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Famous Basket Poems by Famous Poets

These are examples of famous Basket poems written by some of the greatest and most-well-known modern and classical poets. PoetrySoup is a great educational poetry resource of famous basket poems. These examples illustrate what a famous basket poem looks like and its form, scheme, or style (where appropriate).

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by Holmes, Oliver Wendell
...too plenty
For ringing the changes on metrical chimes;
A maiden, a moonbeam, a lover of twenty 
Have filled that great basket with bushels of rhymes.

Let me show you a picture--'t is far from irrelevant--
By a famous old hand in the arts of design;
'T is only a photographed sketch of an elephant,--
The name of the draughtsman was Rembrandt of Rhine.

How easy! no troublesome colors to lay on,
It can't have fatigued him,-- no, not in the least,--
A dash here and ther...Read more of this...



by Robinson, Edwin Arlington
...poet or your philosopher 
Has nothing richer for us,” he resumed, 
“He burrows among remnants, like a mouse 
In a waste-basket, and with much dry noise
Comes up again, having found Time at the bottom 
And filled himself with its futility. 
‘Time is at once,’ he says, to startle us, 
‘A poison for us, if we make it so, 
And, if we make it so, an antidote
For the same poison that afflicted us.’ 
I’m witness to the poison, but the cure 
Of my complaint is not, for me, in...Read more of this...

by Tebb, Barry
...
Shopping once a week from.





54



Sugarbag blue

I called the colour

Of your knickers

As you stood over

The basket

We struggled

Back with.



Your eyes reflected

The image of me at ten

In my tomato-red tee-shirt

Looking at you in your

Washed-out flower-patterned

Frock.





55



Margaret, Leeds is bound with fog

This Friday in late March, in search

Of you I went to Kirkstall where the

Monks once paced a passage underground

To the nunnery and in...Read more of this...

by Dickinson, Emily
...ttle Lamp, and Book—
And one Geranium—

So stationed I could catch the Mint
That never ceased to fall—
And just my Basket—
Let me think—I'm sure
That this was all—

I never spoke—unless addressed—
And then, 'twas brief and low—
I could not bear to live—aloud—
The Racket shamed me so—

And if it had not been so far—
And any one I knew
Were going—I had often thought
How noteless—I could die—

536

The Heart asks Pleasure—first—
And then—Excuse from Pain—
...Read more of this...

by Keats, John
...his right hand there swung a vase, milk-white,
Of mingled wine, out-sparkling generous light;
And in his left he held a basket full
Of all sweet herbs that searching eye could cull:
Wild thyme, and valley-lilies whiter still
Than Leda's love, and cresses from the rill.
His aged head, crowned with beechen wreath,
Seem'd like a poll of ivy in the teeth
Of winter hoar. Then came another crowd
Of shepherds, lifting in due time aloud
Their share of the ditty. After the...Read more of this...



by Keats, John
...was the lady's look,
As over them a gnarled staff she shook.
Oft-times upon the sudden she laugh'd out,
And from a basket emptied to the rout
Clusters of grapes, the which they raven'd quick
And roar'd for more; with many a hungry lick
About their shaggy jaws. Avenging, slow,
Anon she took a branch of mistletoe,
And emptied on't a black dull-gurgling phial:
Groan'd one and all, as if some piercing trial
Was sharpening for their pitiable bones.
She lifted up the c...Read more of this...

by Tennyson, Alfred Lord
...er'd toward the mill. 

Then, on a golden autumn eventide,
The younger people making holiday,
With bag and sack and basket, great and small,
Went nutting to the hazels. Philip stay'd
(His father lying sick and needing him)
An hour behind; but as he climb'd the hill,
Just where the prone edge of the wood began
To feather toward the hollow, saw the pair,
Enoch and Annie, sitting hand-in-hand,
His large gray eyes and weather-beaten face
All-kindled by a still and sacred ...Read more of this...

by Rossetti, Christina
...ad,
And whispered like the restless brook:
"Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie,
Down the glen tramp little men.
One hauls a basket,
One bears a plate,
One lugs a golden dish
Of many pounds' weight.
How fair the vine must grow
Whose grapes are so luscious;
How warm the wind must blow
Through those fruit bushes."
"No," said Lizzie, "no, no, no;
Their offers should not charm us,
Their evil gifts would harm us."
She thrust a dimpled finger
In each ear, shut eyes and ran:
...Read more of this...

by Collins, Billy
...sound of rain on the roof.

I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.

I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman's tea cup.
But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--the wine....Read more of this...

by Paz, Octavio
...am the spike burning in your mind
If you are the morning tide
              I am the first bird's cry
If you are the basket of oranges
              I am the knife of the sun
If you are the stone altar
              I am the sacrilegious hand
If you are the sleeping land
              I am the green cane
If you are the wind's leap
              I am the buried fire
If you are the water's mouth
              I am the mouth of moss
If you are the forest of the clou...Read more of this...

by Lowell, Amy
...topped aghast.
He turned and bowed. One arm was in 
a sling.

