10 Best Famous Ecstacy Poems

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

• All Famous Ecstacy Poems

 Come, my darling, let us dance
To the moon that beckons us
To dissolve our love in trance
Heedless of the hideous
Heat & hate of Sirius-
Shun his baneful brilliance!

Let us dance beneath the palm
Moving in the moonlight, frond
Wooing frond above the calm
Of the ocean diamond
Sparkling to the sky beyond
The enchantment of our psalm.

Let us dance, my mirror of
Perfect passion won to peace,
Let us dance, my treasure trove,
On the marble terraces
Carven in pallid embroeideries
For the vestal veil of Love.

Heaven awakes to encompass us,
Hell awakes its jubilance
In our hearts mysterious
Marriage of the azure expanse,
With the scarlet brilliance
Of the Moon with Sirius.

Velvet swatches our lissome limbs
Languid lapped by sky & sea
Soul through sense & spirit swims
Through the pregnant porphyry
Dome of lapiz-lazuli:-
Heart of silence, hush our hymns.

Come my darling; let us dance
Through the golden galaxies
Rythmic swell of circumstance
Beaming passion’s argosies:
Ecstacy entwined with ease,
Terrene joy transcending trance!

Thou my scarlet concubine
Draining heart’s blood to the lees
To empurple those divine
Lips with living luxuries
Life importunate to appease
Drought insatiable of wine!

Tunis in the tremendous trance
Rests from day’s incestuous
Traffic with the radiance
Of her sire-& over us
Gleams the intoxicating glance
Of the Moon & Sirius.

Take the ardour of my impearled
Essence that my shoulders seek
To intensify the curled
Candour of the eyes oblique,
Eyes that see the seraphic sleek
Lust bewitch the wanton world.

Come, my love, my dove, & pour
From thy cup the serpent wine
Brimmed & breathless -secret store
Of my crimson concubine
Surfeit spirit in the shrine-
Devil -Godess -Virgin -Whore.

Afric sands ensorcel us,
Afric seas & skies entrance
Velvet, lewd & luminous
Night surveys our soul askance!
Come my love, & let us dance
To the Moon and Sirius!

 The morn arrived; his footstep quickly scared

The gentle sleep that round my senses clung,
And I, awak'ning, from my cottage fared,

And up the mountain side with light heart sprung;
At every step I felt my gaze ensnared

By new-born flow'rs that full of dew-drops hung;
The youthful day awoke with ecstacy,
And all things quicken'd were, to quicken me.

And as I mounted, from the valley rose

A streaky mist, that upward slowly spread,
Then bent, as though my form it would enclose,

Then, as on pinions, soar'd above my head:
My gaze could now on no fair view repose,

in mournful veil conceal'd, the world seem'd dead;
The clouds soon closed around me, as a tomb,
And I was left alone in twilight gloom.

At once the sun his lustre seem'd to pour,

And through the mist was seen a radiant light;
Here sank it gently to the ground once more,

There parted it, and climb'd o'er wood and height.
How did I yearn to greet him as of yore,

After the darkness waxing doubly bright!
The airy conflict ofttimes was renew'd,
Then blinded by a dazzling glow I stood.

Ere long an inward impulse prompted me

A hasty glance with boldness round to throw;
At first mine eyes had scarcely strength to see,

For all around appear'd to burn and glow.
Then saw I, on the clouds borne gracefully,

A godlike woman hov'ring to and fro.
In life I ne'er had seen a form so fair--
She gazed at me, and still she hover'd there.

"Dost thou not know me?" were the words she said

In tones where love and faith were sweetly bound;
"Knowest thou not Her who oftentimes hath shed

The purest balsam in each earthly wound?
Thou knows't me well; thy panting heart I led

To join me in a bond with rapture crown'd.
Did I not see thee, when a stripling, yearning
To welcome me with tears, heartfelt and burning?"

