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Famous Short Angel Poems

Famous Short Angel Poems. Short Angel Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best Angel short poems

Other Short Poem Pages

More great short poems below.

Angel | Short Famous Poems and Poets

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by Regina Derieva

All My Life

 All my life 
I sought 
an angel.
And he appeared in order to say: "I am no angel !"


by Robert Burns

471. Epigram on Jessy Staig’s recovery

 MAXWELL, if merit here you crave,
 That merit I deny;
You save fair Jessie from the grave!—
 An Angel could not die!


by Maya Angelou

Passing Time

Your skin like dawn
Mine like musk

One paints the beginning
of a certain end.
The other, the end of a sure beginning.


by Maya Angelou

Insomniac

 There are some nights when
sleep plays coy,
aloof and disdainful.
And all the wiles that I employ to win its service to my side are useless as wounded pride, and much more painful.


by Emily Dickinson

Soul Wilt thou toss again?

 Soul, Wilt thou toss again?
By just such a hazard
Hundreds have lost indeed --
But tens have won an all --

Angel's breathless ballot
Lingers to record thee --
Imps in eager Caucus
Raffle for my Soul!


by Maya Angelou

A Conceit

Give me your hand

Make room for me
to lead and follow
you
beyond this rage of poetry.
Let others have the privacy of touching words and love of loss of love.
For me Give me your hand.


by Maya Angelou

When You Come

When you come to me, unbidden,
Beckoning me
To long-ago rooms,
Where memories lie.
Offering me, as to a child, an attic, Gatherings of days too few.
Baubles of stolen kisses.
Trinkets of borrowed loves.
Trunks of secret words, I cry.


by Robert Burns

161. Epigram Addressed to an Artist

 DEAR ———, I’ll gie ye some advice,
 You’ll tak it no uncivil:
You shouldna paint at angels mair,
 But try and paint the devil.
To paint an Angel’s kittle wark, Wi’ Nick, there’s little danger: You’ll easy draw a lang-kent face, But no sae weel a stranger.
—R.
B.


by Emily Dickinson

A Cloud withdrew from the Sky

 A Cloud withdrew from the Sky
Superior Glory be
But that Cloud and its Auxiliaries
Are forever lost to me

Had I but further scanned
Had I secured the Glow
In an Hermetic Memory
It had availed me now.
Never to pass the Angel With a glance and a Bow Till I am firm in Heaven Is my intention now.


by Charles Baudelaire

Music

 Take me by the hand;
it's so easy for you, Angel,
for you are the road
even while being immobile.
You see, I'm scared no one here will look for me again; I couldn't make use of whatever was given, so they abandoned me.
At first the solitude charmed me like a prelude, but so much music wounded me.


by Rainer Maria Rilke

What Survives

 Who says that all must vanish?
Who knows, perhaps the flight
of the bird you wound remains,
and perhaps flowers survive
caresses in us, in their ground.
It isn't the gesture that lasts, but it dresses you again in gold armor --from breast to knees-- and the battle was so pure an Angel wears it after you.


by Stephen Crane

It was wrong to do this said the angel

 "It was wrong to do this," said the angel.
"You should live like a flower, Holding malice like a puppy, Waging war like a lambkin.
" "Not so," quoth the man Who had no fear of spirits; "It is only wrong for angels Who can live like the flowers, Holding malice like the puppies, Waging war like the lambkins.
"


by Emily Dickinson

No Man can compass a Despair

 No Man can compass a Despair --
As round a Goalless Road
No faster than a Mile at once
The Traveller proceed --

Unconscious of the Width --
Unconscious that the Sun
Be setting on His progress --
So accurate the One

At estimating Pain --
Whose own -- has just begun --
His ignorance -- the Angel
That pilot Him along --


by Maya Angelou

The Lesson

I keep on dying again.
Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children.
Memory of old tombs, Rotting flesh and worms do Not convince me against The challenge.
The years And cold defeat live deep in Lines along my face.
They dull my eyes, yet I keep on dying, Because I love to live.


