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Best Famous Big Heart Poems

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

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Written by James Weldon Johnson | Create an image from this poem

Go Down Death

 Weep not, weep not,
She is not dead;
She's resting in the bosom of Jesus.
Heart-broken husband--weep no more; Grief-stricken son--weep no more; Left-lonesome daughter --weep no more; She only just gone home.
Day before yesterday morning, God was looking down from his great, high heaven, Looking down on all his children, And his eye fell of Sister Caroline, Tossing on her bed of pain.
And God's big heart was touched with pity, With the everlasting pity.
And God sat back on his throne, And he commanded that tall, bright angel standing at his right hand: Call me Death! And that tall, bright angel cried in a voice That broke like a clap of thunder: Call Death!--Call Death! And the echo sounded down the streets of heaven Till it reached away back to that shadowy place, Where Death waits with his pale, white horses.
And Death heard the summons, And he leaped on his fastest horse, Pale as a sheet in the moonlight.
Up the golden street Death galloped, And the hooves of his horses struck fire from the gold, But they didn't make no sound.
Up Death rode to the Great White Throne, And waited for God's command.
And God said: Go down, Death, go down, Go down to Savannah, Georgia, Down in Yamacraw, And find Sister Caroline.
She's borne the burden and heat of the day, She's labored long in my vineyard, And she's tired-- She's weary-- Do down, Death, and bring her to me.
And Death didn't say a word, But he loosed the reins on his pale, white horse, And he clamped the spurs to his bloodless sides, And out and down he rode, Through heaven's pearly gates, Past suns and moons and stars; on Death rode, Leaving the lightning's flash behind; Straight down he came.
While we were watching round her bed, She turned her eyes and looked away, She saw what we couldn't see; She saw Old Death.
She saw Old Death Coming like a falling star.
But Death didn't frighten Sister Caroline; He looked to her like a welcome friend.
And she whispered to us: I'm going home, And she smiled and closed her eyes.
And Death took her up like a baby, And she lay in his icy arms, But she didn't feel no chill.
And death began to ride again-- Up beyond the evening star, Into the glittering light of glory, On to the Great White Throne.
And there he laid Sister Caroline On the loving breast of Jesus.
And Jesus took his own hand and wiped away her tears, And he smoothed the furrows from her face, And the angels sang a little song, And Jesus rocked her in his arms, And kept a-saying: Take your rest, Take your rest.
Weep not--weep not, She is not dead; She's resting in the bosom of Jesus.

Written by Charles Baudelaire | Create an image from this poem


 Reubens, river of forgetfulness, garden of sloth,
Pillow of wet flesh that one cannot love,
But where life throngs and seethes without cease
Like the air in the sky and the water in the sea.
Leonardo da Vinci, sinister mirror, Where these charming angels with sweet smiles Charged with mystery, appear in shadows Of glaciers and pines that close off the country.
Rembrandt, sad hospital full of murmurs Decorated only with a crucifix, Where tearful prayers arise from filth And a ray of winter light crosses brusquely.
Michelangelo, a wasteland where one sees Hercules Mingling with Christ, and rising in a straight line Powerful phantoms that in the twilight Tear their shrouds with stretching fingers.
Rage of a boxer, impudence of a faun, You who gather together the beauty of the boor, Your big heart swelling with pride at man defective and yellow, Puget, melancholy emperor of the poor.
Watteau, this carnival of illustrious hearts Like butterflies, errant and flamboyant, In the cool decor, with delicate lightning in the chandeliers Crossing the madness of the twirling ball.
Goya, nightmare of unknown things, Fetuses roasting on the spit, Harridans in the mirror and naked children Tempting demons by loosening their stockings.
Delacroix, haunted lake of blood and evil angels, Shaded by evergreen forests of dark firs, Where, under a grieving sky, strange fanfares Pass, like a gasping breath of Weber.
These curses, these blasphemies, these moans, These ecstasies, these tears, these cries of "Te Deum" Are an echo reiterated in a thousand mazes; It is for mortal hearts a divine opium! It is a cry repeated by a thousand sentinels, An order returned by a thousand megaphones, A beacon lighting a thousand citadels A summons to hunters lost in the wide woods.
For truly, O Lord, what better testimony Can we give to our dignity Than this burning sob that rolls from age to age And comes to die on the shore of Your eternity?
Written by Anne Sexton | Create an image from this poem

The Big Heart

 "Too many things are occurring for even a big heart to hold.
" - From an essay by W.
Yeats Big heart, wide as a watermelon, but wise as birth, there is so much abundance in the people I have: Max, Lois, Joe, Louise, Joan, Marie, Dawn, Arlene, Father Dunne, and all in their short lives give to me repeatedly, in the way the sea places its many fingers on the shore, again and again and they know me, they help me unravel, they listen with ears made of conch shells, they speak back with the wine of the best region.
They are my staff.
They comfort me.
They hear how the artery of my soul has been severed and soul is spurting out upon them, bleeding on them, messing up their clothes, dirtying their shoes.
And God is filling me, though there are times of doubt as hollow as the Grand Canyon, still God is filling me.
He is giving me the thoughts of dogs, the spider in its intricate web, the sun in all its amazement, and a slain ram that is the glory, the mystery of great cost, and my heart, which is very big, I promise it is very large, a monster of sorts, takes it all in-- all in comes the fury of love.