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Best Famous Give And Take Poems

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

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Written by Ralph Waldo Emerson | Create an image from this poem

Celestial Love

 Higher far,
Upward, into the pure realm,
Over sun or star,
Over the flickering Dæmon film,
Thou must mount for love,—
Into vision which all form
In one only form dissolves;
In a region where the wheel,
On which all beings ride,
Visibly revolves;
Where the starred eternal worm
Girds the world with bound and term;
Where unlike things are like,
When good and ill,
And joy and moan,
Melt into one.
There Past, Present, Future, shoot Triple blossoms from one root Substances at base divided In their summits are united, There the holy Essence rolls, One through separated souls, And the sunny &Aelig;on sleeps Folding nature in its deeps, And every fair and every good Known in part or known impure To men below, In their archetypes endure.
The race of gods, Or those we erring own, Are shadows flitting up and down In the still abodes.
The circles of that sea are laws, Which publish and which hide the Cause.
Pray for a beam Out of that sphere Thee to guide and to redeem.
O what a load Of care and toil By lying Use bestowed, From his shoulders falls, who sees The true astronomy, The period of peace! Counsel which the ages kept, Shall the well-born soul accept.
As the overhanging trees Fill the lake with images, As garment draws the garment's hem Men their fortunes bring with them; By right or wrong, Lands and goods go to the strong; Property will brutely draw Still to the proprietor, Silver to silver creep and wind, And kind to kind, Nor less the eternal poles Of tendency distribute souls.
There need no vows to bind Whom not each other seek but find.
They give and take no pledge or oath, Nature is the bond of both.
No prayer persuades, no flattery fawns, Their noble meanings are their pawns.
Plain and cold is their address, Power have they for tenderness, And so thoroughly is known Each others' purpose by his own, They can parley without meeting, Need is none of forms of greeting, They can well communicate In their innermost estate; When each the other shall avoid, Shall each by each be most enjoyed.
Not with scarfs or perfumed gloves Do these celebrate their loves, Not by jewels, feasts, and savors, Not by ribbons or by favors, But by the sun-spark on the sea, And the cloud-shadow on the lea, The soothing lapse of morn to mirk, And the cheerful round of work.
Their cords of love so public are, They intertwine the farthest star.
The throbbing sea, the quaking earth, Yield sympathy and signs of mirth; Is none so high, so mean is none, But feels and seals this union.
Even the tell Furies are appeased, The good applaud, the lost are eased.
Love's hearts are faithful, but not fond, Bound for the just, but not beyond; Not glad, as the low-loving herd, Of self in others still preferred, But they have heartily designed The benefit of broad mankind.
And they serve men austerely, After their own genius, clearly, Without a false humility; For this is love's nobility, Not to scatter bread and gold, Goods and raiment bought and sold, But to hold fast his simple sense, And speak the speech of innocence, And with hand, and body, and blood, To make his bosom-counsel good: For he that feeds men, serveth few, He serves all, who dares be true.

Written by David Herbert Lawrence | Create an image from this poem

The Revolutionary

 Look at them standing there in authority 
The pale-faces, 
As if it could have any effect any more.
Pale-face authority, Caryatids, Pillars of white bronze standing rigid, lest the skies fall.
What a job they've got to keep it up.
Their poor, idealist foreheads naked capitals To the entablature of clouded heaven.
When the skies are going to fall, fall they will In a great chute and rush of d?b?cle downwards.
Oh and I wish the high and super-gothic heavens would come down now, The heavens above, that we yearn to and aspire to.
I do not yearn, nor aspire, for I am a blind Samson.
And what is daylight to me that I should look skyward? Only I grope among you, pale-faces, caryatids, as among a forest of pillars that hold up the dome of high ideal heaven Which is my prison, And all these human pillars of loftiness, going stiff, metallic-stunned with the weight of their responsibility I stumble against them.
Stumbling-blocks, painful ones.
To keep on holding up this ideal civilisation Must be excruciating: unless you stiffen into metal, when it is easier to stand stock rigid than to move.
This is why I tug at them, individually, with my arm round their waist The human pillars.
They are not stronger than I am, blind Samson.
The house sways.
I shall be so glad when it comes down.
I am so tired of the limitations of their Infinite.
I am so sick of the pretensions of the Spirit.
I am so weary of pale-face importance.
Am I not blind, at the round-turning mill? Then why should I fear their pale faces? Or love the effulgence of their holy light, The sun of their righteousness? To me, all faces are dark, All lips are dusky and valved.
Save your lips, O pale-faces, Which are slips of metal, Like slits in an automatic-machine, you columns of give-and-take.
To me, the earth rolls ponderously, superbly Coming my way without forethought or afterthought.
To me, men's footfalls fall with a dull, soft rumble, ominous and lovely, Coming my way.
But not your foot-falls, pale-faces, They are a clicketing of bits of disjointed metal Working in motion.
To me, men are palpable, invisible nearnesses in the dark Sending out magnetic vibrations of warning, pitch-dark throbs of invitation.
But you, pale-faces, You are painful, harsh-surfaced pillars that give off nothing except rigidity, And I jut against you if I try to move, for you are everywhere, and I am blind, Sightless among all your visuality, You staring caryatids.
See if I don't bring you down, and all your high opinion And all your ponderous roofed-in ******** of right and wrong Your particular heavens, With a smash.
See if your skies aren't falling! And my head, at least, is thick enough to stand it, the smash.
See if I don't move under a dark and nude, vast heaven When your world is in ruins, under your fallen skies.
Caryatids, pale-faces.
See if I am not Lord of the dark and moving hosts Before I die.
Written by William Butler Yeats | Create an image from this poem

