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Best Famous Attentive Poems

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

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Written by Lewis Carroll | Create an image from this poem

Acrostic

 Little maidens, when you look 
On this little story-book, 
Reading with attentive eye 
Its enticing history, 
Never think that hours of play 
Are your only HOLIDAY, 
And that in a HOUSE of joy 
Lessons serve but to annoy: 
If in any HOUSE you find 
Children of a gentle mind, 
Each the others pleasing ever-- 
Each the others vexing never-- 
Daily work and pastime daily 
In their order taking gaily-- 
Then be very sure that they 
Have a life of HOLIDAY.


Written by Margaret Atwood | Create an image from this poem

Is/Not

 Love is not a profession
genteel or otherwise

sex is not dentistry
the slick filling of aches and cavities

you are not my doctor
you are not my cure,

nobody has that
power, you are merely a fellow/traveller

Give up this medical concern,
buttoned, attentive,

permit yourself anger
and permit me mine

which needs neither
your approval nor your suprise

which does not need to be made legal
which is not against a disease

but agaist you,
which does not need to be understood

or washed or cauterized,
which needs instead

to be said and said.
Permit me the present tense.
Written by Billy Collins | Create an image from this poem

Dear Reader

 Baudelaire considers you his brother,
and Fielding calls out to you every few paragraphs 
as if to make sure you have not closed the book,
and now I am summoning you up again,
attentive ghost, dark silent figure standing 
in the doorway of these words.
Pope welcomes you into the glow of his study, takes down a leather-bound Ovid to show you.
Tennyson lifts the latch to a moated garden, and with Yeats you lean against a broken pear tree, the day hooded by low clouds.
But now you are here with me, composed in the open field of this page, no room or manicured garden to enclose us, no Zeitgeist marching in the background, no heavy ethos thrown over us like a cloak.
Instead, our meeting is so brief and accidental, unnoticed by the monocled eye of History, you could be the man I held the door for this morning at the bank or post office or the one who wrapped my speckled fish.
You could be someone I passed on the street or the face behind the wheel of an oncoming car.
The sunlight flashes off your windshield, and when I look up into the small, posted mirror, I watch you diminish—my echo, my twin— and vanish around a curve in this whip of a road we can't help traveling together.
Written by Rudyard Kipling | Create an image from this poem

A Translation

 Horace, BK.
V.
, Ode 3 "Regulus"-- A Diversity of Creatures There are whose study is of smells, And to attentive schools rehearse How something mixed with something else Makes something worse.
Some cultivate in broths impure The clients of our body--these, Increasing without Venus, cure, Or cause, disease.
Others the heated wheel extol, And all its offspring, whose concern Is how to make it farthest roll And fastest turn.
Me, much incurious if the hour Present, or to be paid for, brings Me to Brundusium by the power Of wheels or wings; Me, in whose breast no flame hath burned Life-long, save that by Pindar lit, Such lore leaves cold.
I am not turned Aside to it More than when, sunk in thought profound Of what the unaltering Gods require, My steward (friend but slave) brings round Logs for my fire.
Written by Les Murray | Create an image from this poem

Music To Me Is Like Days

 Once played to attentive faces 
music has broken its frame 
its bodice of always-weak laces 
the entirely promiscuous art 
pours out in public spaces 
accompanying everything, the selections 
of sex and war, the rejections.
To jeans-wearers in zipped sporrans it transmits an ideal body continuously as theirs age.
Warrens of plastic tiles and mesh throats dispense this aural money this sleek accountancy of notes deep feeling adrift from its feelers thought that means everything at once like a shrugging of cream shoulders like paintings hung on park mesh sonore doom soneer illy chesh they lost the off switch in my lifetime the world reverberates with Muzak and Prozac.
As it doesn't with poe-zac (I did meet a Miss Universe named Verstak).
Music to me is like days I rarely catch who composed them if one's sublime I think God my life-signs suspend.
I nod it's like both Stilton and cure from one harpsichord-hum: penicillium - then I miss the Köchel number.
I scarcely know whose performance of a limpid autumn noon is superior I gather timbre outranks rhumba.
I often can't tell days apart they are the consumers, not me in my head collectables decay I've half-heard every piece of music the glorious big one with voice the gleaming instrumental one, so choice the hypnotic one like weed-smoke at a party and the muscular one out of farty cars that goes Whudda Whudda Whudda like the compound oil heart of a warrior not of this planet.


