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Best Famous Affirming Poems

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

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Written by Sylvia Plath | Create an image from this poem

The Moon And The Yew Tree

 This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary
The trees of the mind are black.
The light is blue.
The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility Fumy, spiritous mists inhabit this place.
Separated from my house by a row of headstones.
I simply cannot see where there is to get to.
The moon is no door.
It is a face in its own right, White as a knuckle and terribly upset.
It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet With the O-gape of complete despair.
I live here.
Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky ---- Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection At the end, they soberly bong out their names.
The yew tree points up, it has a Gothic shape.
The eyes lift after it and find the moon.
The moon is my mother.
She is not sweet like Mary.
Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls.
How I would like to believe in tenderness ---- The face of the effigy, gentled by candles, Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes.
I have fallen a long way.
Clouds are flowering Blue and mystical over the face of the stars Inside the church, the saints will all be blue, Floating on their delicate feet over the cold pews, Their hands and faces stiff with holiness.
The moon sees nothing of this.
She is bald and wild.
And the message of the yew tree is blackness -- blackness and silence


Written by Wystan Hugh (W H) Auden | Create an image from this poem

September 1, 1939

I sit in one of the dives
On Fifty-second Street
Uncertain and afraid
As the clever hopes expire
Of a low dishonest decade:
Waves of anger and fear
Circulate over the bright
And darkened lands of the earth,
Obsessing our private lives;
The unmentionable odour of death
Offends the September night.
Accurate scholarship can
Unearth the whole offence
From Luther until now
That has driven a culture mad,
Find what occurred at Linz,
What huge imago made
A psychopathic god:
I and the public know
What all schoolchildren learn,
Those to whom evil is done
Do evil in return.
Exiled Thucydides knew
All that a speech can say
About Democracy,
And what dictators do,
The elderly rubbish they talk
To an apathetic grave;
Analysed all in his book,
The enlightenment driven away,
The habit-forming pain,
Mismanagement and grief:
We must suffer them all again.
Into this neutral air
Where blind skyscrapers use
Their full height to proclaim
The strength of Collective Man,
Each language pours its vain
Competitive excuse:
But who can live for long
In an euphoric dream;
Out of the mirror they stare,
Imperialism's face
And the international wrong.
Faces along the bar
Cling to their average day:
The lights must never go out,
The music must always play,
All the conventions conspire
To make this fort assume
The furniture of home;
Lest we should see where we are,
Lost in a haunted wood,
Children afraid of the night
Who have never been happy or good.
The windiest militant trash
Important Persons shout
Is not so crude as our wish:
What mad Nijinsky wrote
About Diaghilev
Is true of the normal heart;
For the error bred in the bone
Of each woman and each man
Craves what it cannot have,
Not universal love
But to be loved alone.
From the conservative dark
Into the ethical life
The dense commuters come,
Repeating their morning vow;
"I will be true to the wife,
I'll concentrate more on my work,"
And helpless governors wake
To resume their compulsory game:
Who can release them now,
Who can reach the deaf,
Who can speak for the dumb?
All I have is a voice
To undo the folded lie,
The romantic lie in the brain
Of the sensual man-in-the-street
And the lie of Authority
Whose buildings grope the sky:
There is no such thing as the State
And no one exists alone;
Hunger allows no choice
To the citizen or the police;
We must love one another or die.
Defenceless under the night
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, dotted everywhere,
Ironic points of light
Flash out wherever the Just
Exchange their messages:
May I, composed like them
Of Eros and of dust,
Beleaguered by the same
Negation and despair,
Show an affirming flame.
Written by Rudyard Kipling | Create an image from this poem

