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Short Poetry by Popular Famous Poets

 Poet
1 William Wordsworth
2 Emily Dickinson
3 William Shakespeare
4 Maya Angelou
5 Langston Hughes
6 Robert Frost
7 Walt Whitman
8 Rabindranath Tagore
9 Shel Silverstein
10 William Blake
11 Pablo Neruda
12 Sylvia Plath
13 Edward Estlin (E E) Cummings
14 William Butler Yeats
15 Tupac Shakur
16 Oscar Wilde
17 Rudyard Kipling
18 Sandra Cisneros
19 Alfred Lord Tennyson
20 Alice Walker
21 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
22 Billy Collins
23 Carol Ann Duffy
24 Christina Rossetti
25 Charles Bukowski
26 Edgar Allan Poe
27 Sarojini Naidu
28 John Donne
29 Ralph Waldo Emerson
30 Nikki Giovanni
31 John Keats
32 Raymond Carver
33 Mark Twain
34 Thomas Hardy
35 Anne Sexton
36 Lewis Carroll
37 Elizabeth Barrett Browning
38 Gary Soto
39 Carl Sandburg
40 Alexander Pushkin
41 Gwendolyn Brooks
42 Henry David Thoreau
43 George (Lord) Byron
44 Spike Milligan
45 Margaret Atwood
46 Muhammad Ali
47 Roger McGough
48 Sara Teasdale
49 Jane Austen
50 Allen Ginsberg
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Famous Short Sport Poems

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

Other Short Poem Pages

Sport | Short Famous Poems and Poets

 
by Omar Khayyam

Beloved, if thou a reverend Molla be,

Beloved, if thou a reverend Molla be,
Quit saintly show, and feigned austerity,
And quaff the wine that Murtaza purveys,
And sport with Houris 'neath some shady tree!


by Omar Khayyam

Let not base avarice enslave thy mind,

Let not base avarice enslave thy mind,
Nor vain ambition in its trammels bind;
Be sharp as fire, as running water swift,
Not, like earth's dust, the sport of every wind!


by Omar Khayyam

Man, like a ball, hither and thither goes,

Man, like a ball, hither and thither goes,
As fate's resistless bat directs the blows;
But He, who gives thee up to this rude sport,
He knows what drives thee, yea, He knows, He knows!


by Robert Burns

379. Song—Fragment—Love for love

 ITHERS seek they ken na what,
Features, carriage, and a’ that;
Gie me love in her I court,
Love to love maks a’ the sport.
Let love sparkle in her e’e; Let her lo’e nae man but me; That’s the tocher-gude I prize, There the luver’s treasure lies.


by Mother Goose

The Cat And The Fiddle

 

    Hey, diddle, diddle!
    The cat and the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the moon;
    The little dog laughed
    To see such sport,
And the dish ran away with the spoon.


by William Butler Yeats

When Helen Lived

 We have cried in our despair
That men desert,
For some trivial affair
Or noisy, insolent sport,
Beauty that we have won
From bitterest hours;
Yet we, had we walked within
Those topless towers
Where Helen waked with her boy,
Had given but as the rest
Of the men and women of Troy,
A word and a jest.


by Ellis Parker Butler

Bird Nesting

 O wonderful! In sport we climbed the tree,
Eager and laughing, as in all our play,
To see the eggs where, in the nest, they lay,
But silent fell before the mystery.
For, one brief moment there, we understood By sudden sympathy too fine for words That we were sisters to the brooding birds And part, with them, in God’s great motherhood.


by Emily Dickinson

She lay as if at play

 She lay as if at play
Her life had leaped away --
Intending to return --
But not so soon --

Her merry Arms, half dropt --
As if for lull of sport --
An instant had forgot --
The Trick to start --

Her dancing Eyes -- ajar --
As if their Owner were
Still sparkling through
For fun -- at you --

Her Morning at the door --
Devising, I am sure --
To force her sleep --
So light -- so deep --


by William Butler Yeats

Remorse For Intemperate Speech

 I ranted to the knave and fool,
But outgrew that school,
Would transform the part,
Fit audience found, but cannot rule
My fanatic heart.
I sought my betters: though in each Fine manners, liberal speech, Turn hatred into sport, Nothing said or done can reach My fanatic heart.
Out of Ireland have we come.
Great hatred, little room, Maimed us at the start.
I carry from my mother's womb A fanatic heart.


by Robert Burns

417. Song—Blythe hae I been on yon hill

 BLYTHE hae I been on yon hill,
 As the lambs before me;
Careless ilka thought and free,
 As the breeze flew o’er me;
Now nae langer sport and play,
 Mirth or sang can please me;
LESLEY is sae fair and coy,
 Care and anguish seize me.
Heavy, heavy is the task, Hopeless love declaring; Trembling, I dow nocht but glow’r, Sighing, dumb despairing! If she winna ease the thraws In my bosom swelling, Underneath the grass-green sod, Soon maun be my dwelling.


by Sir Walter Scott

On Leaving Mrs. Browns Lodgings

 So goodbye, Mrs.
Brown, I am going out of town, Over dale, over down, Where bugs bite not, Where lodgers fight not, Where below your chairmen drink not, Where beside your gutters stink not; But all is fresh and clean and gay, And merry lambkins sport and play, And they toss with rakes uncommonly short hay, Which looks as if it had been sown only the other day, And where oats are twenty-five shillings a boll, they say; But all's one for that, since I must and will away.