Best Famous Discoloration Poems

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

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Written by Walt Whitman | Create an image from this poem

Manhattan Streets I Saunter'd Pondering

 1
MANHATTAN’S streets I saunter’d, pondering, 
On time, space, reality—on such as these, and abreast with them, prudence. 

2
After all, the last explanation remains to be made about prudence; 
Little and large alike drop quietly aside from the prudence that suits immortality. 

The Soul is of itself;
All verges to it—all has reference to what ensues; 
All that a person does, says, thinks, is of consequence; 
Not a move can a man or woman make, that affects him or her in a day, month, any part of
 the
 direct
 life-time, or the hour of death, but the same affects him or her onward afterward through
 the
 indirect life-time. 

3
The indirect is just as much as the direct, 
The spirit receives from the body just as much as it gives to the body, if not more.

Not one word or deed—not venereal sore, discoloration, privacy of the onanist,
 putridity
 of
 gluttons or rum-drinkers, peculation, cunning, betrayal, murder, seduction, prostitution,
 but
 has
 results beyond death, as really as before death. 

4
Charity and personal force are the only investments worth anything. 

No specification is necessary—all that a male or female does, that is vigorous,
 benevolent,
 clean, is so much profit to him or her, in the unshakable order of the universe, and
 through
 the
 whole scope of it forever. 

5
Who has been wise, receives interest, 
Savage, felon, President, judge, farmer, sailor, mechanic, literat, young, old, it is the
 same,
The interest will come round—all will come round. 

Singly, wholly, to affect now, affected their time, will forever affect all of the past,
 and
 all of
 the present, and all of the future, 
All the brave actions of war and peace, 
All help given to relatives, strangers, the poor, old, sorrowful, young children, widows,
 the
 sick,
 and to shunn’d persons, 
All furtherance of fugitives, and of the escape of slaves,
All self-denial that stood steady and aloof on wrecks, and saw others fill the seats of
 the
 boats, 
All offering of substance or life for the good old cause, or for a friend’s sake, or
 opinion’s sake, 
All pains of enthusiasts, scoff’d at by their neighbors, 
All the limitless sweet love and precious suffering of mothers, 
All honest men baffled in strifes recorded or unrecorded,
All the grandeur and good of ancient nations whose fragments we inherit, 
All the good of the dozens of ancient nations unknown to us by name, date, location, 
All that was ever manfully begun, whether it succeeded or no, 
All suggestions of the divine mind of man, or the divinity of his mouth, or the shaping of
 his
 great
 hands; 
All that is well thought or said this day on any part of the globe—or on any of the
 wandering
 stars, or on any of the fix’d stars, by those there as we are here;
All that is henceforth to be thought or done by you, whoever you are, or by any one; 
These inure, have inured, shall inure, to the identities from which they sprang, or shall
 spring. 

6
Did you guess anything lived only its moment? 
The world does not so exist—no parts palpable or impalpable so exist; 
No consummation exists without being from some long previous consummation—and that
 from
 some
 other,
Without the farthest conceivable one coming a bit nearer the beginning than any. 

7
Whatever satisfies Souls is true; 
Prudence entirely satisfies the craving and glut of Souls; 
Itself only finally satisfies the Soul; 
The Soul has that measureless pride which revolts from every lesson but its own.

8
Now I give you an inkling; 
Now I breathe the word of the prudence that walks abreast with time, space, reality, 
That answers the pride which refuses every lesson but its own. 

What is prudence, is indivisible, 
Declines to separate one part of life from every part,
Divides not the righteous from the unrighteous, or the living from the dead, 
Matches every thought or act by its correlative, 
Knows no possible forgiveness, or deputed atonement, 
Knows that the young man who composedly peril’d his life and lost it, has done
 exceedingly
 well
 for himself without doubt, 
That he who never peril’d his life, but retains it to old age in riches and ease, has
 probably
 achiev’d nothing for himself worth mentioning;
Knows that only that person has really learn’d, who has learn’d to prefer
 results, 
Who favors Body and Soul the same, 
Who perceives the indirect assuredly following the direct, 
Who in his spirit in any emergency whatever neither hurries or, avoids death.

Written by William Butler Yeats | Create an image from this poem

Lapis Lazuli

 (For Harry Clifton)

I HAVE heard that hysterical women say
They are sick of the palette and fiddle-bow.
Of poets that are always gay,
For everybody knows or else should know
That if nothing drastic is done
Aeroplane and Zeppelin will come out.
Pitch like King Billy bomb-balls in
Until the town lie beaten flat.

All perform their tragic play,
There struts Hamlet, there is Lear,
That's Ophelia, that Cordelia;
Yet they, should the last scene be there,
The great stage curtain about to drop,
If worthy their prominent part in the play,
Do not break up their lines to weep.
They know that Hamlet and Lear are gay;
Gaiety transfiguring all that dread.
All men have aimed at, found and lost;
Black out; Heaven blazing into the head:
Tragedy wrought to its uttermost.
Though Hamlet rambles and Lear rages,
And all the drop-scenes drop at once
Upon a hundred thousand stages,
It cannot grow by an inch or an ounce.

On their own feet they came, or On shipboard,'
Camel-back; horse-back, ass-back, mule-back,
Old civilisations put to the sword.
Then they and their wisdom went to rack:
No handiwork of Callimachus,
Who handled marble as if it were bronze,
Made draperies that seemed to rise
When sea-wind swept the corner, stands;
His long lamp-chimney shaped like the stem
Of a slender palm, stood but a day;
All things fall and are built again,
And those that build them again are gay.

Two Chinamen, behind them a third,
Are carved in lapis lazuli,
Over them flies a long-legged bird,
A symbol of longevity;
The third, doubtless a serving-man,
Carries a musical instmment.

Every discoloration of the stone,
Every accidental crack or dent,
Seems a water-course or an avalanche,
Or lofty slope where it still snows
Though doubtless plum or cherry-branch
Sweetens the little half-way house
Those Chinamen climb towards, and I
Delight to imagine them seated there;
There, on the mountain and the sky,
On all the tragic scene they stare.
One asks for mournful melodies;
Accomplished fingers begin to play.
Their eyes mid many wrinkles, their eyes,
Their ancient, glittering eyes, are gay.
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