
What day the foe presumed on her despair 
And she herself had trust in none but thee: 

Among Herculean deeds the miracle 
That mass'd the labour of ten years in one 
Shall be thy monument.
Thy work was done Ere we could thank thee; and the high sea swell Surgeth unheeding where thy proud ship fell By the lone Orkneys, at the set of sun.


by Ruth Stone | |

This Strangeness in My Life

It is so hard to see where it is,
but it is there even in the morning
when the miracle of shapes
assemble and become familiar,
but not quite; and the echo
of a voice, now changed,
utterly dissociated, as though
all warmth and shared sweetness
had never been.
It is this alien space, not stark as the moon, but lush and almost identical to the space that was.
But it is not.
It is another place and you are not what you were but as though emerging from the air, you slowly show yourself as someone else, not ever remembered.


by Pablo Neruda | |

Ode To The Onion

 Onion,
luminous flask,
your beauty formed
petal by petal,
crystal scales expanded you
and in the secrecy of the dark earth
your belly grew round with dew.
Under the earth the miracle happened and when your clumsy green stem appeared, and your leaves were born like swords in the garden, the earth heaped up her power showing your naked transparency, and as the remote sea in lifting the breasts of Aphrodite duplicating the magnolia, so did the earth make you, onion clear as a planet and destined to shine, constant constellation, round rose of water, upon the table of the poor.
You make us cry without hurting us.
I have praised everything that exists, but to me, onion, you are more beautiful than a bird of dazzling feathers, heavenly globe, platinum goblet, unmoving dance of the snowy anemone and the fragrance of the earth lives in your crystalline nature.


by Pablo Neruda | |

Ode To The Lemon

 From blossoms
released
by the moonlight,
from an
aroma of exasperated
love,
steeped in fragrance,
yellowness
drifted from the lemon tree,
and from its plantarium
lemons descended to the earth.
Tender yield! The coasts, the markets glowed with light, with unrefined gold; we opened two halves of a miracle, congealed acid trickled from the hemispheres of a star, the most intense liqueur of nature, unique, vivid, concentrated, born of the cool, fresh lemon, of its fragrant house, its acid, secret symmetry.
Knives sliced a small cathedral in the lemon, the concealed apse, opened, revealed acid stained glass, drops oozed topaz, altars, cool architecture.
So, when you hold the hemisphere of a cut lemon above your plate, you spill a universe of gold, a yellow goblet of miracles, a fragrant nipple of the earth's breast, a ray of light that was made fruit, the minute fire of a planet.


by Robert Graves | |

Dead Cow Farm

 An ancient saga tells us how
In the beginning the First Cow 
(For nothing living yet had birth 
But Elemental Cow on earth) 
Began to lick cold stones and mud:
Under her warm tongue flesh and blood 
Blossomed, a miracle to believe: 
And so was Adam born, and Eve.
Here now is chaos once again, Primeval mud, cold stones and rain.
Here flesh decays and blood drips red, And the Cow’s dead, the old Cow’s dead.


by Robert Graves | |

The Snapped Thread

 Desire, first, by a natural miracle
United bodies, united hearts, blazed beauty;
Transcended bodies, transcended hearts.
Two souls, now unalterably one In whole love always and for ever, Soar out of twilight, through upper air, Let fall their sensous burden.
Is it kind, though, is it honest even, To consort with none but spirits- Leaving true-wedded hearts like ours In enforced night-long separation, Each to its random bodily inclination, The thread of miracle snapped?


by Erica Jong | |

Ordinary Miracles

 Spring, rainbows,
ordinary miracles
about which
nothing new can be said.
The stars on a clear night of a New England winter; the soft air of the islands along the old Spanish Main; pirate gold shining in the palm; the odor of roses to the lover's nose.
.
.
There is no more poetry to be written of these things.
The rainbow's sudden revelation-- behold! The cliché is true! What can one say but that? So too with you, little heart, little miracle, but you are no less miracle for being ordinary.