Written by Jean Cocteau | Create an image from this poem

Preamble (A Rough Draft For An Ars Poetica)

 .
.
.
Preamble A rough draft for an ars poetica .
.
.
.
.
.
.
Let's get our dreams unstuck The grain of rye free from the prattle of grass et loin de arbres orateurs I plant it It will sprout But forget about the rustic festivities For the explosive word falls harmlessly eternal through the compact generations and except for you nothing denotates its sweet-scented dynamite Greetings I discard eloquence the empty sail and the swollen sail which cause the ship to lose her course My ink nicks and there and there and there and there sleeps deep poetry The mirror-paneled wardrobe washing down ice-floes the little eskimo girl dreaming in a heap of moist ******* her nose was flattened against the window-pane of dreary Christmases A white bear adorned with chromatic moire dries himself in the midnight sun Liners The huge luxury item Slowly founders all its lights aglow and so sinks the evening-dress ball into the thousand mirrors of the palace hotel And now it is I the thin Columbus of phenomena alone in the front of a mirror-paneled wardrobe full of linen and locking with a key The obstinate miner of the void exploits his fertile mine the potential in the rough glitters there mingling with its white rock Oh princess of the mad sleep listen to my horn and my pack of hounds I deliver you from the forest where we came upon the spell Here we are by the pen one with the other wedded on the page Isles sobs of Ariadne Ariadnes dragging along Aridnes seals for I betray you my fair stanzas to run and awaken elsewhere I plan no architecture Simply deaf like you Beethoven blind like you Homer numberless old man born everywhere I elaborate in the prairies of inner silence and the work of the mission and the poem of the work and the stanza of the poem and the group of the stanza and the words of the group and the letters of the word and the least loop of the letters it's your foot of attentive satin that I place in position pink tightrope walker sucked up by the void to the left to the right the god gives a shake and I walk towards the other side with infinite precaution
Written by Louise Gluck | Create an image from this poem

Penelopes Song

 Little soul, little perpetually undressed one,
Do now as I bid you, climb
The shelf-like branches of the spruce tree;
Wait at the top, attentive, like
A sentry or look-out.
He will be home soon; It behooves you to be Generous.
You have not been completely Perfect either; with your troublesome body You have done things you shouldn't Discuss in poems.
Therefore Call out to him over the open water, over the bright Water With your dark song, with your grasping, Unnatural song--passionate, Like Maria Callas.
Who Wouldn't want you? Whose most demonic appetite Could you possibly fail to answer? Soon He will return from wherever he goes in the Meantime, Suntanned from his time away, wanting His grilled chicken.
Ah, you must greet him, You must shake the boughs of the tree To get his attention, But carefully, carefully, lest His beautiful face be marred By too many falling needles.
Written by Phillis Wheatley | Create an image from this poem

