Famous Short Cry Poems. Short Cry Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best Cry short poems
See also: Best Famous Short Poems | Short Member Poems | Best Short Member Poems
the cicada's cry
drills into the rocks.
Three straws on a staffWould make a baby cry and laugh.
Cry, baby, cry,Put your finger in your eye,And tell your mother it wasn't I.
is just one more
scrap of paper
that has sailed off the table
in a bottle
with a cry for help.
Georgy Porgy, pudding and pie,Kissed the girls and made them cry.When the boys came out to play,Georgy Porgy ran away.
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!
"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?"
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.”
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.
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.
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.
(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;
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.
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.
Oh, there are eyes that he can see,
And hands to make his hands rejoice,
But to my lover I must be
Only a voice.
Oh, there are breasts to bear his head,
And lips whereon his lips can lie,
But I must be till I am dead
Only a cry.
Ah, my darling, when over the purple horizon shall loom
The shrouded mother of a new idea, men hide their faces,
Cry out and fend her off, as she seeks her procreant groom,
Wounding themselves against her, denying her fecund embraces.
A hill without a name
Veiled in morning mist.
The beginning of autumn:
Sea and emerald paddy
Both the same green.
The winds of autumn
Blow: yet still green
The chestnut husks.
A flash of lightning:
Into the gloom
Goes the heron's cry.
When you come to me, unbidden,
To long-ago rooms,
Where memories lie.
Offering me, as to a child, an attic,
Gatherings of days too few.
Baubles of stolen kisses.
Trinkets of borrowed loves.
Trunks of secret words,
OLD age is courteous--no one more:
For time after time he knocks at the door,
But nobody says, "Walk in, sir, pray!"
Yet turns he not from the door away,
But lifts the latch, and enters with speed.
And then they cry "A cool one, indeed!"
LXXV. — ON LIPPE THE TEACHER. I cannot think there's that antipathy 'Twixt puritans and players, as some cry; Though LIPPE, at Paul's, ran from his text away, To inveigh 'gainst plays, what did he then but play?
Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry,
Full and fair ones; come, and buy:
If so be you ask me where
They do grow? I answer, there
Where my Julia's lips do smile;--
There's the land, or cherry-isle;
Whose plantations fully show
All the year where cherries grow.
The friends I made have slipped and strayed,
And who's the one that cares?
A trifling lot and best forgot-
And that's my tale, and theirs.
Then if my friendships break and bend,
There's little need to cry
The while I know that every foe
Is faithful till I die.
When I consider, dearest, thou dost stay
But here awhile, to languish and decay;
Like to these garden glories, which here be
The flowery-sweet resemblances of thee:
With grief of heart, methinks, I thus do cry,
Would thou hadst ne'er been born, or might'st not die!
The sunshine seeks my little room
To tell me Paris streets are gay;
That children cry the lily bloom
All up and down the leafy way;
That half the town is mad with May,
With flame of flag and boom of bell:
For Carnival is King to-day;
So pen and page, awhile farewell.
WHAT cry of peach blossoms
let loose on the air today
I heard with my face thrown
in the pink-white of it all?
in the red whisper of it all?
What man I heard saying:
Christ, these are beautiful!
And Christ and Christ was in his mouth,
over these peach blossoms?