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Best Famous Pollution Poems

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

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See also: Best Member Poems

by Robert Seymour Bridges | |

Low Barometer

 The south-wind strengthens to a gale,
Across the moon the clouds fly fast,
The house is smitten as with a flail,
The chimney shudders to the blast.
On such a night, when Air has loosed Its guardian grasp on blood and brain, Old terrors then of god or ghost Creep from their caves to life again; And Reason kens he herits in A haunted house.
Tenants unknown Assert their squalid lease of sin With earlier title than his own.
Unbodied presences, the packed Pollution and remorse of Time, Slipped from oblivion re-enact The horrors of unhousehold crime.
Some men would quell the thing with prayer Whose sightless footsteps pad the floor, Whose fearful trespass mounts the stair Or burst the locked forbidden door.
Some have seen corpses long interred Escape from hallowing control, Pale charnel forms - nay even have heard The shrilling of a troubled soul, That wanders till the dawn has crossed The dolorous dark, or Earth has wound Closer her storm-spread cloak, and thrust The baleful phantoms underground.


by Francis Scott Key | |

Defence of Fort MHenry

 Tune -- ANACREON IN HEAVEN 
O! say can you see, by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleaming,
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watch'd, were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there --
O! say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?
On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines on the stream --
'Tis the star-spangled banner, O! long may it wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.
And where is that band who so vauntingly swore That the havock of war and the battle's confusion A home and a country should leave us no more? Their blood has wash'd out their foul foot-steps' pollution, No refuge could save the hireling and slave, From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave; And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.
O! thus be it ever when freemen shall stand Between their lov'd home, and the war's desolation, Blest with vict'ry and peace, may the heav'n-rescued land Praise the power that hath made and preserv'd us a nation! Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, And this be our motto -- "In God is our trust!" And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.


by Isaac Watts | |

Hymn 9

 The promises of the covenant of grace.
Isa.
55:1,2; Zech.
13:1; Mic.
7:19; Ezek.
36:25, etc.
In vain we lavish out our lives To gather empty wind; The choicest blessings earth can yield Will starve a hungry mind.
Come, and the Lord shall feed our souls With more substantial meat, With such as saints in glory love, With such as angels eat.
Our God will every want supply, And fill our hearts with peace; He gives by cov'nant and by oath The riches of his grace.
Come, and he'll cleanse our spotted souls, And wash away our stains In the dear fountain that his Son Poured from his dying veins.
[Our guilt shall vanish all away, Though black as hell before; Our sins shall sink beneath the sea, And shall be found no more.
And, lest pollution should o'erspread Our inward powers again, His Spirit shall bedew our souls, Like purifying rain.
] Our heart, that flinty, stubborn thing, That terrors cannot move, That fears no threat'nings of his wrath, Shall be dissolved by love.
Or he can take the flint away That would not be refined; And from the treasures of his grace Bestow a softer mind.
There shall his sacred Spirit dwell, And deep engrave his law, And every motion of our souls To swift obedience draw.
Thus will he pour salvation down, And we shall render praise; We the dear people of his love, And he our God of grace.


More great poems below...

by Robert Southey | |

Inscription 07 - For A Tablet On The Banks Of A Stream

 Stranger! awhile upon this mossy bank
Recline thee.
If the Sun rides high, the breeze, That loves to ripple o'er the rivulet, Will play around thy brow, and the cool sound Of running waters soothe thee.
Mark how clear It sparkles o'er the shallows, and behold Where o'er its surface wheels with restless speed Yon glossy insect, on the sand below How the swift shadow flies.
The stream is pure In solitude, and many a healthful herb Bends o'er its course and drinks the vital wave: But passing on amid the haunts of man, It finds pollution there, and rolls from thence A tainted tide.
Seek'st thou for HAPPINESS? Go Stranger, sojourn in the woodland cot Of INNOCENCE, and thou shalt find her there.


by Stephen Crane | |

A little ink more or less!

 A little ink more or less!
I surely can't matter?
Even the sky and the opulent sea,
The plains and the hills, aloof,
Hear the uproar of all these books.
But it is only a little ink more or less.
What? You define me God with these trinkets? Can my misery meal on an ordered walking Of surpliced numskulls? And a fanfare of lights? Or even upon the measured pulpitings Of the familiar false and true? Is this God? Where, then, is hell? Show me some bastard mushroom Sprung from a pollution of blood.
It is better.
Where is God?