10 Best Famous Caspian Poems

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

• All Famous Caspian Poems

 Least Rivers -- docile to some sea.
My Caspian -- thee.

 Many a phrase has the English language --
I have heard but one --
Low as the laughter of the Cricket,
Loud, as the Thunder's Tongue --

Murmuring, like old Caspian Choirs,
When the Tide's a' lull --
Saying itself in new inflection --
Like a Whippoorwill --

Breaking in bright Orthography
On my simple sleep --
Thundering its Prospective --
Till I stir, and weep --

Not for the Sorrow, done me --
But the push of Joy --
Say it again, Saxton!
Hush -- Only to me!

 To lose thee -- sweeter than to gain
All other hearts I knew.
'Tis true the drought is destitute,
But then, I had the dew!

The Caspian has its realms of sand,
Its other realm of sea.
Without the sterile perquisite,
No Caspian could be.

 The Bird did prance -- the Bee did play --
The Sun ran miles away
So blind with joy he could not choose
Between his Holiday

The morn was up -- the meadows out
The Fences all but ran,
Republic of Delight, I thought
Where each is Citizen --

From Heavy laden Lands to thee
Were seas to cross to come
A Caspian were crowded -- 
Too near thou art for Fame --

 Until the Desert knows
That Water grows
His Sands suffice
But let him once suspect
That Caspian Fact
Sahara dies

Utmost is relative --
Have not or Have
Adjacent sums
Enough -- the first Abode
On the familiar Road
Galloped in Dreams --

SONNET CLXXV.
 
Non dall' Ispano Ibero all' Indo Idaspe.
 
HIS WOES ARE UNEXAMPLED.
 
 
From Spanish Ebro to Hydaspes old,Exploring ocean in its every nook,[Pg 191]From the Red Sea to the cold Caspian shore,In earth, in heaven one only Phœnix dwells.What fortunate, or what disastrous birdOmen'd my fate? which Parca winds my yarn,That I alone find Pity deaf as asp,And wretched live who happy hoped to be?Let me not speak of her, but him her guide,Who all her heart with love and sweetness fills—Gifts which, from him o'erflowing, follow her,Who, that my sweets may sour and cruel be,Dissembleth, careth not, or will not seeThat silver'd, ere my time, these temples are.
 
Macgregor.