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Famous Short Sorrow Poems

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

Other Short Poem Pages

More great short poems below.

Sorrow | Short Famous Poems and Poets

by Dorothy Parker


 Hope it was that tutored me,
And Love that taught me more;
And now I learn at Sorrow's knee
The self-same lore.

by Friedrich von Schiller

To The Muse

 What I had been without thee, I know not--yet, to my sorrow
See I what, without thee, hundreds and thousands now are.

by Dorothy Parker


 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.

by Dorothy Parker


 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!

by Robert Burns

337. Song—Fragment—Altho’ he has left me

 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.

by Emily Dickinson

Only God -- detect the Sorrow --

 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 --

by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Suum Cuique

 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.

by Walter de la Mare


 Ever, ever
Stir and shiver
The reeds and rushes
By the river:
Ever, ever,
As if in dream,
The lone moon's silver
Sleeks the stream.
What old sorrow, What lost love, Moon, reeds, rushes, Dream you of?

by Wang Wei

Mengcheng Col

 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.

by Emily Dickinson

One thing of it we borrow

 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 --

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 Johann Wolfgang von Goethe


 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!


by Sara Teasdale

Like Barley Bending

 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
Into song.

by Robert Burns

420. Lines of John M’Murdo Esq.

 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!

by Emily Dickinson

Summer is shorter than any one --

 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 --

by Friedrich von Schiller

The Fairest Apparition

 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.

by Mother Goose


If you sneeze on Monday, you sneeze for danger;
Sneeze on a Tuesday, kiss a stranger;
Sneeze on a Wednesday, sneeze for a letter;
Sneeze on a Thursday, something better.
Sneeze on a Friday, sneeze for sorrow;
Sneeze on a Saturday, joy to-morrow.

by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe


 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.

by Vachel Lindsay

The Strength of the Lonely

 (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.

by William Blake

The Little Boy Found

 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.

by John Gould Fletcher

Weep no more

 WEEP no more, nor sigh, nor groan,
Sorrow calls no time that 's gone:
Violets pluck'd, the sweetest rain
Makes not fresh nor grow again.
Trim thy locks, look cheerfully; Fate's hid ends eyes cannot see.
Joys as winged dreams fly fast, Why should sadness longer last? Grief is but a wound to woe;

by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Wasted Love

 What shall be done for sorrow
With love whose race is run?
Where help is none to borrow,
What shall be done?

In vain his hands have spun
The web, or drawn the furrow:
No rest their toil hath won.
His task is all gone thorough, And fruit thereof is none: And who dare say to-morrow What shall be done?

by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe


 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.

by William Butler Yeats

A Man Young And Old: II. Human Dignity

 Like the moon her kindness is,
If kindness I may call
What has no comprehension in't,
But is the same for all
As though my sorrow were a scene
Upon a painted wall.
So like a bit of stone I lie Under a broken tree.
I could recover if I shrieked My heart's agony To passing bird, but I am dumb From human dignity.

by Sarojini Naidu


 LIKE this alabaster box whose art 
Is frail as a cassia-flower, is my heart, 
Carven with delicate dreams and wrought 
With many a subtle and exquisite thought.
Therein I treasure the spice and scent Of rich and passionate memories blent Like odours of cinnamon, sandal and clove, Of song and sorrow and life and love.