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Famous Short Music Poems. Short Music Poetry by Famous Poets

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

See also: Best Famous Short Poems | Short Member Poems | Best Short Member Poems | Top 100 Famous Short Poems

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by Kobayashi Issa

Blossoms at night

 Blossoms at night,
and the faces of people
moved by music.


by Robert Herrick

MONEY MAKES THE MIRTH

 When all birds else do of their music fail,
Money's the still-sweet-singing nightingale!


by Robert Herrick

SOFT MUSIC

 The mellow touch of music most doth wound
The soul, when it doth rather sigh, than sound.


by Dorothy Parker

Faute De Mieux

 Travel, trouble, music, art,
A kiss, a frock, a rhyme-
I never said they feed my heart,
But still they pass my time.


by Robert Louis Stevenson

Away With Funeral Music

 AWAY with funeral music - set
The pipe to powerful lips -
The cup of life's for him that drinks
And not for him that sips.


by Emily Dickinson

Dying at my music!

 Dying at my music!
Bubble! Bubble!
Hold me till the Octave's run!
Quick! Burst the Windows!
Ritardando!
Phials left, and the Sun!


by Robert Louis Stevenson

Fair Isle At Sea

 FAIR Isle at Sea - thy lovely name
Soft in my ear like music came.
That sea I loved, and once or twice I touched at isles of Paradise.


by Sidney Lanier

Thou And I

 So one in heart and thought, I trow,
That thou might'st press the strings and I might draw the bow
And both would meet in music sweet,
Thou and I, I trow.


by Edna St Vincent Millay

Memorial To D.C.

 (Vassar College, 1918)

O, loveliest throat of all sweet throats,
Where now no more the music is,
With hands that wrote you little notes
I write you little elegies!


by Mother Goose

Banbury Cross


Ride a cock-horse to Banbury Cross,
To see an old lady upon a white horse.
Rings on her fingers, and bells on her toes,
She shall have music wherever she goes.


by Henry Van Dyke

Pan Learns Music

 Limber-limbed, lazy god, stretched on the rock,
Where is sweet Echo, and where is your flock? 
What are you making here? "Listen," said Pan, --
"Out of a river-reed music for man!"


by Wanda Phipps

Morning Poem #39

 if she took off her top
would that embarrass you
would you smile and laugh newvously
would there be
room on the roof
for the orgy
if the music was a little louder
would you remember
the color of her eyes


by Robert Creeley

Water Music

 The words are a beautiful music.
The words bounce like in water.
Water music, loud in the clearing off the boats, birds, leaves.
They look for a place to sit and eat-- no meaning, no point.


by Emily Dickinson

No Bobolink -- reverse His Singing

 No Bobolink -- reverse His Singing
When the only Tree
Ever He minded occupying
By the Farmer be --

Clove to the Root --
His Spacious Future --
Best Horizon -- gone --
Whose Music be His
Only Anodyne --
Brave Bobolink --


by John McCrae

The Dead Master

 Amid earth's vagrant noises, he caught the note sublime:
To-day around him surges from the silences of Time
A flood of nobler music, like a river deep and broad,
Fit song for heroes gathered in the banquet-hall of God.


by Emily Dickinson

The fascinating chill that music leaves

 The fascinating chill that music leaves
Is Earth's corroboration
Of Ecstasy's impediment --
'Tis Rapture's germination
In timid and tumultuous soil
A fine -- estranging creature --
To something upper wooing us
But not to our Creator --


by Emily Dickinson

Summer for thee grant I may be

 Summer for thee, grant I may be
When Summer days are flown!
Thy music still, when Whipporwill
And Oriole -- are done!

For thee to bloom, I'll skip the tomb
And row my blossoms o'er!
Pray gather me --
Anemone --
Thy flower -- forevermore!


by Emily Dickinson

The Bird her punctual music brings

 The Bird her punctual music brings
And lays it in its place --
Its place is in the Human Heart
And in the Heavenly Grace --
What respite from her thrilling toil
Did Beauty ever take --
But Work might be electric Rest
To those that Magic make --


by James Thomson

The Vine

 THE wine of Love is music, 
 And the feast of Love is song: 
And when Love sits down to the banquet, 
 Love sits long: 

Sits long and arises drunken, 
 But not with the feast and the wine; 
He reeleth with his own heart, 
 That great, rich Vine.


by Emily Dickinson

Her smile was shaped like other smiles --

 Her smile was shaped like other smiles --
The Dimples ran along --
And still it hurt you, as some Bird
Did hoist herself, to sing,
Then recollect a Ball, she got --
And hold upon the Twig,
Convulsive, while the Music broke --
Like Beads -- among the Bog --


by Sara Teasdale

Enough

 It is enough for me by day
 To walk the same bright earth with him;
Enough that over us by night
 The same great roof of stars is dim.
I do not hope to bind the wind Or set a fetter on the sea -- It is enough to feel his love Blow by like music over me.


by A S J Tessimond

Polyphony In A Cathedral

 Music curls
In the stone shells
Of the arches, and rings
Their stone bells.
Music lips Each cold groove Of parabolas' laced Warp and woof, And lingers round nodes Of the ribbed roof Chords open Their flowers among The stone flowers; blossom; Stalkless hang.


by Robert Louis Stevenson

I Whom Apollo Somtime Visited

 I, WHOM Apollo sometime visited,
Or feigned to visit, now, my day being done,
Do slumber wholly; nor shall know at all
The weariness of changes; nor perceive
Immeasurable sands of centuries
Drink of the blanching ink, or the loud sound
Of generations beat the music down.


by Percy Bysshe Shelley

To

 Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory - 
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heaped for the beloved's bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.


by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Music When Soft Voices Die

 Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory -- 
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heaped for the beloved's bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.


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