10 Best Famous Absorbs Poems

Here is a collection of the top 10 all-time best famous Absorbs poems. This is a select list of the best famous Absorbs poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Absorbs poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of absorbs poems.

• All Famous Absorbs Poems

 Venus, when her son was lost,
Cried him up and down the coast,
In hamlets, palaces, and parks,
And told the truant by his marks,
Golden curls, and quiver, and bow;—
This befell long ago.
Time and tide are strangely changed,
Men and manners much deranged;
None will now find Cupid latent
By this foolish antique patent.
He came late along the waste,
Shod like a traveller for haste,
With malice dared me to proclaim him,
That the maids and boys might name him.

Boy no more, he wears all coats,
Frocks, and blouses, capes, capôtes,
He bears no bow, or quiver, or wand,
Nor chaplet on his head or hand:
Leave his weeds and heed his eyes,
All the rest he can disguise.
In the pit of his eyes a spark
Would bring back day if it were dark,
And,—if I tell you all my thought,
Though I comprehend it not,—
In those unfathomable orbs
Every function he absorbs;
He doth eat, and drink, and fish, and shoot,
And write, and reason, and compute,
And ride, and run, and have, and hold,
And whine, and flatter, and regret,
And kiss, and couple, and beget,
By those roving eye-balls bold;
Undaunted are their courages,
Right Cossacks in their forages;
Fleeter they than any creature,
They are his steeds and not his feature,
Inquisitive, and fierce, and fasting,
Restless, predatory, hasting,—
And they pounce on other eyes,
As lions on their prey;
And round their circles is writ,
Plainer than the day,
Underneath, within, above,
Love, love, love, love.
He lives in his eyes,
There doth digest, and work, and spin,
And buy, and sell, and lose, and win;
He rolls them with delighted motion,
Joy-tides swell their mimic ocean.
Yet holds he them with tortest rein,
That they may seize and entertain
The glance that to their glance opposes,
Like fiery honey sucked from roses.

He palmistry can understand,
Imbibing virtue by his hand
As if it were a living root;
The pulse of hands will make him mute;
With all his force he gathers balms
Into those wise thrilling palms.

Cupid is a casuist,
A mystic, and a cabalist,
Can your lurking Thought surprise,
And interpret your device;
Mainly versed in occult science,
In magic, and in clairvoyance.
Oft he keeps his fine ear strained,
And reason on her tiptoe pained,
For aery intelligence,
And for strange coincidence.
But it touches his quick heart
When Fate by omens takes his part,
And chance-dropt hints from Nature's sphere
Deeply soothe his anxious ear.

Heralds high before him run,
He has ushers many a one,
Spreads his welcome where he goes,
And touches all things with his rose.
All things wait for and divine him,—
How shall I dare to malign him,
Or accuse the god of sport?—
I must end my true report,
Painting him from head to foot,
In as far as I took note,
Trusting well the matchless power
Of this young-eyed emperor
Will clear his fame from every cloud,
With the bards, and with the crowd.

He is wilful, mutable,
Shy, untamed, inscrutable,
Swifter-fashioned than the fairies,
Substance mixed of pure contraries,
His vice some elder virtue's token,
And his good is evil spoken.
Failing sometimes of his own,
He is headstrong and alone;
He affects the wood and wild,
Like a flower-hunting child,
Buries himself in summer waves,
In trees, with beasts, in mines, and caves,
Loves nature like a horned cow,
Bird, or deer, or cariboo.

Shun him, nymphs, on the fleet horses!
He has a total world of wit,
O how wise are his discourses!
But he is the arch-hypocrite,
And through all science and all art,
Seeks alone his counterpart.
He is a Pundit of the east,
He is an augur and a priest,
And his soul will melt in prayer,
But word and wisdom are a snare;
Corrupted by the present toy,
He follows joy, and only joy.

There is no mask but he will wear,
He invented oaths to swear,
He paints, he carves, he chants, he prays,
And holds all stars in his embrace,
Godlike, —but 'tis for his fine pelf,
The social quintessence of self.
Well, said I, he is hypocrite,
And folly the end of his subtle wit,
He takes a sovran privilege
Not allowed to any liege,
For he does go behind all law,
And right into himself does draw,
For he is sovranly allied.
Heaven's oldest blood flows in his side,
And interchangeably at one
With every king on every throne,
That no God dare say him nay,
Or see the fault, or seen betray;
He has the Muses by the heart,
And the Parcæ all are of his part.

