10 Best Famous Contributing Poems

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

• All Famous Contributing Poems

 The little quids, the million quids,
The everywhere, everything, always quids,
The atoms of the Monoton—
Each turned three essences where it stood
And ground a gisty dust from its neighbors' edges
Until a powdery thoughtfall stormed in and out,
The cerebration of a slippery quid enterprise.
Each quid stirred.
The united quids
Waved through a sinuous decision.

The quids, that had never done anything before
But be, be, be, be, be,
The quids resolved to predicate
And dissipate in a little grammar.
Oh, the Monoton didn't care,
For whatever they did—
The Monoton's contributing quids—
The Monoton would always remain the same.

A quid here and there gyrated in place-position,
While many essential quids turned inside-out
For the fun of it
And a few refused to be anything but
Simple, unpredicated copulatives.
Little by little, this commotion of quids,
By threes, by tens, by casual millions,
Squirming within the state of things—
The metaphysical acrobats,
The naked, immaterial quids—
Turned inside on themselves
And came out dressed,
Each similar quid of the inward same,
Each similar quid dressed in a different way—
The quid's idea of a holiday.

The quids could never tell what was happening.
But the Monoton felt itself differently the same
In its different parts.
The silly quids upon their rambling exercise
Never knew, could never tell
What their pleasure was about,
What their carnival was like,
Being in, being in, being always in
Where they never could get out
Of the everywhere, everything, always in,
To derive themselves from the Monoton.

But I know, with a quid inside of me,
But I know what a quid's disguise is like,
Being one myself,
The gymnastic device
That a quid puts on for exercise.

And so should the trees,
And so should the worms,
And so should you,
And all the other predicates,
And all the other accessories
Of the quid's masquerade.

 Did you ever hear of Editor Whedon
Giving to the public treasury any of the money he received
For supporting candidated for office?
Or for writing up the canning factory
To get people to invest?
Or for suppressing the facts about the bank,
When it was rotten and ready to break?
Did you ever hear of the Circuit Judge
Helping anyone except the "Q" railroad,
Or the bankers? Or did Rev. Peet or Rev. Sibley
Give any part of their salary, earned by keeping still,
Or speaking out as the leaders wished them to do,
To the building of the water works?
But I -- Daisy Fraser who always passed
Along the street through rows of nods and smiles,
And coughs and words such as "there she goes."
Never was taken before Justice Arnett
Without contributing ten dollars and costs
To the school fund of Spoon River!

 ("Matelôts, vous déploirez les voiles.") 
 
 {XVI., May 5, 1839.} 


 Ye mariners! ye mariners! each sail to the breeze unfurled, 
 In joy or sorrow still pursue your course around the world; 
 And when the stars next sunset shine, ye anxiously will gaze 
 Upon the shore, a friend or foe, as the windy quarter lays. 
 
 Ye envious souls, with spiteful tooth, the statue's base will bite; 
 Ye birds will sing, ye bending boughs with verdure glad the sight; 
 The ivy root in the stone entwined, will cause old gates to fall; 
 The church-bell sound to work or rest the villagers will call. 
 
 Ye glorious oaks will still increase in solitude profound, 
 Where the far west in distance lies as evening veils around; 
 Ye willows, to the earth your arms in mournful trail will bend, 
 And back again your mirror'd forms the water's surface send. 
 
 Ye nests will oscillate beneath the youthful progeny; 
 Embraced in furrows of the earth the germing grain will lie; 
 Ye lightning-torches still your streams will cast into the air, 
 Which like a troubled spirit's course float wildly here and there. 
 
 Ye thunder-peals will God proclaim, as doth the ocean wave; 
 Ye violets will nourish still the flower that April gave; 
 Upon your ambient tides will be man's sternest shadow cast; 
 Your waters ever will roll on when man himself is past. 
 
 All things that are, or being have, or those that mutely lie, 
 Have each its course to follow out, or object to descry; 
 Contributing its little share to that stupendous whole, 
 Where with man's teeming race combined creation's wonders roll. 
 
 The poet, too, will contemplate th' Almighty Father's love, 
 Who to our restless minds, with light and darkness from above, 
 Hath given the heavens that glorious urn of tranquil majesty, 
 Whence in unceasing stores we draw calm and serenity. 
 
 Author of "Critical Essays."