"Yes!" I exclaim'd, whilst, overcome with joy,

I sank to earth; "I long have worshipp'd thee;
Thou gav'st me rest, when passions rack'd the boy,

Pervading ev'ry limb unceasingly;
Thy heav'nly pinions thou didst then employ

The scorching sunbeams to ward off from me.
From thee alone Earth's fairest gifts I gain'd,
Through thee alone, true bliss can be obtain'd.

"Thy name I know not; yet I hear thee nam'd

By many a one who boasts thee as his own;
Each eye believes that tow'rd thy form 'tis aim'd,

Yet to most eyes thy rays are anguish-sown.
Ah! whilst I err'd, full many a friend I claim'd,

Now that I know thee, I am left alone;
With but myself can I my rapture share,
I needs must veil and hide thy radiance fair.

She smiled, and answering said: "Thou see'st how wise,

How prudent 'twas but little to unveil!
Scarce from the clumsiest cheat are clear'd thine eyes,

Scarce hast thou strength thy childish bars to scale,
When thou dost rank thee 'mongst the deities,

And so man's duties to perform would'st fail!
How dost thou differ from all other men?
Live with the world in peace, and know thee then!"

"Oh, pardon me," I cried, "I meant it well:

Not vainly did'st thou bless mine eyes with light;
For in my blood glad aspirations swell,

The value of thy gifts I know aright!
Those treasures in my breast for others dwell,

The buried pound no more I'll hide from sight.
Why did I seek the road so anxiously,
If hidden from my brethren 'twere to be?"

And as I answer'd, tow'rd me turn'd her face,

With kindly sympathy, that god-like one;
Within her eye full plainly could I trace

What I had fail'd in, and what rightly done.
She smiled, and cured me with that smile's sweet grace,

To new-born joys my spirit soar'd anon;
With inward confidence I now could dare
To draw yet closer, and observe her there.

Through the light cloud she then stretch'd forth her hand,

As if to bid the streaky vapour fly:
At once it seemed to yield to her command,

Contracted, and no mist then met mine eye.
My glance once more survey'd the smiling land,

Unclouded and serene appear'd the sky.
Nought but a veil of purest white she held,
And round her in a thousand folds it swell'd.

"I know thee, and I know thy wav'ring will.

I know the good that lives and glows in thee!"--
Thus spake she, and methinks I hear her still--

"The prize long destined, now receive from me;
That blest one will be safe from ev'ry ill,

Who takes this gift with soul of purity,--"
The veil of Minstrelsy from Truth's own hand,
Of sunlight and of morn's sweet fragrance plann'd.

"And when thou and thy friends at fierce noon-day

Are parched with heat, straight cast it in the air!
Then Zephyr's cooling breath will round you play,

Distilling balm and flowers' sweet incense there;
The tones of earthly woe will die away,

The grave become a bed of clouds so fair,
To sing to rest life's billows will be seen,
The day be lovely, and the night serene."--

Come, then, my friends! and whensoe'er ye find

Upon your way increase life's heavy load;
If by fresh-waken'd blessings flowers are twin'd

Around your path, and golden fruits bestow'd,
We'll seek the coming day with joyous mind!

Thus blest, we'll live, thus wander on our road
And when our grandsons sorrow o'er our tomb,
Our love, to glad their bosoms, still shall bloom.

 Music from her breast, vibrating
Soundseared into burnished velvet.
Silent hips deceiving fools.
Rivulets of trickling ecstacy
From the alabaster pools of Jazz
Where music cools hot souls.
Eyes more articulately silent
Than Medusa's thousand tongues.
A bridge of eyes, consenting smiles
reveal her presence singing
Of cool remembrance, happy balls
Wrapped in swinging
Jazz
Her music...
Jazz.

 1
HARK! some wild trumpeter—some strange musician, 
Hovering unseen in air, vibrates capricious tunes to-night. 

I hear thee, trumpeter—listening, alert, I catch thy notes, 
Now pouring, whirling like a tempest round me, 
Now low, subdued—now in the distance lost.