X
The broad, black ribbon she had thought his basket Must 
hang from, held instead a useless arm.
"I do not wonder, Madam, that you ask it." He smiled, for she 
had spoke aloud. "The charm
Of trout fishing is in my eyes enhanced When you must play 
your fish on land as well."
"How will you take him?" Eunice asked. "In 
truth I really cannot tell.
'Twas stupid of me, but it simply...Read more of this...

by Stevenson, Robert Louis
...Three of us afloat in the meadow by the swing, 
Three of us abroad in the basket on the lea. 
Winds are in the air, they are blowing in the spring, 
And waves are on the meadow like the waves there are at sea. 

Where shall we adventure, to-day that we're afloat, 
Wary of the weather and steering by a star? 
Shall it be to Africa, a-steering of the boat, 
To Providence, or Babylon or off to Malabar? 

Hi! but here's a squa...Read more of this...

by Whitman, Walt
...on the flats,
I laugh and work with them—I joke at my work, like a mettlesome young man. 

In winter I take my eel-basket and eel-spear and travel out on foot on the ice—I have
 a
 small axe to cut holes in the ice; 
Behold me, well-clothed, going gaily, or returning in the afternoon—my brood of tough
 boys
 accompaning me, 
My brood of grown and part-grown boys, who love to be with no one else so well as they
 love to
 be with me, 
By day to work with me, and by night t...Read more of this...

by Sandburg, Carl
...alls.
The farmer on the seat dangles the reins on the rumps of dapple-gray horses.
The farmer’s daughter with a basket of eggs dreams of a new hat to wear to the county fair.. . .
On the left-and right-hand side of the road,
 Marching corn—
I saw it knee high weeks ago—now it is head high—tassels of red silk creep at the ends of the ears.. . .
I am the prairie, mother of men, waiting.
They are mine, the threshing crews eating beefst...Read more of this...

by Tennyson, Alfred Lord
...loved,
Left him one hand, and reaching thro' the night
Her other, found (for it was close beside)
And half embraced the basket cradle-head
With one soft arm, which, like the pliant bough
That moving moves the nest and nestling, sway'd
The cradle, while she sang this baby song. 

What does the little birdie say
In her nest at peep of day?
Let me fly, says little birdie,
Mother, let me fly away.
Birdie, rest a little longer,
Till the little wings are stronger.
So sh...Read more of this...

by Whittier, John Greenleaf
...he andirons' straddling feet, 
The mug of cider simmered slow, 
The apples sputtered in a row, 
And, close at hand, the basket stood 
With nuts from brown October's wood. 

What matter how the night behaved? 
What matter how the north-wind raved? 
Blow high, blow low, not all its snow 
Could quench our hearth-fire's ruddy glow. 
O Time and Change! -- with hair as gray 
As was my sire's that winter day, 
How strange it seems with so much gone, 
Of life and love, to sti...Read more of this...

by Lowell, Amy
...to see him bring
Guarded so carefully from sight.
As he laid it down it flashed in the light,
A Toledo blade, with basket hilt,
Damascened with arabesques of gilt,
Or rather gold, and tempered so
It could cut a floating thread at a blow.
The old man smiled, "It has no sheath,
'Twas a little careless to have it beneath
My cloak, for a jostle to my arm
Would have resulted in serious harm.
But it was so fine, I could not wait,
So I brought it with me despite its sta...Read more of this...

by Lowell, Amy
...by.
Nor how the following week he stood to let
Her pass, the pavement narrowing suddenly.
How once he took her basket, and once he
Pulled back a rearing horse who might have struck
Her with his hoofs. It seemed the oddest luck
How many times their business took them each
Right to the other. Then at last he spoke,
But she would only nod, he got no speech
From her. Next time he treated it in joke,
And that so lightly that her vow she broke
And answered....Read more of this...

by Bradstreet, Anne
...word by's side, and choler in his eyes,
1.38 But neither us'd (as yet) for he was wise,
1.39 Of Autumn fruits a basket on his arm,
1.40 His golden rod in's purse, which was his charm.
1.41 And last of all, to act upon this Stage,
1.42 Leaning upon his staff, comes up old age.
1.43 Under his arm a Sheaf of wheat he bore,
1.44 A Harvest of the best: what needs he more?
1.45 In's other hand a glass, ev'n almost run,
1.46 This writ abou...Read more of this...

by Kipling, Rudyard
...since a Hobden swapped a
 hedge.

Shall I dog his morning progress o'er the track-betraying dew?
Demand his dinner-basket into which my pheasant flew?
Confiscate his evening ****** under which my conies ran,
And summons him to judgment? I would sooner summons Pan.

His dead are in the churchyard--thirty generations laid.
Their names were old in history when Domesday Book was made;
 And the passion and the piety and prowess of his line
 Have seeded, rooted, fruite...Read more of this...

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Book: Shattered Sighs