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Short Poetry by Popular Famous Poets

 Poet
1 William Wordsworth
2 Emily Dickinson
3 William Shakespeare
4 Maya Angelou
5 Langston Hughes
6 Robert Frost
7 Walt Whitman
8 Rabindranath Tagore
9 Shel Silverstein
10 William Blake
11 Pablo Neruda
12 Sylvia Plath
13 Edward Estlin (E E) Cummings
14 William Butler Yeats
15 Tupac Shakur
16 Oscar Wilde
17 Rudyard Kipling
18 Alfred Lord Tennyson
19 Sandra Cisneros
20 Alice Walker
21 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
22 Billy Collins
23 Christina Rossetti
24 Carol Ann Duffy
25 Charles Bukowski
26 Edgar Allan Poe
27 Sarojini Naidu
28 John Donne
29 Ralph Waldo Emerson
30 Nikki Giovanni
31 John Keats
32 Raymond Carver
33 Mark Twain
34 Thomas Hardy
35 Anne Sexton
36 Lewis Carroll
37 Elizabeth Barrett Browning
38 Gary Soto
39 Carl Sandburg
40 Alexander Pushkin
41 Gwendolyn Brooks
42 Henry David Thoreau
43 George (Lord) Byron
44 Spike Milligan
45 Margaret Atwood
46 Muhammad Ali
47 Roger McGough
48 Sara Teasdale
49 Jane Austen
50 Allen Ginsberg
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Famous Short Cry Poems

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

Other Short Poem Pages

Cry | Short Famous Poems and Poets

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by Matsuo Basho

Stillness

 Stillness--
the cicada's cry
 drills into the rocks.


by Matsuo Basho

In the cicada's cry

In the cicada's cry
No sign can foretell
How soon it must die. 


by Mother Goose

Three Straws


Three straws on a staff
Would make a baby cry and laugh.


by Mother Goose

Cry, Baby


Cry, baby, cry,
Put your finger in your eye,
And tell your mother it wasn't I.


by Regina Derieva

A Poem

 A poem—
is just one more
scrap of paper
that has sailed off the table
in a bottle
with a cry for help.


by Mother Goose

Georgy Porgy

 

Georgy Porgy, pudding and pie,
Kissed the girls and made them cry.
When the boys came out to play,
Georgy Porgy ran away.


by Robert Louis Stevenson

To Auntie

 "Chief of our aunts"--not only I, 
But all your dozen of nurselings cry-- 
"What did the other children do? 
And what were childhood, wanting you?"


by Ogura Hyakunin Isshu

Sarumaru Tayu

In the mountain depths,
Treading through the crimson leaves,
Cries the wandering stag.
When I hear the lonely cry, Sad,--how sad--the autumn is!


by Omar Khayyam

Let lovers all distraught and frenzied be,

Let lovers all distraught and frenzied be,
And flown with wine, and reprobates, like me;
When sober, I find everything amiss,
But in my cups cry, «Let what will be, be.»


by Omar Khayyam

Dreaming

Dreaming when Dawn’s Left Hand was in the Sky,
I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry,
“Awake, my Little ones, and fill the cup
Before Life’s Liquor in its Cup be dry.


by Omar Khayyam

At dawn a cry through all the tavern shrilled,

At dawn a cry through all the tavern shrilled,
«Arise my brethren of the revellers' guild,
That I may fill our measure, full of wine
Or e'er the measure of our days be filled.»


by Mother Goose

Young Lambs To Sell


If I'd as much money as I could tell,
I never would cry young lambs to sell;
Young lambs to sell, young lambs to sell;
I never would cry young lambs to sell.



by Omar Khayyam

To-day how sweetly breathes the temperate air,

To-day how sweetly breathes the temperate air,
The rains have newly laved the parched parterre;
And Bulbuls cry in notes of ecstasy,
«Thou too, O pallid rose, our wine must share!»


by Omar Khayyam

Now Ramazan is past, Shawwal comes back,

Now Ramazan is past, Shawwal comes back,
And feast and song and joy no more we lack;
The wine-skin carriers throng the streets and cry,
«Here comes the porter with his precious pack.»


by John Keats

Give Me Women Wine and Snuff

 GIVE me women, wine, and snuff 
Untill I cry out "hold, enough!" 
You may do so sans objection 
Till the day of resurrection: 
For, bless my beard, they aye shall be 
My beloved Trinity.


by Omar Khayyam

O wine, most limpid, pure, and crystalline,

O wine, most limpid, pure, and crystalline,
Would I could drench this silly frame of mine
With thee, that passers by might think 'twas thou,
And cry, «Whence comest thou, fair master wine?»


by Omar Khayyam

On that dread day, when wrath shall rend the sky,

On that dread day, when wrath shall rend the sky,
And darkness dim the bright stars' galaxy,
I'll seize the Loved One by His skirt, and cry,
«Why hast Thou doomed these guiltless ones to die?»


by Omar Khayyam

Plot not of nights, thy fellows' peace to blight,

Plot not of nights, thy fellows' peace to blight,
So that they cry to God the live-long night;
Nor plume thee on thy wealth and might, which thieves
May steal by night, or death, or fortune's might.


by Mother Goose

Baby Dolly

 

Hush, baby, my dolly, I pray you don't cry,
And I'll give you some bread, and some milk by-and-by;
Or perhaps you like custard, or, maybe, a tart,
Then to either you're welcome, with all my heart.


by Walt Whitman

Joy Shipmate Joy!

 JOY! shipmate—joy! 
(Pleas’d to my Soul at death I cry;) 
Our life is closed—our life begins; 
The long, long anchorage we leave, 
The ship is clear at last—she leaps!
She swiftly courses from the shore; 
Joy! shipmate—joy!


by Omar Khayyam

One host of men is pondering upon belief, or on the

One host of men is pondering upon belief, or on the
faith; others are hovering between doubt and certainty.
But suddenly behind the veil there's one will cry: O
ignorant ones! the way that you seek is neither here
nor there!


by Omar Khayyam

Pass joyously thy life, for many other travelers will file

Pass joyously thy life, for many other travelers will file
through this world; the soul will cry after the body from
which it will be separated, and the head, the seat of
the passions, will be trampled under the potter's feet.


by William Butler Yeats

He Reproves The Curlew

 O curlew, cry no more in the air,
Or only to the water in the West;
Because your crying brings to my mind
passion-dimmed eyes and long heavy hair
That was shaken out over my breast:
There is enough evil in the crying of wind.


by Omar Khayyam

It is I who am the chief of habitual patrons of the

It is I who am the chief of habitual patrons of the
tavern; it is I who am plunged in rebellion against the
law, it is I who, during the long nights, soaked in pure
wine, cry out to God the griefs of my heart imbrued with
blood.
352


by William Shakespeare

Fairy Land iv

 WHERE the bee sucks, there suck I: 
In a cowslip's bell I lie; 
There I couch when owls do cry.
On the bat's back I do fly After summer merrily: Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.


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