2
Come nearer, bodiless one—haply, in thee resounds 
Some dead composer—haply thy pensive life 
Was fill’d with aspirations high—unform’d ideals, 
Waves, oceans musical, chaotically surging, 
That now, ecstatic ghost, close to me bending, thy cornet echoing, pealing,
Gives out to no one’s ears but mine—but freely gives to mine, 
That I may thee translate. 

3
Blow, trumpeter, free and clear—I follow thee, 
While at thy liquid prelude, glad, serene, 
The fretting world, the streets, the noisy hours of day, withdraw;
A holy calm descends, like dew, upon me, 
I walk, in cool refreshing night, the walks of Paradise, 
I scent the grass, the moist air, and the roses; 
Thy song expands my numb’d, imbonded spirit—thou freest, launchest me, 
Floating and basking upon Heaven’s lake.

4
Blow again, trumpeter! and for my sensuous eyes, 
Bring the old pageants—show the feudal world. 

What charm thy music works!—thou makest pass before me, 
Ladies and cavaliers long dead—barons are in their castle halls—the troubadours
 are
 singing; 
Arm’d knights go forth to redress wrongs—some in quest of the Holy Grail:
I see the tournament—I see the contestants, encased in heavy armor, seated on
 stately,
 champing horses; 
I hear the shouts—the sounds of blows and smiting steel: 
I see the Crusaders’ tumultuous armies—Hark! how the cymbals clang! 
Lo! where the monks walk in advance, bearing the cross on high! 

5
Blow again, trumpeter! and for thy theme,
Take now the enclosing theme of all—the solvent and the setting; 
Love, that is pulse of all—the sustenace and the pang; 
The heart of man and woman all for love; 
No other theme but love—knitting, enclosing, all-diffusing love. 

O, how the immortal phantoms crowd around me!
I see the vast alembic ever working—I see and know the flames that heat the world; 
The glow, the blush, the beating hearts of lovers, 
So blissful happy some—and some so silent, dark, and nigh to death: 
Love, that is all the earth to lovers—Love, that mocks time and space; 
Love, that is day and night—Love, that is sun and moon and stars;
Love, that is crimson, sumptuous, sick with perfume; 
No other words, but words of love—no other thought but Love. 

6
Blow again, trumpeter—conjure war’s Wild alarums. 
Swift to thy spell, a shuddering hum like distant thunder rolls; 
Lo! where the arm’d men hasten—Lo! mid the clouds of dust, the glint of
 bayonets;
I see the grime-faced cannoniers—I mark the rosy flash amid the smoke—I hear the
 cracking of the guns: 
—Nor war alone—thy fearful music-song, wild player, brings every sight of fear, 
The deeds of ruthless brigands—rapine, murder—I hear the cries for help! 
I see ships foundering at sea—I behold on deck, and below deck, the terrible
 tableaux. 

7
O trumpeter! methinks I am myself the instrument thou playest!
Thou melt’st my heart, my brain—thou movest, drawest, changest them, at will: 
And now thy sullen notes send darkness through me; 
Thou takest away all cheering light—all hope: 
I see the enslaved, the overthrown, the hurt, the opprest of the whole earth; 
I feel the measureless shame and humiliation of my race—it becomes all mine;
Mine too the revenges of humanity—the wrongs of ages—baffled feuds and hatreds; 
Utter defeat upon me weighs—all lost! the foe victorious! 
(Yet ’mid the ruins Pride colossal stands, unshaken to the last; 
Endurance, resolution, to the last.) 

8
Now, trumpeter, for thy close,
Vouchsafe a higher strain than any yet; 
Sing to my soul—renew its languishing faith and hope; 
Rouse up my slow belief—give me some vision of the future; 
Give me, for once, its prophecy and joy. 

