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Best Famous Teacher Poems

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

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by Henry Van Dyke | |

Two Schools

 I put my heart to school
In the world, where men grow wise,
"Go out," I said, "and learn the rule;
Come back when you win a prize.
" My heart came back again: "Now where is the prize?" I cried.
---- "The rule was false, and the prize was pain, And the teacher's name was Pride.
" I put my heart to school In the woods, where veeries sing, And brooks run cool and clear; In the fields, where wild flowers spring, And the blue of heaven bends near.
"Go out," I said: "you are half a fool, But perhaps they can teach you here.
" "And why do you stay so long, My heart, and where do you roam?" The answer came with a laugh and a song, --- "I find this school is home.
"


by Arthur Hugh Clough | |

Across the Sea Along the Shore

 Across the sea, along the shore,
In numbers more and ever more,
From lonely hut and busy town,
The valley through, the mountain down,
What was it ye went out to see,
Ye silly folk Galilee?
The reed that in the wind doth shake?
The weed that washes in the lake?
The reeds that waver, the weeds that float?
A young man preaching in a boat.
What was it ye went out to hear By sea and land from far and near? A teacher? Rather seek the feet Of those who sit in Moses' seat.
Go humbly seek, and bow to them, Far off in great Jerusalem.
From them that in her courts ye saw, Her perfect doctors of the law, What is it came ye here to note? A young man preaching in a boat.
A prophet! Boys and women weak! Declare, or cease to rave; Whence is it he hath learned to speak? Say, who his doctrine gave? A prophet? Prophet wherefore he Of all in Israel tribes? He teacheth with authority, And not as do the Scribes.


by Ehsan Sehgal | |

Attributes of a teacher

A teacher who does not possess intelligence, consideration fortitude  and affection tends to harm the talents of pupils.
Ehsan Sehgal


by Ben Jonson | |

On Lippe the Teacher


LXXV.
 — ON LIPPE THE TEACHER.

I cannot think there's that antipathy
'Twixt puritans and players, as some cry;
Though LIPPE, at Paul's, ran from his text away,
To inveigh 'gainst plays, what did he then but play?


by Mihai Eminescu | |

OF ALL THE SHIPS

Of all the ships the ocean rolls 
   How many find untimely graves 
Piled high by you upon the shoals, 
   O waves and winds, o winds and waves? 

  
How many a bird that leaves its bower 
   And o'er the sky in autumn draves 
You beat and blindly  overpower, 
   O winds and waves, o waves and winds?  
 

Should easy luck or high endeavour 
   Be our aim it little saves, 
For you pursue our footsteps ever, 
   O waves and winds, o winds and waves.
Still, it is past our comprehending What design your song enslaves, Rolling on until time's ending, O winds and waves, o waves and winds.
English version by Corneliu M.
Popescu Transcribed by Oana Platon 10th class A Alexandru Papiu Ilarian " Highschool Dej, Romania Teacher coordinator: Cornelia Platon


by Marianne Moore | |

The Past is the Present

 If external action is effete
and rhyme is outmoded,
I shall revert to you,
Habakkuk, as when in a Bible class
the teacher was speaking of unrhymed verse.
He said - and I think I repeat his exact words - "Hebrew poetry is prose with a sort of heightened consciousness.
" Ecstasy affords the occasion and expediency determines the form.


by Walt Whitman | |

An Old Man’s Thought of School.

 AN old man’s thought of School; 
An old man, gathering youthful memories and blooms, that youth itself cannot.
Now only do I know you! O fair auroral skies! O morning dew upon the grass! And these I see—these sparkling eyes, These stores of mystic meaning—these young lives, Building, equipping, like a fleet of ships—immortal ships! Soon to sail out over the measureless seas, On the Soul’s voyage.
Only a lot of boys and girls? Only the tiresome spelling, writing, ciphering classes? Only a Public School? Ah more—infinitely more; (As George Fox rais’d his warning cry, “Is it this pile of brick and mortar—these dead floors, windows, rails—you call the church? Why this is not the church at all—the Church is living, ever living Souls.
”) And you, America, Cast you the real reckoning for your present? The lights and shadows of your future—good or evil? To girlhood, boyhood look—the Teacher and the School.


by Allen Ginsberg | |

Father Death Blues (Dont Grow Old Part V)

 Hey Father Death, I'm flying home
Hey poor man, you're all alone
Hey old daddy, I know where I'm going

Father Death, Don't cry any more
Mama's there, underneath the floor
Brother Death, please mind the store

Old Aunty Death Don't hide your bones
Old Uncle Death I hear your groans
O Sister Death how sweet your moans

O Children Deaths go breathe your breaths
Sobbing breasts'll ease your Deaths
Pain is gone, tears take the rest

Genius Death your art is done
Lover Death your body's gone
Father Death I'm coming home

Guru Death your words are true
Teacher Death I do thank you
For inspiring me to sing this Blues

Buddha Death, I wake with you
Dharma Death, your mind is new
Sangha Death, we'll work it through

Suffering is what was born
Ignorance made me forlorn
Tearful truths I cannot scorn

