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Famous Short Birth Poems

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

Other Short Poem Pages

More great short poems below.

Birth | Short Famous Poems and Poets

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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 Omar Khayyam

Death finds us soiled, though we were pure at birth,

Death finds us soiled, though we were pure at birth,
With grief we go, although we came with mirth;
Watered with tears, and burned with fires of woe,
And, casting life to winds, we rest in earth!


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 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 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 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 Omar Khayyam

Oh! would to God that there existed some place of repose—that

Oh! would to God that there existed some place of repose—that
the road we follow had some settled end!
Would God that, after a hundred thousand years, we
could conceive the hope of one new birth of heart upon
the earth as the green turf is born again!
379


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 Omar Khayyam

How beautiful they are, these different greens which

How beautiful they are, these different greens which
mingle on the edge of a brook! One thinks they must
have had their birth upon the lips of one divinely fair.
Place not thy foot upon them with disdain; they spring
from dust which, once a face, was tinted with the colors
of a rose.


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 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 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 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 Hafez

O youth's young cloudlet, O freshness free

O youth’s young cloudlet, O freshness free,
With heart so light on the winds to fly
Or glisten in spray up-scatter’d,—I
Am sad as the full surgings of the sea;
I gave thee birth, thou shalt return to me.
Thy heart is light as the empty wind
Of barren purposeless change,—but I
Am the thought-burden’d slow-searching mind:
I am the agony to form & find;—
The fluxing travail of eternity.


by Hafez

O youth's young cloudlet, O freshness free

O youth’s young cloudlet, O freshness free,
With heart so light on the winds to fly
Or glisten in spray up-scatter’d,—I
Am sad as the full surgings of the sea;
I gave thee birth, thou shalt return to me.

Thy heart is light as the empty wind
Of barren purposeless change,—but I
Am the thought-burden’d slow-searching mind:
I am the agony to form & find;—
The fluxing travail of eternity.



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'.


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