10 Best Famous Darks Poems

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

• All Famous Darks Poems

 I.

So, I shall see her in three days
And just one night, but nights are short,
Then two long hours, and that is morn. 
See how I come, unchanged, unworn!
Feel, where my life broke off from thine,
How fresh the splinters keep and fine,---
Only a touch and we combine!

II.

Too long, this time of year, the days!
But nights, at least the nights are short.
As night shows where ger one moon is,
A hand's-breadth of pure light and bliss,
So life's night gives my lady birth
And my eyes hold her! What is worth
The rest of heaven, the rest of earth?

III.

O loaded curls, release your store
Of warmth and scent, as once before
The tingling hair did, lights and darks
Outbreaking into fairy sparks,
When under curl and curl I pried
After the warmth and scent inside,
Thro' lights and darks how manifold---
The dark inspired, the light controlled
As early Art embrowns the gold.

IV.

What great fear, should one say, ``Three days
``That change the world might change as well
``Your fortune; and if joy delays,
``Be happy that no worse befell!''
What small fear, if another says,
``Three days and one short night beside
``May throw no shadow on your ways;
``But years must teem with change untried,
``With chance not easily defied,
``With an end somewhere undescried.''
No fear!---or if a fear be born
This minute, it dies out in scorn.
Fear? I shall see her in three days
And one night, now the nights are short,
Then just two hours, and that is morn.

 Singing larks I saw for sale -
(Ah! the pain of it)
Plucked and ready to impale
On a roasting spit;
Happy larks that summer-long
Stormed the radiant sky,
Adoration in their song . . .
Packed to make a pie.>

Hark! from springs of joy unseen
Spray their jewelled notes.
Tangle them in nets of green,
Twist their lyric throats;
Clip their wings and string them tight,
Stab them with a skewer,
All to tempt the apptite
Of the epicure.

Shade of Shelley! Come not nigh
This accursèd spot,
Where for sixpence one can buy
Skylarks for the pot;
Dante, paint a blacker hell,
Plunge in deeper darks
Wretches who can slay and sell
Sunny-hearted larks.

You who eat, you are the worst:
By internal pains,
May you ever be accurst
Who pluck these poor remains.
But for you wingèd joy would soar
To heaven from the sod:
In ecstasy a lark would pour
Its gratitude to God.

 Shaken from sleep, and numbed and scarce awake, 
Out in the trench with three hours’ watch to take, 
I blunder through the splashing mirk; and then 
Hear the gruff muttering voices of the men 
Crouching in cabins candle-chinked with light.
Hark! There’s the big bombardment on our right 
Rumbling and bumping; and the dark’s a glare 
Of flickering horror in the sectors where 
We raid the Boche; men waiting, stiff and chilled, 
Or crawling on their bellies through the wire.
‘What? Stretcher-bearers wanted? Some one killed?’ 
Five minutes ago I heard a sniper fire: 
Why did he do it? ... Starlight overhead— 
Blank stars. I’m wide-awake; and some chap’s dead.