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Famous Short Birth Poems. Short Birth Poetry by Famous Poets

Famous Short Birth Poems. Short Birth Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best Birth 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 Robert Frost

A Question

 A voice said, Look me in the stars
And tell me truly, men of earth,
If all the soul-and-body scars
Were not too much to pay for birth.


by Friedrich von Schiller

The Sower

 Sure of the spring that warms them into birth,
The golden seeds thou trustest to the earth;
And dost thou doubt the eternal spring sublime,
For deeds--the seeds which wisdom sows in time.


by John Gould Fletcher

Aspatias Song

 LAY a garland on my herse
 Of the dismal yew;
Maidens, willow branches bear;
 Say, I died true.

My love was false, but I was firm
 From my hour of birth.
Upon my buried body lie
 Lightly, gentle earth!


by Edmund Spenser

The Faerie Queene Book III Canto VI

 THE THIRD BOOKE OF THE FAERIE QUEENE
Contayning
THE LEGENDE OF BRITOMARTIS
OR OF CHASTITIECANTO VI
The birth of faire Belphoebe and 
Of Amoret is told.
The Gardins of Adonis fraught
With pleasures manifold.


by Dejan Stojanovic

Death

Death is not death.
If birth is a manifestation of life, 
Death is another. 
So why bother with death? 
Why bother with death any more than with birth? 

Every thought about death
Takes a moment of life away. 


by Mahmoud Darwish

A Lover From Palestine

 Her eyes are Palestinian
Her name is Palestinian
Her dress and sorrow Palestinian
Her kerchief, her feet and body Palestinian
Her words and silence Palestinian
Her voice Palestinian
Her birth and her death Palestinian


by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Art Thou Pale For Weariness

 Art thou pale for weariness 
Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,
Wandering companionless
Among the stars that have a different birth,
And ever changing, like a joyless eye
That finds no object worth its constancy?


by Percy Bysshe Shelley

fragment: To The Moon

 Art thou pale for weariness
Of climbing Heaven, and gazing on the earth,
 Wandering companionless
Among the stars that have a different birth,--
And ever changing, like a joyless eye
That finds no object worth its constancy?


by Percy Bysshe Shelley

To the Moon

ART thou pale for weariness 
Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth  
Wandering companionless 
Among the stars that have a different birth ¡ª 
And ever-changing like a joyless eye 5 
That finds no object worth its constancy? 


by Dorothy Parker

Sight

 Unseemly are the open eyes
That watch the midnight sheep,
That look upon the secret skies
Nor close, abashed, in sleep;

That see the dawn drag in, unbidden,
To birth another day-
Oh, better far their gaze were hidden
Below the decent clay.


by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Blessed Among Women --To The Signora Cairoli

 Blessed was she that bare,
Hidden in flesh most fair,
For all men's sake the likeness of all love;
Holy that virgin's womb,
The old record saith, on whom
The glory of God alighted as a dove;
Blessed, who brought to gracious birth
The sweet-souled Saviour of a man-tormented earth.


by Dejan Stojanovic

Seagull from Afar

Lie on the ground and listen to the grass, 
Hear the silent signals from outer space, 
Dream by making and make by dreaming, 
Feel what the trees bathed in sunlight feel, 
Gaze far to see the sea-gull emerging from the sea, 
Imagine that today is the birth of the world and greet it, 
Greet the old bird. 


by Jean Toomer

The Lost Dancer

 Spatial depths of being survive
The birth to death recurrences
Of feet dancing on earth of sand;
Vibrations of the dance survive
The sand; the sand, elect, survives
The dancer. He can find no source
Of magic adequate to bind
The sand upon his feet, his feet
Upon his dance, his dance upon
The diamond body of his being.


by David Ignatow

For My Daughter

 When I die choose a star
and name it after me
that you may know
I have not abandoned
or forgotten you.
You were such a star to me,
following you through birth
and childhood, my hand
in your hand.

When I die
choose a star and name it
after me so that I may shine
down on you, until you join
me in darkness and silence
together.


by Dorothy Parker

Lines On Reading Too Many Poets

 Roses, rooted warm in earth,
Bud in rhyme, another age;
Lilies know a ghostly birth
Strewn along a patterned page;
Golden lad and chimbley sweep
Die; and so their song shall keep.