Delilah

 We have another viceroy now, -- those days are dead and done
Of Delilah Aberyswith and depraved Ulysses Gunne.
Delilah Aberyswith was a lady -- not too young -- With a perfect taste in dresses and a badly-bitted tongue, With a thirst for information, and a greater thirst for praise, And a little house in Simla in the Prehistoric Days.
By reason of her marriage to a gentleman in power, Delilah was acquainted with the gossip of the hour; And many little secrets, of the half-official kind, Were whispered to Delilah, and she bore them all in mind.
She patronized extensively a man, Ulysses Gunne, Whose mode of earning money was a low and shameful one.
He wrote for certain papers, which, as everybody knows, Is worse than serving in a shop or scaring off the crows.
He praised her "queenly beauty" first; and, later on, he hinted At the "vastness of her intellect" with compliment unstinted.
He went with her a-riding, and his love for her was such That he lent her all his horses and -- she galled them very much.
One day, THEY brewed a secret of a fine financial sort; It related to Appointments, to a Man and a Report.
'Twas almost wortth the keeping, -- only seven people knew it -- And Gunne rose up to seek the truth and patiently ensue it.
It was a Viceroy's Secret, but -- perhaps the wine was red -- Perhaps an Aged Concillor had lost his aged head -- Perhaps Delilah's eyes were bright -- Delilah's whispers sweet -- The Aged Member told her what 'twere treason to repeat.
Ulysses went a-riding, and they talked of love and flowers; Ulysses went a-calling, and he called for several hours; Ulysses went a-waltzing, and Delilah helped him dance -- Ulysses let the waltzes go, and waited for his chance.
The summer sun was setting, and the summer air was still, The couple went a-walking in the shade of Summer Hill.
The wasteful sunset faded out in turkis-green and gold, Ulysses pleaded softly, and .
.
.
that bad Delilah told! Next morn, a startled Empire learnt the all-important news; Next week, the Aged Councillor was shaking in his shoes.
Next month, I met Delilah and she did not show the least Hesitation in affirming that Ulysses was a "beast.
" * * * * * We have another Viceroy now, those days are dead and done -- Off, Delilah Aberyswith and most mean Ulysses Gunne!
Written by Robert Browning | Create an image from this poem