O glad, exulting, culminating song!
A vigor more than earth’s is in thy notes! 
Marches of victory—man disenthrall’d—the conqueror at last! 
Hymns to the universal God, from universal Man—all joy! 
A reborn race appears—a perfect World, all joy! 
Women and Men, in wisdom, innocence and health—all joy!
Riotous, laughing bacchanals, fill’d with joy! 

War, sorrow, suffering gone—The rank earth purged—nothing but joy left! 
The ocean fill’d with joy—the atmosphere all joy! 
Joy! Joy! in freedom, worship, love! Joy in the ecstacy of life! 
Enough to merely be! Enough to breathe!
Joy! Joy! all over Joy!

CANZONE IV.
 
Si è debile il filo a cui s' attene.
 
HE GRIEVES IN ABSENCE FROM LAURA.
 
 
The thread on which my weary life dependsSo fragile is and weak,If none kind succour lends,Soon 'neath the painful burden will it break;Since doom'd to take my sad farewell of her,In whom begins and endsMy bliss, one hope, to stirMy sinking spirit from its black despair,Whispers, "Though lost awhileThat form so dear and fair,Sad soul! the trial bear,For thee e'en yet the sun may brightly shine,And days more happy smile,Once more the lost loved treasure may be thine."This thought awhile sustains me, but againTo fail me and forsake in worse excess of pain.
 
Time flies apace: the silent hours and swiftSo urge his journey on,Short span to me is leftEven to think how quick to death I run;Scarce, in the orient heaven, yon mountain crestSmiles in the sun's first ray,When, in the adverse west,His long round run, we see his light decay[Pg 41]So small of life the space,So frail and clogg'd with woe,To mortal man below,That, when I find me from that beauteous faceThus torn by fate's decree,Unable at a wish with her to be,So poor the profit that old comforts give,I know not how I brook in such a state to live.
 
Each place offends, save where alone I seeThose eyes so sweet and bright,Which still shall bear the keyOf the soft thoughts I hide from other sight;And, though hard exile harder weighs on me,Whatever mood betide,I ask no theme beside,For all is hateful that I since have seen.What rivers and what heights,What shores and seas betweenMe rise and those twin lights,Which made the storm and blackness of my daysOne beautiful serene,To which tormented Memory still strays:Free as my life then pass'd from every care,So hard and heavy seems my present lot to bear.
 
Alas! self-parleying thus, I but renewThe warm wish in my mind,Which first within it grewThe day I left my better half behind:If by long absence love is quench'd, then whoGuides me to the old bait,Whence all my sorrows date?Why rather not my lips in silence seal'd?By finest crystal ne'erWere hidden tints reveal'dSo faithfully and fair,As my sad spirit naked lays and bareIts every secret part,And the wild sweetness thrilling in my heart,Through eyes which, restlessly, o'erfraught with tears,Seek her whose sight alone with instant gladness cheers.
 
[Pg 42]Strange pleasure!—yet so often that withinThe human heart to reignIs found—to woo and winEach new brief toy that men most sigh to gain:And I am one from sadness who reliefSo draw, as if it stillMy study were to fillThese eyes with softness, and this heart with grief:As weighs with me in chiefNay rather with sole force,The language and the lightOf those dear eyes to urge me on that course,So where its fullest sourceLong sorrow finds, I fix my often sight,And thus my heart and eyes like sufferers be,Which in love's path have been twin pioneers to me.
 
The golden tresses which should make, I ween,The sun with envy pine;And the sweet look serene,Where love's own rays so bright and burning shine,That, ere its time, they make my strength decline,Each wise and truthful word,Rare in the world, which lateShe smiling gave, no more are seen or heard.But this of all my fateIs hardest to endure,That here I am deniedThe gentle greeting, angel-like and pure,Which still to virtue's sideInclined my heart with modest magic lure;So that, in sooth, I nothing hope againOf comfort more than this, how best to bear my pain.
 