Wind that in Arcadia starts
In and out a couplet plays;
And the drums of bitter hearts
Beat the measure of a phrase.
Sweets and woes but come to print
Quae cum ita sint.


by John McCrae

Disarmament

 One spake amid the nations, "Let us cease
From darkening with strife the fair World's light,
We who are great in war be great in peace.
No longer let us plead the cause by might."

But from a million British graves took birth
A silent voice -- the million spake as one --
"If ye have righted all the wrongs of earth
Lay by the sword! Its work and ours is done."


by Edgar Lee Masters

Columbus Cheney

 This weeping willow!
Why do you not plant a few
For the millions of children not yet born,
As well as for us?
Are they not non-existent, or cells asleep
Without mind?
Or do they come to earth, their birth
Rupturing the memory of previous being?
Answer! The field of unexplored intuition is yours.
But in any case why not plant willows for them,
As well as for us?


by Robert Burns

180. Written by Somebody on the Window of an Inn at Stirling

 HERE Stuarts once in glory reigned,
And laws for Scotland’s weal ordained;
But now unroof’d their palace stands,
Their sceptre’s sway’d by other hands;
Fallen indeed, and to the earth
Whence groveling reptiles take their birth.
The injured Stuart line is gone,
A race outlandish fills their throne;
An idiot race, to honour lost;
Who know them best despise them most.


by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Song Of Proserpine

 Sacred Goddess, Mother Earth,
Thou from whose immortal bosom
Gods and men and beasts have birth,
Leaf and blade, and bud and blossom,
Breathe thine influence most divine
On thine own child, Proserpine.

If with mists of evening dew
Thou dost nourish these young flowers
Till they grow in scent and hue
Fairest children of the Hours,
Breathe thine influence most divine
On thine own child, Proserpine.


by Spike Milligan

Me

 Born screaming small into this world-
Living I am.
Occupational therapy twixt birth and death-
What was I before?
What will I be next?
What am I now?
Cruel answer carried in the jesting mind
of a careless God
I will not bend and grovel
When I die. If He says my sins are myriad
I will ask why He made me so imperfect
And he will say 'My chisels were blunt'
I will say 'Then why did you make so
many of me'.


by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

III. THE PARIAHS THANKS.

 MIGHTY Brama, now I'll bless thee!

'Tis from thee that worlds proceed!
As my ruler I confess thee,

For of all thou takest heed.

All thy thousand ears thou keepest

Open to each child of earth;
We, 'mongst mortals sunk the deepest,

Have from thee received new birth.

Bear in mind the woman's story,

Who, through grief, divine became;
Now I'll wait to view His glory,

Who omnipotence can claim.

 1821.


by Robert Graves

Dead Cow Farm

 An ancient saga tells us how
In the beginning the First Cow 
(For nothing living yet had birth 
But Elemental Cow on earth) 
Began to lick cold stones and mud:
Under her warm tongue flesh and blood 
Blossomed, a miracle to believe: 
And so was Adam born, and Eve. 
Here now is chaos once again, 
Primeval mud, cold stones and rain.
Here flesh decays and blood drips red, 
And the Cow’s dead, the old Cow’s dead.


by Thomas Carew

Epitaph On the Lady Mary Villiers

 THE Lady Mary Villiers lies 
Under this stone; with weeping eyes 
The parents that first gave her birth, 
And their sad friends, laid her in earth. 
If any of them, Reader, were 
Known unto thee, shed a tear; 
Or if thyself possess a gem 
As dear to thee, as this to them, 
Though a stranger to this place, 
Bewail in theirs thine own hard case: 
 For thou perhaps at thy return 
 May'st find thy Darling in an urn.


by Isaac Watts

Hymn 99

 Stones made children of Abraham.

Matt. 3:9. 

Vain are the hopes that rebels place
Upon their birth and blood,
Descended from a pious race;
Their fathers now with God.

He from the caves of earth and hell
Can take the hardest stones,
And fill the house of Abram well
With new-created sons.

Such wondrous power doth he possess
Who formed our mortal frame,
Who called the world from emptiness,
The world obeyed and came.


by The Bible

Psalm 139:13-16

For you did knit me together
In the womb, before my birth
And I will confess and praise you,
For wonderful are your works
My frame was not hidden from you
As in secret, I was being formed
Like a beautiful embroidery
Woven before I was born
Your eyes saw my substance
Without form in the depths
And in your book, my life was recorded
Before I ever took breath.


Scripture Poem © Copyright Of M.S.Lowndes


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