Master Hugues Of Saxe-Gotha

 An imaginary composer.
] I.
Hist, but a word, fair and soft! Forth and be judged, Master Hugues! Answer the question I've put you so oft: What do you mean by your mountainous fugues? See, we're alone in the loft,--- II.
I, the poor organist here, Hugues, the composer of note, Dead though, and done with, this many a year: Let's have a colloquy, something to quote, Make the world prick up its ear! III.
See, the church empties apace: Fast they extinguish the lights.
Hallo there, sacristan! Five minutes' grace! Here's a crank pedal wants setting to rights, Baulks one of holding the base.
IV.
See, our huge house of the sounds, Hushing its hundreds at once, Bids the last loiterer back to his bounds! O you may challenge them, not a response Get the church-saints on their rounds! V.
(Saints go their rounds, who shall doubt? ---March, with the moon to admire, Up nave, down chancel, turn transept about, Supervise all betwixt pavement and spire, Put rats and mice to the rout--- VI.
Aloys and Jurien and Just--- Order things back to their place, Have a sharp eye lest the candlesticks rust, Rub the church-plate, darn the sacrament-lace, Clear the desk-velvet of dust.
) VII.
Here's your book, younger folks shelve! Played I not off-hand and runningly, Just now, your masterpiece, hard number twelve? Here's what should strike, could one handle it cunningly: HeIp the axe, give it a helve! VIII.
Page after page as I played, Every bar's rest, where one wipes Sweat from one's brow, I looked up and surveyed, O'er my three claviers yon forest of pipes Whence you still peeped in the shade.
IX.
Sure you were wishful to speak? You, with brow ruled like a score, Yes, and eyes buried in pits on each cheek, Like two great breves, as they wrote them of yore, Each side that bar, your straight beak! X.
Sure you said---``Good, the mere notes! ``Still, couldst thou take my intent, ``Know what procured me our Company's votes--- ``A master were lauded and sciolists shent, ``Parted the sheep from the goats!'' XI.
Well then, speak up, never flinch! Quick, ere my candle's a snuff ---Burnt, do you see? to its uttermost inch--- _I_ believe in you, but that's not enough: Give my conviction a clinch! XII.
First you deliver your phrase ---Nothing propound, that I see, Fit in itself for much blame or much praise--- Answered no less, where no answer needs be: Off start the Two on their ways.
XIII.
Straight must a Third interpose, Volunteer needlessly help; In strikes a Fourth, a Fifth thrusts in his nose, So the cry's open, the kennel's a-yelp, Argument's hot to the close.
XIV.
One dissertates, he is candid; Two must discept,--has distinguished; Three helps the couple, if ever yet man did; Four protests; Five makes a dart at the thing wished: Back to One, goes the case bandied.
XV.
One says his say with a difference More of expounding, explaining! All now is wrangle, abuse, and vociferance; Now there's a truce, all's subdued, self-restraining: Five, though, stands out all the stiffer hence.
XVI.
One is incisive, corrosive: Two retorts, nettled, curt, crepitant; Three makes rejoinder, expansive, explosive; Four overbears them all, strident and strepitant, Five .
.
.
O Danaides, O Sieve! XVII.
Now, they ply axes and crowbars; Now, they prick pins at a tissue Fine as a skein of the casuist Escobar's Worked on the bone of a lie.
To what issue? Where is our gain at the Two-bars? XVIII.
_Est fuga, volvitur rota.
_ On we drift: where looms the dim port? One, Two, Three, Four, Five, contribute their quota; Something is gained, if one caught but the import--- Show it us, Hugues of Saxe-Gotha! XIX.
What with affirming, denying, Holding, risposting, subjoining, All's like .
.
.
it's like .
.
.
for an instance I'm trying .
.
.
There! See our roof, its gilt moulding and groining Under those spider-webs lying! XX.
So your fugue broadens and thickens, Greatens and deepens and lengthens, Till we exclaim---``But where's music, the dickens? ``Blot ye the gold, while your spider-web strengthens ``---Blacked to the stoutest of tickens?'' XXI.
I for man's effort am zealous: Prove me such censure unfounded! Seems it surprising a lover grows jealous--- Hopes 'twas for something, his organ-pipes sounded, Tiring three boys at the bellows? XXII.
Is it your moral of Life? Such a web, simple and subtle, Weave we on earth here in impotent strife, Backward and forward each throwing his shuttle, Death ending all with a knife? XXIII.
Over our heads truth and nature--- Still our life's zigzags and dodges, Ins and outs, weaving a new legislature--- God's gold just shining its last where that lodges, Palled beneath man's usurpature.
XXIV.
So we o'ershroud stars and roses, Cherub and trophy and garland; Nothings grow something which quietly closes Heaven's earnest eye: not a glimpse of the far land Gets through our comments and glozes.
XXV.
Ah but traditions, inventions, (Say we and make up a visage) So many men with such various intentions, Down the past ages, must know more than this age! Leave we the web its dimensions! XXVI.
Who thinks Hugues wrote for the deaf, Proved a mere mountain in labour? Better submit; try again; what's the clef? 'Faith, 'tis no trifle for pipe and for tabor--- Four flats, the minor in F.
XXVII.
Friend, your fugue taxes the finger Learning it once, who would lose it? Yet all the while a misgiving will linger, Truth's golden o'er us although we refuse it--- Nature, thro' cobwebs we string her.
XXVIII.
Hugues! I advise _Me Pn_ (Counterpoint glares like a Gorgon) Bid One, Two, Three, Four, Five, clear the arena! Say the word, straight I unstop the full-organ, Blare out the _mode Palestrina.
_ XXIX.
While in the roof, if I'm right there, .
.
.
Lo you, the wick in the socket! Hallo, you sacristan, show us a light there! Down it dips, gone like a rocket.
What, you want, do you, to come unawares, Sweeping the church up for first morning-prayers, And find a poor devil has ended his cares At the foot of your rotten-runged rat-riddled stairs? Do I carry the moon in my pocket? * 1 A fugue is a short melody.
* 2 Keyboard of organ.
* 3 A note in music.
* 4 The daughters of Danaus, condemned to pour water * into a sieve.
* 5 The Spanish casuist, so severely mauled by Pascal.
* 6 A quick return in fencing.
* 7 A closely woven fabric.
* 8 _Giovanni P.
da Palestrina_, celebrated musician (1524-1594).
Written by Emily Dickinson | Create an image from this poem

The Props assist the House

 The Props assist the House
Until the House is built
And then the Props withdraw
And adequate, erect,
The House support itself
And cease to recollect
The Auger and the Carpenter --
Just such a retrospect
Hath the perfected Life --
A past of Plank and Nail
And slowness -- then the Scaffolds drop
Affirming it a Soul.


Written by Michael Drayton | Create an image from this poem

Sonnet V: Nothing But No

 Nothing but "No," and "Aye," and "Aye," and "No"? 
How falls it out so strangely you reply? 
I tell ye, Fair, I'll not be answer'd so, 
With this affirming "No," denying "Aye.
" I say, "I love," you slightly answer "Aye"; I say, "You love," you pule me out a "No"; I say, "I die," you echo me an "Aye"; "Save me," I cry, you sigh me out a "No"; Must woe and I have nought but "No" and "Aye"? No I am I, if I no more can have; Answer no more, with silence make reply, And let me take myself what I do crave.
Let "No" and "Aye" with I and you be so; Then answer "No," and "Aye," and "Aye" and "No.
"

Book: Shattered Sighs