by Maya Angelou

Refusal

 Beloved,
In what other lives or lands
Have I known your lips
Your Hands
Your Laughter brave
Irreverent.
Those sweet excesses that I do adore.
What surety is there That we will meet again, On other worlds some Future time undated.
I defy my body's haste.
Without the promise Of one more sweet encounter I will not deign to die.


by Maya Angelou

Remembrance

 Your hands easy
weight, teasing the bees
hived in my hair, your smile at the
slope of my cheek.
On the occasion, you press above me, glowing, spouting readiness, mystery rapes my reason When you have withdrawn your self and the magic, when only the smell of your love lingers between my breasts, then, only then, can I greedily consume your presence.


by Edgar Lee Masters

Franklin Jones

 If I could have lived another year
I could have finished my flying machine,
And become rich and famous.
Hence it is fitting the workman Who tried to chisel a dove for me Made it look more like a chicken.
For what is it all but being hatched, And running about the yard, To the day of the block? Save that a man has an angel's brain, And sees the ax from the first!


by Maya Angelou

Rememberance

Your hands easy
weight, teasing the bees
hived in my hair, your smile at the
slope of my cheek.
On the occasion, you press above me, glowing, spouting readiness, mystery rapes my reason When you have withdrawn your self and the magic, when only the smell of your love lingers between my breasts, then, only then, can I greedily consume your presence.


by Charles Simic

Coal

 Dismembered angel
In whose heart the earth is still on fire,
The moon still has not been split-off;
Here is the message
Your long night announces:

Everything my eye encompasses this instant:
This fire, the cupped-hand, this window
With trees and miles of snow beyond it,
Even this thought, this poem,
Will be compressed
Into a lump of your sleep
For some other awakening.


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 Anna Akhmatova

Crucifix

I
This greatist hour was hallowed and thandered
By  angel's choirs;  fire melted sky.
He asked his Father:"Why am I abandoned.
.
.
?" And told his Mother: "Mother, do not cry.
.
.
" II Magdalena struggled, cried and moaned.
Piter sank into the stone trance.
.
.
Only there, where Mother stood alone, None has dared cast a single glance.


by Anne Bronte

The Penitent

 I mourn with thee and yet rejoice
That thou shouldst sorrow so;
With Angel choirs I join my voice
To bless the sinner's woe.
Though friends and kindred turn away And laugh thy grief to scorn, I hear the great Redeemer say 'Blessed are ye that mourn'.
Hold on thy course nor deem it strange That earthly cords are riven.
Man may lament the wondrous change But 'There is joy in Heaven'!


by Herman Melville

Art

 In placid hours well-pleased we dream 
Of many a brave unbodied scheme.
But form to lend, pulsed life create, What unlike things must meet and mate: A flame to melt--a wind to freeze; Sad patience--joyous energies; Humility--yet pride and scorn; Instinct and study; love and hate; Audacity--reverence.
These must mate, And fuse with Jacob's mystic heart, To wrestle with the angel--Art.


by Emily Bronte

If grief for grief can touch thee

 If grief for grief can touch thee, 
If answering woe for woe, 
If any truth can melt thee 
Come to me now!

I cannot be more lonely, 
More drear I cannot be! 
My worn heart beats so wildly 
'Twill break for thee--

And when the world despises-- 
When Heaven repels my prayer-- 
Will not mine angel comfort? 
Mine idol hear?

Yes, by the tears I'm poured, 
By all my hours of pain 
O I shall surely win thee, 
Beloved, again!


by Lisa Zaran

Leaves

 I went looking for God 
but I found you instead.
Bad luck or destiny, you decide.
Buried in the muck, the soot of the city, sorrow for an appetite, devil on your left shoulder, angel on your right.
You, with your thorny rhythms and tragic, midnight melodies.
My heart never tried to commit suicide before.
Originally published in Literati Magazine, Winter 2005 Copyright © Lisa Zaran, 2005


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