Goliath Of Gath

 SAMUEL, Chap.
xvii.
YE martial pow'rs, and all ye tuneful nine, Inspire my song, and aid my high design.
The dreadful scenes and toils of war I write, The ardent warriors, and the fields of fight: You best remember, and you best can sing The acts of heroes to the vocal string: Resume the lays with which your sacred lyre, Did then the poet and the sage inspire.
Now front to front the armies were display'd, Here Israel rang'd, and there the foes array'd; The hosts on two opposing mountains stood, Thick as the foliage of the waving wood; Between them an extensive valley lay, O'er which the gleaming armour pour'd the day, When from the camp of the Philistine foes, Dreadful to view, a mighty warrior rose; In the dire deeds of bleeding battle skill'd, The monster stalks the terror of the field.
From Gath he sprung, Goliath was his name, Of fierce deportment, and gigantic frame: A brazen helmet on his head was plac'd, A coat of mail his form terrific grac'd, The greaves his legs, the targe his shoulders prest: Dreadful in arms high-tow'ring o'er the rest A spear he proudly wav'd, whose iron head, Strange to relate, six hundred shekels weigh'd; He strode along, and shook the ample field, While Phoebus blaz'd refulgent on his shield: Through Jacob's race a chilling horror ran, When thus the huge, enormous chief began: "Say, what the cause that in this proud array "You set your battle in the face of day? "One hero find in all your vaunting train, "Then see who loses, and who wins the plain; "For he who wins, in triumph may demand "Perpetual service from the vanquish'd land: "Your armies I defy, your force despise, "By far inferior in Philistia's eyes: "Produce a man, and let us try the fight, "Decide the contest, and the victor's right.
" Thus challeng'd he: all Israel stood amaz'd, And ev'ry chief in consternation gaz'd; But Jesse's son in youthful bloom appears, And warlike courage far beyond his years: He left the folds, he left the flow'ry meads, And soft recesses of the sylvan shades.
Now Israel's monarch, and his troops arise, With peals of shouts ascending to the skies; In Elah's vale the scene of combat lies.
When the fair morning blush'd with orient red, What David's fire enjoin'd the son obey'd, And swift of foot towards the trench he came, Where glow'd each bosom with the martial flame.
He leaves his carriage to another's care, And runs to greet his brethren of the war.
While yet they spake the giant-chief arose, Repeats the challenge, and insults his foes: Struck with the sound, and trembling at the view, Affrighted Israel from its post withdrew.
"Observe ye this tremendous foe, they cry'd, "Who in proud vaunts our armies hath defy'd: "Whoever lays him prostrate on the plain, "Freedom in Israel for his house shall gain; "And on him wealth unknown the king will pour, "And give his royal daughter for his dow'r.
" Then Jesse's youngest hope: "My brethren say, "What shall be done for him who takes away "Reproach from Jacob, who destroys the chief.
"And puts a period to his country's grief.
"He vaunts the honours of his arms abroad, "And scorns the armies of the living God.
" Thus spoke the youth, th' attentive people ey'd The wond'rous hero, and again reply'd: "Such the rewards our monarch will bestow, "On him who conquers, and destroys his foe.
" Eliab heard, and kindled into ire To hear his shepherd brother thus inquire, And thus begun: "What errand brought thee? say "Who keeps thy flock? or does it go astray? "I know the base ambition of thine heart, "But back in safety from the field depart.
" Eliab thus to Jesse's youngest heir, Express'd his wrath in accents most severe.
When to his brother mildly he reply'd.
"What have I done? or what the cause to chide? The words were told before the king, who sent For the young hero to his royal tent: Before the monarch dauntless he began, "For this Philistine fail no heart of man: "I'll take the vale, and with the giant fight: "I dread not all his boasts, nor all his might.
" When thus the king: "Dar'st thou a stripling go, "And venture combat with so great a foe? "Who all his days has been inur'd to fight, "And made its deeds his study and delight: "Battles and bloodshed brought the monster forth, "And clouds and whirlwinds usher'd in his birth.
" When David thus: "I kept the fleecy care, "And out there rush'd a lion and a bear; "A tender lamb the hungry lion took, "And with no other weapon than my crook "Bold I pursu'd, and chas d him o'er the field, "The prey deliver'd, and the felon kill'd: "As thus the lion and the bear I slew, "So shall Goliath fall, and all his crew: "The God, who sav'd me from these beasts of prey, "By me this monster in the dust shall lay.
" So David spoke.
The wond'ring king reply'd; "Go thou with heav'n and victory on thy side: "This coat of mail, this sword gird on," he said, And plac'd a mighty helmet on his head: The coat, the sword, the helm he laid aside, Nor chose to venture with those arms untry'd, Then took his staff, and to the neighb'ring brook Instant he ran, and thence five pebbles took.
