Famous Short Sorrow Poems. Short Sorrow Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best Sorrow short poems
See also: Short Member Poems
Hope it was that tutored me,
And Love that taught me more;
And now I learn at Sorrow's knee
The self-same lore.
What I had been without thee, I know not--yet, to my sorrow
See I what, without thee, hundreds and thousands now are.
So silent I when Love was by
He yawned, and turned away;
But Sorrow clings to my apron-strings,
I have so much to say.
Oh, seek, my love, your newer way;
I'll not be left in sorrow.
So long as I have yesterday,
Go take your damned tomorrow!
WHAT weeping face is that looking from the window?
Why does it stream those sorrowful tears?
Is it for some burial place, vast and dry?
Is it to wet the soil of graves?
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.
Only God -- detect the Sorrow --
Only God --
The Jehovahs -- are no Babblers --
Unto God --
God the Son -- Confide it --
Still secure --
God the Spirit's Honor --
Just as sure --
The rain has spoiled the farmer's day;
Shall sorrow put my books away?
Thereby are two days lost:
Nature shall mind her own affairs,
I will attend my proper cares,
In rain, or sun, or frost.
Stir and shiver
The reeds and rushes
By the river:
As if in dream,
The lone moon's silver
Sleeks the stream.
What old sorrow,
What lost love,
Moon, reeds, rushes,
Dream you of?
New house Mengcheng entrance
Old tree surplus sorrow willow
Come person again for who
Only sorrow former person be
Who will come after, I do not know,
He must feel sorrow for those in the past.
One thing of it we borrow
And promise to return --
The Booty and the Sorrow
Its Sweetness to have known --
One thing of it we covet --
The power to forget --
The Anguish of the Avarice
Defrays the Dross of it --
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
NEVER dry, never dry,
Tears that eternal love sheddeth!
How dreary, how dead doth the world still appear,
When only half-dried on the eye is the tear!
Never dry, never dry,
Tears that unhappy love sheddeth!
Like barley bending
In low fields by the sea,
Singing in hard wind
Like barley bending
And rising again,
So would I, unbroken,
Rise from pain;
So would I softly,
Day long, night long,
Change my sorrow
The surroundings of home, centers, neighorhood
which I see and where I walk; for years and years.
I have created you in joy and in sorrows:
with so many circumstances, with so many things.
And you have become all feeling, for me.
BLEST be M’Murdo to his latest day!
No envious cloud o’ercast his evening ray;
No wrinkle, furrow’d by the hand of care,
Nor ever sorrow add one silver hair!
O may no son the father’s honour stain,
Nor ever daughter give the mother pain!
Summer is shorter than any one --
Life is shorter than Summer --
Seventy Years is spent as quick
As an only Dollar --
Sorrow -- now -- is polite -- and stays --
See how well we spurn him --
Equally to abhor Delight --
Equally retain him --
THOU who comest from on high,
Who all woes and sorrows stillest,
Who, for twofold misery,
Hearts with twofold balsam fillest,
Would this constant strife would cease!
What are pain and rapture now?
To my bosom hasten thou!
If thou never hast gazed upon beauty in moments of sorrow,
Thou canst with truth never boast that thou true beauty hast seen.
If thou never hast gazed upon gladness in beauteous features,
Thou canst with truth never boast that thou true gladness hast seen.
WEEP ye not, ye children dear,
That as yet ye are unborn:
For each sorrow and each tear
Makes the father's heart to mourn.
Patient be a short time to it,
Unproduced, and known to none;
If your father cannot do it,
By your mother 'twill be done.
Silent, silent night,
Quench the holy light
Of thy torches bright;
For possessed of Day
Thousand spirits stray
That sweet joys betray.
Why should joys be sweet
Used with deceit,
Nor with sorrows meet?
But an honest joy
Does itself destroy
For a harlot coy.
My mother groand! my father wept,
Into the dangerous world I leapt:
Helpless, naked, piping loud:
Like a fiend hid in a cloud.
Struggling in my fathers hands:
Striving against my swaddling bands:
Bound and weary I thought best
To sulk upon my mother's breast.
(What the Mendicant Said )
The moon's a monk, unmated,
Who walks his cell, the sky.
His strength is that of heaven-vowed men
Who all life's flames defy.
They turn to stars or shadows,
They go like snow or dew—
Leaving behind no sorrow—
Only the arching blue.
To drown the ancient sorrows,
we drank a hundred jugs of wine
there in the beautiful night.
We couldn't go to bed with the moon so bright.
The finally the wine overcame us
and we lay down on the empty mountain--
the earth for a pillow,
and a blanket made of heaven
The little boy lost in the lonely fen,
Led by the wand'ring light,
Began to cry, but God ever nigh,
Appeared like his father in white.
He kissed the child & by the hand led
And to his mother brought,
Who in sorrow pale. thro' the lonely dale
Her little boy weeping sought.