His many signs cannot be told,
He has not one mode, but manifold,
Many fashions and addresses,
Piques, reproaches, hurts, caresses,
Action, service, badinage,
He will preach like a friar,
And jump like Harlequin,
He will read like a crier,
And fight like a Paladin.
Boundless is his memory,
Plans immense his term prolong,
He is not of counted age,
Meaning always to be young.
And his wish is intimacy,
Intimater intimacy,
And a stricter privacy,
The impossible shall yet be done,
And being two shall still be one.
As the wave breaks to foam on shelves,
Then runs into a wave again,
So lovers melt their sundered selves,
Yet melted would be twain.

 I MARK the months in liveries dank and dry,
The day-tides many-shaped and hued;
I see the nightfall shades subtrude,
And hear the monotonous hours clang negligently by.

I view the evening bonfires of the sun
On hills where morning rains have hissed;
The eyeless countenance of the mist
Pallidly rising when the summer droughts are done.

I have seen the lightning-blade, the leaping star,
The caldrons of the sea in storm,
Have felt the earthquake's lifting arm,
And trodden where abysmal fires and snowcones are.

I learn to prophesy the hid eclipse,
The coming of eccentric orbs;
To mete the dust the sky absorbs,
To weigh the sun, and fix the hour each planet dips.

I witness fellow earth-men surge and strive;
Assemblies meet, and throb, and part;
Death's soothing finger, sorrow's smart;
--All the vast various moils that mean a world alive.

But that I fain would wot of shuns my sense--
Those sights of which old prophets tell,
Those signs the general word so well,
Vouchsafed to their unheed, denied my watchings tense.

In graveyard green, behind his monument
To glimpse a phantom parent, friend,
Wearing his smile, and "Not the end!"
Outbreathing softly: that were blest enlightenment;

Or, if a dead Love's lips, whom dreams reveal
When midnight imps of King Decay
Delve sly to solve me back to clay,
Should leave some print to prove her spirit-kisses real;

Or, when Earth's Frail lie bleeding of her Strong,
If some Recorder, as in Writ,
Near to the weary scene should flit
And drop one plume as pledge that Heaven inscrolls the wrong.

--There are who, rapt to heights of tranc?d trust,
These tokens claim to feel and see,
Read radiant hints of times to be--
Of heart to heart returning after dust to dust.

Such scope is granted not my powers indign...
I have lain in dead men's beds, have walked
The tombs of those with whom I'd talked,
Called many a gone and goodly one to shape a sign,

And panted for response. But none replies;
No warnings loom, nor whisperings
To open out my limitings,
And Nescience mutely muses: When a man falls he lies.

 My doc announced yesterday : 
 "You may have talent, though it's hidden, 
 your beak, however, is frost-bitten, 
 so stick at home on a cold day". 

 The nose, eh? 

 As irretrievable as time, 
 conforming to the laws of medicine, 
 your nose, like that of any person, 
 keep growing 
 steadily, 
 with triumph! 

 The noses of celebrities, 
 of guards 
 and ministers of ours 
 grow, snoring restlessly like owls 
 at night, along with plants and trees. 

 They're cool and crooked, resembling bills, 
 they're squeezed in doors, 
 get hurt by boxers, 
 however, our neighbour's noses 
 screw into keyholes, just like drills! 

 (Great Gogol felt by intuition 
 the role they play in man's ambition.) 
 My friend Bukashkin who was boozy 
 dreamed of a nose 
 that grew like crazy: 
 above him, coming like a bore, 
 upsetting pans and chandeliers, 
 a nose 
 was piercing 
 the ceilings 
 and threading 
 floor upon the floor! 

 "What's that? -- he thought, when out of bed. 
 "A sign of Judgement Day -- I said -- 
 And the inspection of the debtors!" 

 He was imprisoned on the 30th. 

 Perpetual motion of the nose! 
 It's long, while life is getting shorter. 
 At night on faces, pale as blotter, 
 like a black hawk, or pumping hose, 
 the nose absorbs us, I suppose. 

 They say, the Northern Eskimos 
 kiss one another with the nose 

 It hasn't caught on here, of course.

© Copyright Alec Vagapov's translation

 Was I thinking so loudly?

A heart absorbs the absurd
on a regular basis.

Primordial fears and poisoned
skies are

stage smoke;

but fragrant whispers from
your skin are 

open windows
on relief.