Mean time descended to Philistia's son A radiant cherub, and he thus begun: "Goliath, well thou know'st thou hast defy'd "Yon Hebrew armies, and their God deny'd: "Rebellious wretch! audacious worm! forbear, "Nor tempt the vengeance of their God too far: "Them, who with his Omnipotence contend, "No eye shall pity, and no arm defend: "Proud as thou art, in short liv'd glory great, "I come to tell thee thine approaching fate.
"Regard my words.
The Judge of all the gods, "Beneath whose steps the tow'ring mountain nods, "Will give thine armies to the savage brood, "That cut the liquid air, or range the wood.
"Thee too a well-aim'd pebble shall destroy, "And thou shalt perish by a beardless boy: "Such is the mandate from the realms above, "And should I try the vengeance to remove, "Myself a rebel to my king would prove.
"Goliath say, shall grace to him be shown, "Who dares heav'ns Monarch, and insults his throne?" "Your words are lost on me," the giant cries, While fear and wrath contended in his eyes, When thus the messenger from heav'n replies: "Provoke no more Jehovah's awful hand "To hurl its vengeance on thy guilty land: "He grasps the thunder, and, he wings the storm, "Servants their sov'reign's orders to perform.
" The angel spoke, and turn'd his eyes away, Adding new radiance to the rising day.
Now David comes: the fatal stones demand His left, the staff engag'd his better hand: The giant mov'd, and from his tow'ring height Survey'd the stripling, and disdain'd the fight, And thus began: "Am I a dog with thee? "Bring'st thou no armour, but a staff to me? "The gods on thee their vollied curses pour, "And beasts and birds of prey thy flesh devour.
" David undaunted thus, "Thy spear and shield "Shall no protection to thy body yield: "Jehovah's name------no other arms I bear, "I ask no other in this glorious war.
"To-day the Lord of Hosts to me will give "Vict'ry, to-day thy doom thou shalt receive; "The fate you threaten shall your own become, "And beasts shall be your animated tomb, "That all the earth's inhabitants may know "That there's a God, who governs all below: "This great assembly too shall witness stand, "That needs nor sword, nor spear, th' Almighty's hand: "The battle his, the conquest he bestows, "And to our pow'r consigns our hated foes.
" Thus David spoke; Goliath heard and came To meet the hero in the field of fame.
Ah! fatal meeting to thy troops and thee, But thou wast deaf to the divine decree; Young David meets thee, meets thee not in vain; 'Tis thine to perish on th' ensanguin'd plain.
And now the youth the forceful pebble slung Philistia trembled as it whizz'd along: In his dread forehead, where the helmet ends, Just o'er the brows the well-aim'd stone descends, It pierc'd the skull, and shatter'd all the brain, Prone on his face he tumbled to the plain: Goliath's fall no smaller terror yields Than riving thunders in aerial fields: The soul still ling'red in its lov'd abode, Till conq'ring David o'er the giant strode: Goliath's sword then laid its master dead, And from the body hew'd the ghastly head; The blood in gushing torrents drench'd the plains, The soul found passage through the spouting veins.
And now aloud th' illustrious victor said, "Where are your boastings now your champion's "dead?" Scarce had he spoke, when the Philistines fled: But fled in vain; the conqu'ror swift pursu'd: What scenes of slaughter! and what seas of blood! There Saul thy thousands grasp'd th' impurpled sand In pangs of death the conquest of thine hand; And David there were thy ten thousands laid: Thus Israel's damsels musically play'd.
Near Gath and Edron many an hero lay, Breath'd out their souls, and curs'd the light of day: Their fury, quench'd by death, no longer burns, And David with Goliath's head returns, To Salem brought, but in his tent he plac'd The load of armour which the giant grac'd.
His monarch saw him coming from the war, And thus demanded of the son of Ner.
"Say, who is this amazing youth?" he cry'd, When thus the leader of the host reply'd; "As lives thy soul I know not whence he sprung, "So great in prowess though in years so young:" "Inquire whose son is he," the sov'reign said, "Before whose conq'ring arm Philistia fled.
" Before the king behold the stripling stand, Goliath's head depending from his hand: To him the king: "Say of what martial line "Art thou, young hero, and what sire was thine?" He humbly thus; "The son of Jesse I: "I came the glories of the field to try.
"Small is my tribe, but valiant in the fight; "Small is my city, but thy royal right.
" "Then take the promis'd gifts," the monarch cry'd, Conferring riches and the royal bride: "Knit to my soul for ever thou remain "With me, nor quit my regal roof again.
"
Written by Stevie Smith | Create an image from this poem

