Best Famous Belies Poems
Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Belies poems. This is a select list of the best famous Belies poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Belies poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of belies poems.
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Written by
Rg Gregory |
as the landscape falls away
the hawthorn in its gnarly fashion
is content to stand alone
berries (the very tint of passion)
that birds are wont to feed upon
bloodstain the shortened day
a stubborn tree that speaks
of crusty age - its thorns alert
to any too-spirited invasion
who comes (it seems to say) gets hurt
not those birds with juicy beaks
insects swarm – by invitation
come may though – winter fading
may tree with its prickly pride
sprouts white in prim rejoicing
hunches around at eastertide
spry uncle with (brightly voicing)
maids and suchlike masquerading
when hedged in (deprived of pique)
its softer nature greenly oozing
it’s host to children’s fingers
(their tasty bread and cheesing)
first name means strength in greek
one of nature’s best harbingers
many names to match its guises
whitethorn quickthorn ske **** hag
rich too in its folklore listings
much belies its tetchy tag
its wry wood (tangled twistings)
pleurisy-cure a book advises
old men have a hawthorn look
pretend to a rough vernacular
deny once-selves gentle as fairies
wince at their own spectacular
maydays (wistful gobbledegook)
as the young feed off their berries
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Written by
Francesco Petrarch |
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.
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