And I see,
and I laugh:

I 
know
nothing.


Copyright ©2006 Anna Piutti.

 SIT still­a word­a breath may break 
(As light airs stir a sleeping lake,) 
The glassy calm that soothes my woes, 
The sweet, the deep, the full repose. 
O leave me not ! for ever be 
Thus, more than life itself to me ! 

Yes, close beside thee, let me kneel­ 
Give me thy hand that I may feel 
The friend so true­so tried­so dear, 
My heart's own chosen­indeed is near; 
And check me not­this hour divine 
Belongs to me­is fully mine. 

'Tis thy own hearth thou sitt'st beside, 
After long absence­wandering wide; 
'Tis thy own wife reads in thine eyes, 
A promise clear of stormless skies, 
For faith and true love light the rays, 
Which shine responsive to her gaze. 

Aye,­well that single tear may fall; 
Ten thousand might mine eyes recall, 
Which from their lids, ran blinding fast, 
In hours of grief, yet scarcely past, 
Well may'st thou speak of love to me;
For, oh ! most truly­I love thee ! 

Yet smile­for we are happy now. 
Whence, then, that sadness on thy brow ? 
What say'st thou ? ' We must once again, 
Ere long, be severed by the main ? ' 
I knew not this­I deemed no more, 
Thy step would err from Britain's shore. 

' Duty commands ?' 'Tis true­'tis just; 
Thy slightest word I wholly trust, 
Nor by request, nor faintest sigh 
Would I, to turn thy purpose, try; 
But, William­hear my solemn vow­ 
Hear and confirm !­with thee I go. 

' Distance and suffering,' did'st thou say ? 
' Danger by night, and toil by day ?' 
Oh, idle words, and vain are these; 
Hear me ! I cross with thee the seas. 
Such risk as thou must meet and dare, 
I­thy true wife­will duly share. 

Passive, at home, I will not pine; 
Thy toils­thy perils, shall be mine; 
Grant this­and be hereafter paid 
By a warm heart's devoted aid:
'Tis granted­with that yielding kiss, 
Entered my soul unmingled bliss. 

Thanks, William­thanks ! thy love has joy, 
Pure­undefiled with base alloy; 
'Tis not a passion, false and blind, 
Inspires, enchains, absorbs my mind; 
Worthy, I feel, art thou to be 
Loved with my perfect energy. 

This evening, now, shall sweetly flow, 
Lit by our clear fire's happy glow; 
And parting's peace-embittering fear, 
Is warned, our hearts to come not near; 
For fate admits my soul's decree, 
In bliss or bale­to go with thee !

 Thou dost not fly, thou art not perched, 
The air is all around: 
What is it that can keep thee set, 
From falling to the ground? 
The concentration of thy mind 
Supports thee in the air; 
As thou dost watch the small young birgs, 
With such a deadly care. 

My mind has such a hawk as thou, 
It is an evil mood; 
It comes when there's no cause for grief, 
And on my joys doth brood. 
Then do I see my life in parts; 
The earth receives my bones, 
The common air absorbs my mind--- 
It knows not flowers from stones.

 Vital spark of heav’nly flame!
Quit, O quit this mortal frame:
Trembling, hoping, ling’ring, flying,
O the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life.

Hark! they whisper; angels say,
Sister Spirit, come away!
What is this absorbs me quite?
Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath?
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?

The world recedes; it disappears!
Heav’n opens on my eyes! my ears
With sounds seraphic ring!
Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!
O Grave! where is thy victory?
O Death! where is thy sting?

 As yon great Sun in his supreme condition 
Absorbs small worlds and makes them all his own, 
So does my love absorb each vain ambition 
Each outside purpose which my life has known. 
Stars cannot shine so near that vast orb's splendor, 
They are content to feed his flames of fire; 
And so my heart is satisfied to render 
Its strength, its all, to meet thy strong desire.

As in a forest when dead leaves are falling, 
From all save some perennial green tree, 
So one by one I find all pleasures palling 
That are not linked with or enjoyed by thee. 
And all the homage that the world may proffer, 
I take as perfumed oils or incense sweet, 
And think of it as one thing more to offer 
And sacrifice to Love, at thy dear feet.

I love myself because thou art my lover, 
My name seems dear since uttered by thy voice; 
Yet argus-eyed I watch and would discover 
Each blemish in the object of thy choice. 
I coldly sit in judgment on each error, 
To my soul's gaze I hold each fault of me, 
Until my pride is lost in abject terror, 
Lest I become inadequate to thee.

