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Famous Short Loss Poems. Short Loss Poetry by Famous Poets

Famous Short Loss Poems. Short Loss Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best Loss 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 Emily Dickinson

Of so divine a Loss

 Of so divine a Loss
We enter but the Gain,
Indemnity for Loneliness
That such a Bliss has been.


by Emily Dickinson

Finding is the first Act

 Finding is the first Act
The second, loss,
Third, Expedition for
The "Golden Fleece"

Fourth, no Discovery --
Fifth, no Crew --
Finally, no Golden Fleece --
Jason -- sham -- too.


by Maya Angelou

A Conceit

Give me your hand

Make room for me
to lead and follow
you
beyond this rage of poetry.

Let others have
the privacy of
touching words
and love of loss
of love.

For me
Give me your hand.


by Emily Dickinson

Had this one Day not been.

 Had this one Day not been.
Or could it cease to be
How smitten, how superfluous,
Were every other Day!

Lest Love should value less
What Loss would value more
Had it the stricken privilege,
It cherishes before.


by William Butler Yeats

The Lover Mourns For The Loss Of Love

 Pale brows, still hands and dim hair,
I had a beautiful friend
And dreamed that the old despair
Would end in love in the end:
She looked in my heart one day
And saw your image was there;
She has gone weeping away.


by Emily Dickinson

To lose ones faith -- surpass

 To lose one's faith -- surpass
The loss of an Estate --
Because Estates can be
Replenished -- faith cannot --

Inherited with Life --
Belief -- but once -- can be --
Annihilate a single clause --
And Being's -- Beggary --


by Emily Dickinson

Who saw no Sunrise cannot say

 Who saw no Sunrise cannot say
The Countenance 'twould be.
Who guess at seeing, guess at loss
Of the Ability.

The Emigrant of Light, it is
Afflicted for the Day.
The Blindness that beheld and blest --
And could not find its Eye.


by Emily Dickinson

Perception of an object costs

 Perception of an object costs
Precise the Object's loss --
Perception in itself a Gain
Replying to its Price --

The Object Absolute -- is nought --
Perception sets it fair
And then upbraids a Perfectness
That situates so far --


by Robert William Service

The Sceptic

 My Father Christmas passed away
When I was barely seven.
At twenty-one, alack-a-day,
I lost my hope of heaven.

Yet not in either lies the curse:
The hell of it's because
I don't know which loss hurt the worse --
My God or Santa Claus.


by Robert Burns

421. Epitaph on a Lap-dog

 IN wood and wild, ye warbling throng,
 Your heavy loss deplore;
Now, half extinct your powers of song,
 Sweet Echo is no more.


Ye jarring, screeching things around,
 Scream your discordant joys;
Now, half your din of tuneless sound
 With Echo silent lies.


by Robert Herrick

HOW PANSIES OR HEARTS-EASE CAME FIRST

 Frolic virgins once these were,
Overloving, living here;
Being here their ends denied
Ran for sweet-hearts mad, and died.
Love, in pity of their tears,
And their loss in blooming years,
For their restless here-spent hours,
Gave them hearts-ease turn'd to flowers.


by Emily Dickinson

Except the Heaven had come so near

 Except the Heaven had come so near --
So seemed to choose My Door --
The Distance would not haunt me so --
I had not hoped -- before --

But just to hear the Grace depart --
I never thought to see --
Afflicts me with a Double loss --
'Tis lost -- and lost to me --


by Emily Dickinson

Must be a Woe --

 Must be a Woe --
A loss or so --
To bend the eye
Best Beauty's way --

But -- once aslant
It notes Delight
As difficult
As Stalactite

A Common Bliss
Were had for less --
The price -- is
Even as the Grace --

Our lord -- thought no
Extravagance
To pay -- a Cross --


by Robert Frost

Now Close the Windows

 Now close the windows and hush all the fields:
If the trees must, let them silently toss;
No bird is singing now, and if there is,
Be it my loss.

It will be long ere the marshes resume,
I will be long ere the earliest bird:
So close the windows and not hear the wind,
But see all wind-stirred.


by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

FIRST LOSS.