Father Breath once more farewell
Birth you gave was no thing ill
My heart is still, as time will tell.
July 8, 1976 (Over Lake Michigan)


by Primo Levi | |

The Survivor

 I am twenty-four
led to slaughter
I survived.
The following are empty synonyms: man and beast love and hate friend and foe darkness and light.
The way of killing men and beasts is the same I've seen it: truckfuls of chopped-up men who will not be saved.
Ideas are mere words: virtue and crime truth and lies beauty and ugliness courage and cowardice.
Virtue and crime weigh the same I've seen it: in a man who was both criminal and virtuous.
I seek a teacher and a master may he restore my sight hearing and speech may he again name objects and ideas may he separate darkness from light.
I am twenty-four led to slaughter I survived.


by Edgar Lee Masters | |

Emily Sparks

 Where is my boy, my boy --
In what far part of the world?
The boy I loved best of all in the school? --
I, the teacher, the old maid, the virgin heart,
Who made them all my children.
Did I know my boy aright, Thinking of him as a spirit aflame, Active, ever aspiring? Oh, boy, boy, for whom I prayed and prayed In many a watchful hour at night, Do you remember the letter I wrote you Of the beautiful love of Christ? And whether you ever took it or not, My boy, wherever you are, Work for your soul's sake, That all the clay of you, all of the dross of you, May yield to the fire of you, Till the fire is nothing but light!.
.
.
Nothing but light!


by Robert Louis Stevenson | |

Fixed Is The Doom

 FIXED is the doom; and to the last of years
Teacher and taught, friend, lover, parent, child,
Each walks, though near, yet separate; each beholds
His dear ones shine beyond him like the stars.
We also, love, forever dwell apart; With cries approach, with cries behold the gulph, The Unvaulted; as two great eagles that do wheel in air Above a mountain, and with screams confer, Far heard athwart the cedars.
Yet the years Shall bring us ever nearer; day by day Endearing, week by week, till death at last Dissolve that long divorce.
By faith we love, Not knowledge; and by faith, though far removed, Dwell as in perfect nearness, heart to heart.
We but excuse Those things we merely are; and to our souls A brave deception cherish.
So from unhappy war a man returns Unfearing, or the seaman from the deep; So from cool night and woodlands to a feast May someone enter, and still breathe of dews, And in her eyes still wear the dusky night.


by Delmore Schwartz | |

The Spring

 (After Rilke)


Spring has returned! Everything has returned!
The earth, just like a schoolgirl, memorizes
Poems, so many poems.
.
.
.
Look, she has learned So many famous poems, she has earned so many prizes! Teacher was strict.
We delighted in the white Of the old man's beard, bright like the snow's: Now we may ask which names are wrong, or right For "blue," for "apple," for "ripe.
" She knows, she knows! Lucky earth, let out of school, now you must play Hide-and-seek with all the children every day: You must hide that we may seek you: we will! We will! The happiest child will hold you.
She knows all the things You taught her: the word for "hope," and for "believe," Are still upon her tongue.
She sings and sings and sings.


by William Matthews | |

Misgivings

 "Perhaps you'll tire of me," muses
my love, although she's like a great city 
to me, or a park that finds new
ways to wear each flounce of light
and investiture of weather.
Soil doesn't tire of rain, I think, but I know what she fears: plans warp, planes explode, topsoil gets peeled away by floods.
And worse than what we can't control is what we could; those drab scuttled marriages we shed so gratefully may auger we're on our owns for good reason.
"Hi, honey," chirps Dread when I come through the door; "you're home.
" Experience is a great teacher of the value of experience, its claustrophobic prudence, its gloomy name-the-disasters- in-advance charisma.
Listen, my wary one, it's far too late to unlove each other.
Instead let's cook something elaborate and not invite anyone to share it but eat it all up very very slowly.


by John McCrae | |

Unsolved

 Amid my books I lived the hurrying years,
Disdaining kinship with my fellow man;
Alike to me were human smiles and tears,
I cared not whither Earth's great life-stream ran,
Till as I knelt before my mouldered shrine,
God made me look into a woman's eyes;
And I, who thought all earthly wisdom mine,
Knew in a moment that the eternal skies
Were measured but in inches, to the quest
That lay before me in that mystic gaze.
"Surely I have been errant: it is best That I should tread, with men their human ways.
" God took the teacher, ere the task was learned, And to my lonely books again I turned.


by Claude McKay | |

Homing Swallows

 Swift swallows sailing from the Spanish main, 
O rain-birds racing merrily away 
From hill-tops parched with heat and sultry plain 
Of wilting plants and fainting flowers, say-- 

When at the noon-hour from the chapel school 
The children dash and scamper down the dale, 
Scornful of teacher's rod and binding rule 
Forever broken and without avail, 

Do they still stop beneath the giant tree 
To gather locusts in their childish greed, 
And chuckle when they break the pods to see 
The golden powder clustered round the seed?


by Thomas Hardy | |

In A Eweleaze Near Weatherbury

 THE years have gathered grayly
Since I danced upon this leaze
With one who kindled gayly
Love's fitful ecstasies!
But despite the term as teacher,
I remain what I was then
In each essential feature
Of the fantasies of men.
Yet I note the little chisel Of ever-napping Time, Defacing ghast and grizzel The blazon of my prime.
When at night he thinks me sleeping, I feel him boring sly Within my bones, and heaping Quaintest pains for by-and-by.
Still, I'd go the world with Beauty, I would laugh with her and sing, I would shun divinest duty To resume her worshipping.
But she'd scorn my brave endeavor, She would not balm the breeze By murmuring, "Thine for ever!" As she did upon this leaze.