Like some swift-rushing and sea-seeking river, 
Which gathers force the farther on it goes, 
So does the current of my love forever 
Find added strength and beauty as it flows. 
The more I give, the more remains for giving, 
The more receive, the more remains to win. 
Ah! only in eternities of living 
Will life be long enough to love thee in.

SONNET CXVII.
 
Che fai, alma? che pensi? avrem mai pace?
 
DIALOGUE OF THE POET WITH HIS HEART.
 
 
P.        What actions fire thee, and what musings fill?Soul! is it peace, or truce, or war eterne?
 
H.    Our lot I know not, but, as I discern,Her bright eyes favour not our cherish'd ill.
 
P.    What profit, with those eyes if she at willMakes us in summer freeze, in winter burn?
 
H.    From him, not her those orbs their movement learn.[Pg 147]P.    What's he to us, she sees it and is still.H.    Sometimes, though mute the tongue, the heart lamentsFondly, and, though the face be calm and bright,Bleeds inly, where no eye beholds its grief.P.    Nathless the mind not thus itself contents,Breaking the stagnant woes which there unite,For misery in fine hopes finds no relief.
 
Macgregor. 
 
P.        What act, what dream, absorbs thee, O my soul?Say, must we peace, a truce, or warfare hail?H.    Our fate I know not; but her eyes unveilThe grief our woe doth in her heart enrol.P.    But that is vain, since by her eyes' controlWith nature I no sympathy inhale.H.    Yet guiltless she, for Love doth there prevail.P.    No balm to me, since she will not condole.H.    When man is mute, how oft the spirit grieves,In clamorous woe! how oft the sparkling eyeBelies the inward tear, where none can gaze!P.    Yet restless still, the grief the mind conceivesIs not dispell'd, but stagnant seems to lie.The wretched hope not, though hope aid might raise.
 
Wollaston.

 Sit still­ a word­ a breath may break 
(As light airs stir a sleeping lake,) 
The glassy calm that soothes my woes, 
The sweet, the deep, the full repose. 
O leave me not ! for ever be 
Thus, more than life itself to me ! 

Yes, close beside thee, let me kneel­ 
Give me thy hand that I may feel 
The friend so true­so tried­so dear, 
My heart's own chosen­indeed is near; 
And check me not­this hour divine 
Belongs to me­is fully mine. 

'Tis thy own hearth thou sitt'st beside, 
After long absence­wandering wide; 
'Tis thy own wife reads in thine eyes, 
A promise clear of stormless skies, 
For faith and true love light the rays, 
Which shine responsive to her gaze. 

Aye,­well that single tear may fall; 
Ten thousand might mine eyes recall, 
Which from their lids, ran blinding fast, 
In hours of grief, yet scarcely past, 
Well may'st thou speak of love to me;
For, oh ! most truly­I love thee ! 

Yet smile­for we are happy now. 
Whence, then, that sadness on thy brow ? 
What say'st thou ? " We must once again, 
Ere long, be severed by the main ? " 
I knew not this­I deemed no more, 
Thy step would err from Britain's shore. 

" Duty commands ?" 'Tis true­'tis just; 
Thy slightest word I wholly trust, 
Nor by request, nor faintest sigh 
Would I, to turn thy purpose, try; 
But, William­hear my solemn vow­ 
Hear and confirm !­with thee I go. 

" Distance and suffering," did'st thou say ? 
" Danger by night, and toil by day ?" 
Oh, idle words, and vain are these; 
Hear me ! I cross with thee the seas. 
Such risk as thou must meet and dare, 
I­thy true wife­will duly share. 

Passive, at home, I will not pine; 
Thy toils­thy perils, shall be mine; 
Grant this­and be hereafter paid 
By a warm heart's devoted aid:
'Tis granted­with that yielding kiss, 
Entered my soul unmingled bliss. 

Thanks, William­thanks ! thy love has joy, 
Pure­undefiled with base alloy; 
'Tis not a passion, false and blind, 
Inspires, enchains, absorbs my mind; 
Worthy, I feel, art thou to be 
Loved with my perfect energy. 

This evening, now, shall sweetly flow, 
Lit by our clear fire's happy glow; 
And parting's peace-embittering fear, 
Is warned, our hearts to come not near; 
For fate admits my soul's decree, 
In bliss or bale­to go with thee !