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Famous Short Song Poems. Short Song Poetry by Famous Poets

Famous Short Song Poems. Short Song Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best Song 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 Barry Tebb

UPON BEING ASKED WHY I AM NOT WRITING

 Too much gone wrong – 

No Muse, no song.


by Emily Dickinson

Fame is a bee.

 Fame is a bee.
It has a song --
It has a sting --
Ah, too, it has a wing.


by Kobayashi Issa

In the thickets shade

 In the thicket's shade
a woman by herself
singing the rice-planting song.


by Kobayashi Issa

Napping at midday

 Napping at midday
I hear the song of rice planters
and feel ashamed of myself.


by Richard Wilbur

Having Misidentified A Wildflower

 A thrush, because I'd been wrong,
Burst rightly into song
In a world not vague, not lonely,
Not governed by me only.


by Walter Savage Landor

One Lovely Name

 One lovely name adorns my song, 
And, dwelling in the heart, 
Forever falters at the tongue, 
And trembles to depart.


by Mother Goose

Three Wise Men Of Gotham


Three wise men of Gotham
Went to sea in a bowl;
If the bowl had been stronger
My song had been longer.


by William Butler Yeats

The Nineteenth Century And After

 Though the great song return no more
There's keen delight in what we have:
The rattle of pebbles on the shore
Under the receding wave.


by Dorothy Parker

Comment

 Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song,
A medley of extemporanea;
And love is a thing that can never go wrong;
And I am Marie of Roumania.


by Robert Burns

205. Song—Go on Sweet Bird and Soothe my Care

 FOR thee is laughing Nature gay,
For thee she pours the vernal day;
For me in vain is Nature drest,
While Joy’s a stranger to my breast.


by Edna St Vincent Millay

To Those Without Pity

 Cruel of heart, lay down my song,
Your reading eyes have done me wrong,
Not for you was the pen bitten,
And the mind wrung, and the song written.


by Robert Burns

381. Song—Fragment—No cold approach

 NO cold approach, no altered mien,
 Just what would make suspicion start;
No pause the dire extremes between,
 He made me blest—and broke my heart.


by Robert Burns

541. Song—Fragment—Leezie Lindsay

 WILL ye go to the Hielands, Leezie Lindsay,
 Will ye go to the Hielands wi’ me?
Will ye go to the Hielands, Leezie Lindsay,
 My pride and my darling to be.


by Robert Frost

Hannibal

 Was there even a cause too lost,
Ever a cause that was lost too long,
Or that showed with the lapse of time to vain
For the generous tears of youth and song?


by William Butler Yeats

The Spur

 You think it horrible that lust and rage
Should dance attention upon my old age;
They were not such a plague when I was young;
What else have I to spur me into song?


by Wang Wei

A Song of an Autumn Night.

 Under the crescent moon a light autumn dew 
Has chilled the robe she will not change -- 
And she touches a silver lute all night, 
Afraid to go back to her empty room.


by Henry Van Dyke

The Mocking-Bird

 In mirth he mocks the other birds at noon,
Catching the lilt of every easy tune;
But when the day departs he sings of love,--
His own wild song beneath the listening moon.


by Robert Burns

337. Song—Fragment—Altho’ he has left me

 ALTHO’ he has left me for greed o’ the siller,
 I dinna envy him the gains he can win;
I rather wad bear a’ the lade o’ my sorrow,
 Than ever hae acted sae faithless to him.


by Robert Burns

404. Epigram—The True Loyal Natives

 YE true “Loyal Natives” attend to my song
In uproar and riot rejoice the night long;
From Envy and Hatred your corps is exempt,
But where is your shield from the darts of Contempt!


by Wang Wei

A Song at Weicheng.

 A morning-rain has settled the dust in Weicheng; 
Willows are green again in the tavern dooryard.... 
Wait till we empty one more cup -- 
West of Yang Gate there'll be no old friends.


by Linda Pastan

Petit Dejeuner

 I sing a song
of the croissant
and of the wily French
who trick themselves daily
back to the world
for its sweet ceremony.
Ah to be reeled
up into morning
on that crisp,
buttery
hook.


by William Carlos (WCW) Williams

The Poem

 It's all in
the sound. A song.
Seldom a song. It should

be a song—made of
particulars, wasps,
a gentian—something
immediate, open

scissors, a lady's
eyes—waking
centrifugal, centripetal.


by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

SICILIAN SONG.

 YE black and roguish eyes,

If ye command.
Each house in ruins lies,

No town can stand.
And shall my bosom's chain,--

This plaster wall,?
To think one moment, deign,--

Shall ii not fall?

1811.


by Stevie Smith

Happiness

 Happiness is silent, or speaks equivocally for friends,
Grief is explicit and her song never ends,
Happiness is like England, and will not state a case,
Grief, like Guilt, rushes in and talks apace.


by Rainer Maria Rilke

Evening Love Song

 Ornamental clouds
compose an evening love song;
a road leaves evasively.
The new moon begins

a new chapter of our nights,
of those frail nights
we stretch out and which mingle
with these black horizontals.


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