by Amy Lowell | |

Late September

 Tang of fruitage in the air;
Red boughs bursting everywhere;
Shimmering of seeded grass;
Hooded gentians all a'mass.
Warmth of earth, and cloudless wind Tearing off the husky rind, Blowing feathered seeds to fall By the sun-baked, sheltering wall.
Beech trees in a golden haze; Hardy sumachs all ablaze, Glowing through the silver birches.
How that pine tree shouts and lurches! From the sunny door-jamb high, Swings the shell of a butterfly.
Scrape of insect violins Through the stubble shrilly dins.
Every blade's a minaret Where a small muezzin's set, Loudly calling us to pray At the miracle of day.
Then the purple-lidded night Westering comes, her footsteps light Guided by the radiant boon Of a sickle-shaped new moon.


by Adrienne Rich | |

Miracle Ice Cream

 Miracle's truck comes down the little avenue,
Scott Joplin ragtime strewn behind it like pearls,
and, yes, you can feel happy
with one piece of your heart.
Take what's still given: in a room's rich shadow a woman's breasts swinging lightly as she bends.
Early now the pearl of dusk dissolves.
Late, you sit weighing the evening news, fast-food miracles, ghostly revolutions, the rest of your heart.


by Edgar Lee Masters | |

Professor Newcomer

 Everyone laughed at Col.
Prichard For buying an engine so powerful That it wrecked itself, and wrecked the grinder He ran it with.
But here is a joke of cosmic size: The urge of nature that made a man Evolve from his brain a spiritual life -- Oh miracle of the world! -- The very same brain with which the ape and wolf Get food and shelter and procreate themselves.
Nature has made man do this, In a world where she gives him nothing to do After all -- (though the strength of his soul goes round In a futile waste of power.
To gear itself to the mills of the gods) -- But get food and shelter and procreate himself!


by John Wilmot | |

Love and Life

 All my past life is mine no more, 
The flying hours are gone,
Like transitory dreams giv'n o'er,
Whose images are kept in store
By memory alone.
The time that is to come is not; How can it then be mine? The present moment's all my lot; And that, as fast as it is got, Phyllis, is only thine.
Then talk not of inconstancy, False hearts, and broken vows; If I, by miracle, can be This live-long minute true to thee, 'Tis all that Heav'n allows.


by John Wilmot | |

All My Past Life...

 All my past life is mine no more,
The flying hours are gone,
Like transitory dreams given o'er,
Whose images are kept in store
By memory alone.
What ever is to come is not, How can it then be mine? The present moment's all my lot, And that as fast as it is got, Phyllis, is wholly thine.
Then talk not of inconstancy, False hearts, and broken vows, Ii, by miracle, can be, This live-long minute true to thee, 'Tis all that heaven allows.


by Robert William Service | |

Miracles

 Each time that I switch on the light
A Miracle it seems to me
That I should rediscover sight
And banish dark so utterly.
One moment I am bleakly blind, The next--exultant life I find.
Below the sable of the sky My eyelids double darkness make.
Sleep is divine, yet oh how I Am glad with wonder to awake! To welcome, glimmery and wan The mighty Miracle of Dawn.
For I've mad moments when I seem, With all the marvel of a child, To dwell within a world of dream, To sober fact unreconciled.
Each simple act has struck me thus-- Incredibly miraculous.
When everything I see and do So magical can seem to me, How vain it is to seek the True, The riddle of Reality .
.
.
So let me with joy lyrical Proclaim all Life a Miracle!


by Anne Sexton | |

Where It Was At Back Then

 Husband,
last night I dreamt
they cut off your hands and feet.
Husband, you whispered to me, Now we are both incomplete.
Husband, I held all four in my arms like sons and daughters.
Husband, I bent slowly down and washed them in magical waters.
Husband, I placed each one where it belonged on you.
"A miracle," you said and we laughed the laugh of the well-to-do.