 AH! who'll e'er those days restore,

Those bright days of early love
Who'll one hour again concede,

Of that time so fondly cherish'd!
Silently my wounds I feed,
And with wailing evermore

Sorrow o'er each joy now perish'd.
Ah! who'll e'er the days restore

Of that time so fondly cherish'd.

1789.*


by Emily Dickinson

Removed from Accident of Loss

 Removed from Accident of Loss
By Accident of Gain
Befalling not my simple Days --
Myself had just to earn --

Of Riches -- as unconscious
As is the Brown Malay
Of Pearls in Eastern Waters,
Marked His -- What Holiday
Would stir his slow conception --
Had he the power to dream
That put the Dower's fraction --
Awaited even -- Him --


by Carl Sandburg

Dreams in the dusk

 DREAMS in the dusk,
Only dreams closing the day
And with the day's close going back
To the gray things, the dark things,
The far, deep things of dreamland.

Dreams, only dreams in the dusk,
Only the old remembered pictures
Of lost days when the day's loss
Wrote in tears the heart's loss.

Tears and loss and broken dreams
May find your heart at dusk.


by Emily Dickinson

Till Death -- is narrow Loving --

 Till Death -- is narrow Loving --
The scantest Heart extant
Will hold you till your privilege
Of Finiteness -- be spent --

But He whose loss procures you
Such Destitution that
Your Life too abject for itself
Thenceforward imitate --

Until -- Resemblance perfect --
Yourself, for His pursuit
Delight of Nature -- abdicate --
Exhibit Love -- somewhat --


by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Conversion

 When this world's pleasures for my soul sufficed, 
Ere my heart's plummet sounded depths of pain, 
I call on Reason to control my brain, 
And scoffed at that old story of Christ.

But when o'er burning wastes my feet had trod, 
And all my life was desolate with loss, 
With bleeding hands I clung about the cross, 
And cried aloud, 'Man needs a suffering God! '


by Philip Larkin

If Hands Could Free You Heart

 If hands could free you, heart,
 Where would you fly?
Far, beyond every part
Of earth this running sky
Makes desolate? Would you cross
City and hill and sea,
 If hands could set you free?

I would not lift the latch;
 For I could run
Through fields, pit-valleys, catch
All beauty under the sun--
Still end in loss:
I should find no bent arm, no bed
 To rest my head.


by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Loss And Gain

 When I compare
What I have lost with what I have gained,
What I have missed with what attained,
Little room do I find for pride.

I am aware
How many days have been idly spent;
How like an arrow the good intent
Has fallen short or been turned aside.

But who shall dare
To measure loss and gain in this wise?
Defeat may be victory in disguise;
The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide.


by William Stafford

The Light By The Barn

 The light by the barn that shines all night
pales at dawn when a little breeze comes.

A little breeze comes breathing the fields
from their sleep and waking the slow windmill.

The slow windmill sings the long day
about anguish and loss to the chickens at work.

The little breeze follows the slow windmill
and the chickens at work till the sun goes down--

Then the light by the barn again.


by William Blake

The Clod and The Pebble

 Love seeketh not Itself to please.
Nor for itself hath any care;
But for another gives its ease.
And builds a Heaven in Hells despair.

 So sung a little Clod of Clay,
 Trodden with the cattle's feet;
 But a Pebble of the brook.
 Warbled out these metres meet.

Love seeketh only Self to please,
To bind another to Its delight;
Joys in anothers loss of ease.
And builds a Hell in Heavens despite.


by Dylan Thomas

On A Wedding Anniversary

 The sky is torn across
This ragged anniversary of two
Who moved for three years in tune
Down the long walks of their vows.

Now their love lies a loss
And Love and his patients roar on a chain;
From every tune or crater
Carrying cloud, Death strikes their house.

Too late in the wrong rain
They come together whom their love parted:
The windows pour into their heart
And the doors burn in their brain.


by Robert Herrick

UPON THE LOSS OF HIS MISTRESSES

 I have lost, and lately, these
Many dainty mistresses:--
Stately Julia, prime of all;
Sapho next, a principal:
Smooth Anthea, for a skin
White, and heaven-like crystalline:
Sweet Electra, and the choice
Myrha, for the lute and voice.
Next, Corinna, for her wit,
And the graceful use of it;
With Perilla:--All are gone;
Only Herrick's left alone,
For to number sorrow by
Their departures hence, and die.


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