And—with fit ecstacy my loss to mourn—The soft hand's snowy charm,The finely-rounded arm,The winning ways, by turns, that quiet scorn,Chaste anger, proud humility adorn,The fair young breast that shrinedIntellect pure and high,Are now all hid the rugged Alp behind.My trust were vain to tryAnd see her ere I die,[Pg 43]For, though awhile he dareSuch dreams indulge, Hope ne'er can constant be,But falls back in despairHer, whom Heaven honours, there again to see,Where virtue, courtesy in her best mix,And where so oft I pray my future home to fix.
 
My Song! if thou shalt see,Our common lady in that dear retreat,We both may hope that sheWill stretch to thee her fair and fav'ring hand,Whence I so far am bann'd;—Touch, touch it not, but, reverent at her feet,Tell her I will be there with earliest speed,A man of flesh and blood, or else a spirit freed.
 
Macgregor.

 What freeman knoweth freedom? Never he 
Whose father's father through long lives have reigned 
O'er kingdoms which mere heritage attained. 
Though from his youth to age he roam as free 
As winds, he dreams not freedom's ecstacy. 
But he whose birth was in a nation chained 
For centuries; where every breath was drained 
From breasts of slaves which knew not there could be 
Such thing as freedom,--he beholds the light 
Burst, dazzling; though the glory blind his sight 
He knows the joy. Fools laugh because he reels 
And weilds confusedly his infant will; 
The wise man watching with a heart that feels 
Says: "Cure for freedom's harms is freedom still."

 To be a great musician you must be a man of moods,
You have to be, to understand sonatas and etudes.
To execute pianos and to fiddle with success,
With sympathy and feeling you must fairly effervesce;
It was so with Paganini, Remenzi and Cho-pang,
And so it was with Peterkin Von Gabriel O’Lang.

Monsieur O’Lang had sympathy to such a great degree.
No virtuoso ever lived was quite so great as he;
He was either very happy or very, very sad;
He was always feeling heavenly or oppositely bad;
In fact, so sympathetic that he either must enthuse
Or have the dumps; feel ecstacy or flounder in the blues.

So all agreed that Peterkin Von Gabriel O’Lang
Was the greatest violinist in the virtuoso gang.
The ladies bought his photographs and put them on the shelves
In the place of greatest honor, right beside those of themselves;
They gladly gave ten dollars for a stiff backed parquette chair.
And sat in mouth-wide happiness a-looking at his hair.

I say “a looking at his hair,” I mean just what I say,
For no one ever had a chance to hear P. O’Lang play;
So subtle was his sympathy, so highly strung was he,
His moods were barometric to the very last degree;
The slightest change of weather would react upon his brain,
And fill his soul with joyousness or murder it with pain.

And when his soul was troubled he had not the heart to play.
But let his head droop sadly down in such a soulful way,
That every one that saw him declared it was worth twice
(And some there were said three times) the large admission price;
And all were quite unanimous and said it would be crude
For such a man to fiddle when he wasn’t in the mood.

But when his soul was filled with joy he tossed his flowing hair
And waved his violin-bow in great circles in the air;
Ecstaticly he flourished it, for so his spirit thrilled,
Thus only could he show the joy with which his heart was filled;
And so he waved it up and down and ’round and out and in,—
But he never, never, NEVER touched it to his violin!

 O month whose promise and fulfilment blend, 
And burst in one! it seems the earth can store 
In all her roomy house no treasure more; 
Of all her wealth no farthing have to spend 
On fruit, when once this stintless flowering end. 
And yet no tiniest flower shall fall before 
It hath made ready at its hidden core 
Its tithe of seed, which we may count and tend 
Till harvest. Joy of blossomed love, for thee 
Seems it no fairer thing can yet have birth? 
No room is left for deeper ecstacy? 
Watch well if seeds grow strong, to scatter free 
Germs for thy future summers on the earth. 
A joy which is but joy soon comes to dearth.