I Do Not Speak

 I do not ask for mercy for understanding for peace
And in these heavy days I do not ask for release
I do not ask that suffering shall cease.
I do not pray to God to let me die To give an ear attentive to my cry To pause in his marching and not hurry by.
I do not ask for anything I do not speak I do not question and I do not seek I used to in the day when I was weak.
Now I am strong and lapped in sorrow As in a coat of magic mail and borrow From Time today and care not for tomorrow.
Written by Robert Burns | Create an image from this poem

146. Address to Edinburgh

 EDINA! Scotia’s darling seat!
 All hail thy palaces and tow’rs,
Where once, beneath a Monarch’s feet,
 Sat Legislation’s sov’reign pow’rs:
 From marking wildly scatt’red flow’rs,
As on the banks of Ayr I stray’d,
 And singing, lone, the lingering hours,
I shelter in they honour’d shade.
Here Wealth still swells the golden tide, As busy Trade his labours plies; There Architecture’s noble pride Bids elegance and splendour rise: Here Justice, from her native skies, High wields her balance and her rod; There Learning, with his eagle eyes, Seeks Science in her coy abode.
Thy sons, Edina, social, kind, With open arms the stranger hail; Their views enlarg’d, their liberal mind, Above the narrow, rural vale: Attentive still to Sorrow’s wail, Or modest Merit’s silent claim; And never may their sources fail! And never Envy blot their name! Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn, Gay as the gilded summer sky, Sweet as the dewy, milk-white thorn, Dear as the raptur’d thrill of joy! Fair Burnet strikes th’ adoring eye, Heaven’s beauties on my fancy shine; I see the Sire of Love on high, And own His work indeed divine! There, watching high the least alarms, Thy rough, rude fortress gleams afar; Like some bold veteran, grey in arms, And mark’d with many a seamy scar: The pond’rous wall and massy bar, Grim-rising o’er the rugged rock, Have oft withstood assailing war, And oft repell’d th’ invader’s shock.
With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears, I view that noble, stately Dome, Where Scotia’s kings of other years, Fam’d heroes! had their royal home: Alas, how chang’d the times to come! Their royal name low in the dust! Their hapless race wild-wand’ring roam! Tho’ rigid Law cries out “’twas just!” Wild beats my heart to trace your steps, Whose ancestors, in days of yore, Thro’ hostile ranks and ruin’d gaps Old Scotia’s bloody lion bore: Ev’n I who sing in rustic lore, Haply my sires have left their shed, And fac’d grim Danger’s loudest roar, Bold-following where your fathers led! Edina! Scotia’s darling seat! All hail thy palaces and tow’rs; Where once, beneath a Monarch’s feet, Sat Legislation’s sovereign pow’rs: From marking wildly-scatt’red flow’rs, As on the banks of Ayr I stray’d, And singing, lone, the ling’ring hours, I shelter in thy honour’d shade.

Book: Shattered Sighs