Famous Short Thank You Poems
Famous Short Thank You Poems. Short Thank You Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best Thank You short poems
by
Robert Louis Stevenson
Thank you, pretty cow, that made
Pleasant milk to soak my bread,
Every day and every night,
Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and white.
Do not chew the hemlock rank,
Growing on the weedy bank;
But the yellow cowslips eat;
They perhaps will make it sweet.
Where the purple violet grows,
Where the bubbling water flows,
Where the grass is fresh and fine,
Pretty cow, go there to dine.
by
Edgar Albert Guest
(For John Bunker)
The roar of the world is in my ears.
Thank God for the roar of the world!
Thank God for the mighty tide of fears
Against me always hurled!
Thank God for the bitter and ceaseless strife,
And the sting of His chastening rod!
Thank God for the stress and the pain of life,
And Oh, thank God for God!
by
Judith Viorst
I'm learning to say thank you.And I'm learning to say please.And I'm learning to use Kleenex,Not my sweater, when I sneeze.And I'm learning not to dribble.And I'm learning not to slurp.And I'm learning (though it sometimes really hurts me)Not to burp.And I'm learning to chew softerWhen I eat corn on the cob.And I'm learning that it's muchMuch easier to be a slob.
by
Bertolt Brecht
Send me a leaf, but from a bush
That grows at least one half hour
Away from your house, then
You must go and will be strong, and I
Thank you for the pretty leaf.
by
Anna Akhmatova
So many stones have been thrown at me,
That I'm not frightened of them anymore,
And the pit has become a solid tower,
Tall among tall towers.
I thank the builders,
May care and sadness pass them by.
From here I'll see the sunrise earlier,
Here the sun's last ray rejoices.
And into the windows of my room
The northern breezes often fly.
And from my hand a dove eats grains of wheat...
As for my unfinished page,
The Muse's tawny hand, divinely calm
And delicate, will finish it.
by
Mark Van Doren
Whatever I have left unsaid
When I am dead
O'muse forgive me.
You were always there,
like light, like air.
Those great good things
of which the least bird sings,
So why not I?
Yet thank you even then,
Sweet muse, Amen.
by
George Herbert
Sweetest of sweets, I thank you: when displeasure
Did through my body wound my mind,
You took me thence, and in your house of pleasure
A dainty lodging me assigned.
Now I in you without a body move,
Rising and falling with your wings:
We both together sweetly live and love,
Yet say sometimes, "God help poor Kings".
Comfort, I'll die; for if you post from me
Sure I shall do so, and much more:
But if I travel in your company,
You know the way to heaven's door.
by
John Matthew
When she smiles she sends happiness
A million pleasant thrills of the heart
To parched souls thirsting for love
In the vast desert of human affairs.
Oh, is there in this world such a heart?
So pure in its expression of joy, smiles
I know not how to thank you dear God
For this wonderful creation of yours.
What makes Muskan’s smile so beautiful?
Is it the deep pain and hurt she is hiding?
Wringing the joys from the sadness of life
Throwing away the bland fiber and rinds.
by
Walter de la Mare
Said Mr. Smith, “I really cannot
Tell you, Dr. Jones—
The most peculiar pain I’m in—
I think it’s in my bones.”
Said Dr. Jones, “Oh, Mr. Smith,
That’s nothing. Without doubt
We have a simple cure for that;
It is to take them out.”
He laid forthwith poor Mr. Smith
Close-clamped upon the table,
And, cold as stone, took out his bones
As fast as he was able.
Smith said, “Thank you, thank you, thank you,”
And wished him a good-day;
And with his parcel ‘neath his arm
He slowly moved away.
by
Emily Dickinson
If I shouldn't be alive
When the Robins come,
Give the one in Red Cravat,
A Memorial crumb.
If I couldn't thank you,
Being fast asleep,
You will know I'm trying
Why my Granite lip!
by
Mother Goose
"Old woman, old woman, shall we go a-shearing?""Speak a little louder, sir, I am very thick of hearing.""Old woman, old woman, shall I kiss you dearly?""Thank you, kind sir, I hear you very clearly."
by
Robert Herrick
Since to the country first I came,
I have lost my former flame;
And, methinks, I not inherit,
As I did, my ravish'd spirit.
If I write a verse or two,
'Tis with very much ado;
In regard I want that wine
Which should conjure up a line.
Yet, though now of Muse bereft,
I have still the manners left
For to thank you, noble sir,
For those gifts you do confer
Upon him, who only can
Be in prose a grateful man.
by
Rg Gregory
fancy shooting a man dead for an old label
but think
if there weren't any old labels
nobody would ever be shot dead
and all those poor people
whose livelihood depends on making guns
would have to be left to starve
make up your mind
who would you sooner see living
men with bullets in them
or thousands of ordinary people
going about their decent business
there's a lot to thank old labels for
by
Mother Goose
Pussy-cat sits by the fire; How can she be fair?In walks the little dog; Says: "Pussy, are you there?How do you do, Mistress Pussy? Mistress Pussy, how d'ye do?""I thank you kindly, little dog, I fare as well as you!"
by
Emily Dickinson
I went to thank Her --
But She Slept --
Her Bed -- a funneled Stone --
With Nosegays at the Head and Foot --
That Travellers -- had thrown --
Who went to thank Her --
But She Slept --
'Twas Short -- to cross the Sea --
To look upon Her like -- alive --
But turning back -- 'twas slow --
by
Emily Dickinson
They won't frown always -- some sweet Day
When I forget to tease --
They'll recollect how cold I looked
And how I just said "Please."
Then They will hasten to the Door
To call the little Girl
Who cannot thank Them for the Ice
That filled the lisping full.
by
Dorothy Parker
The pure and worthy Mrs. Stowe
Is one we all are proud to know
As mother, wife, and authoress-
Thank God, I am content with less!
by
Robert Burns
LORD, we thank, and thee adore,
For temporal gifts we little merit;
At present we will ask no more—
Let William Hislop give the spirit.
by
Emily Dickinson
Its Hour with itself
The Spirit never shows.
What Terror would enthrall the Street
Could Countenance disclose
The Subterranean Freight
The Cellars of the Soul --
Thank God the loudest Place he made
Is license to be still.