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Famous Short Sport Poems. Short Sport Poetry by Famous Poets

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

See also: Best Famous Short Poems | Short Member Poems | Best Short Member Poems | Top 100 Famous Short Poems

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.

by Vachel Lindsay

What the Ghost of the Gambler Said

 WHERE now the huts are empty, 
Where never a camp-fire glows, 
In an abandoned cañon, 
A Gambler's Ghost arose. 
He muttered there, "The moon's a sack 
Of dust." His voice rose thin: 
"I wish I knew the miner-man. 
I'd play, and play to win. 
In every game in Cripple-creek 
Of old, when stakes were high, 
I held my own. Now I would play 
For that sack in the sky. 
The sport would not be ended there. 
'Twould rather be begun. 
I'd bet my moon against his stars, 
And gamble for the sun.