Sixteen Dead Men

 O but we talked at large before
The sixteen men were shot,
But who can talk of give and take,
What should be and what not
While those dead men are loitering there
To stir the boiling pot?

You say that we should still the land
Till Germany's overcome;
But who is there to argue that
Now Pearse is deaf and dumb?
And is their logic to outweigh
MacDonagh's bony thumb?

How could you dream they'd listen
That have an ear alone
For those new comrades they have found,
Lord Edward and Wolfe Tone,
Or meddle with our give and take
That converse bone to bone?
Written by Robert Louis Stevenson | Create an image from this poem

I Do Not Fear To Own Me Kin

 I DO not fear to own me kin
To the glad clods in which spring flowers begin;
Or to my brothers, the great trees,
That speak with pleasant voices in the breeze,
Loud talkers with the winds that pass;
Or to my sister, the deep grass.
Of such I am, of such my body is, That thrills to reach its lips to kiss.
That gives and takes with wind and sun and rain And feels keen pleasure to the point of pain.
Of such are these, The brotherhood of stalwart trees, The humble family of flowers, That make a light of shadowy bowers Or star the edges of the bent: They give and take sweet colour and sweet scent; They joy to shed themselves abroad; And tree and flower and grass and sod Thrill and leap and live and sing With silent voices in the Spring.
Hence I not fear to yield my breath, Since all is still unchanged by death; Since in some pleasant valley I may be, Clod beside clod, or tree by tree, Long ages hence, with her I love this hour; And feel a lively joy to share With her the sun and rain and air, To taste her quiet neighbourhood As the dumb things of field and wood, The clod, the tree, and starry flower, Alone of all things have the power.
Written by William Strode | Create an image from this poem

A Riddle: On A Kiss

 What thing is that, nor felt nor seene
Till it bee given? a present for a Queene:
A fine conceite to give and take the like:
The giver yet is farther for to seeke;
The taker doth possesse nothing the more,
The giver hee hath nothing lesse in store:
And given once that nature hath it still,
You cannot keepe or leave it if you will:
The workmanshippe is counted very small,
The labour is esteemed naught at all:
But to conclude, this gift is such indeede,
That, if some see't 'twill make theyr hearts to bleede

Written by Robert Louis Stevenson | Create an image from this poem

Let Love Go If Go She Will

 LET love go, if go she will.
Seek not, O fool, her wanton flight to stay.
Of all she gives and takes away The best remains behind her still.
The best remains behind; in vain Joy she may give and take again, Joy she may take and leave us pain, If yet she leave behind The constant mind To meet all fortunes nobly, to endure All things with a good heart, and still be pure, Still to be foremost in the foremost cause, And still be worthy of the love that was.
Love coming is omnipotent indeed, But not Love going.
Let her go.
The seed Springs in the favouring Summer air, and grows, And waxes strong; and when the Summer goes, Remains, a perfect tree.
Joy she may give and take again, Joy she may take and leave us pain.
O Love, and what care we? For one thing thou hast given, O Love, one thing Is ours that nothing can remove; And as the King discrowned is still a King, The unhappy lover still preserves his love.
Written by Robert Burns | Create an image from this poem

303. Song—The Gowden Locks of Anna

 YESTREEN I had a pint o’ wine,
 A place where body saw na;
Yestreen lay on this breast o’ mine
 The gowden locks of Anna.
The hungry Jew in wilderness, Rejoicing o’er his manna, Was naething to my hinny bliss Upon the lips of Anna.
Ye monarchs, take the East and West Frae Indus to Savannah; Gie me, within my straining grasp, The melting form of Anna: There I’ll despise Imperial charms, An Empress or Sultana, While dying raptures in her arms I give and take wi’ Anna! Awa, thou flaunting God of Day! Awa, thou pale Diana! Ilk Star, gae hide thy twinkling ray, When I’m to meet my Anna! Come, in thy raven plumage, Night, (Sun, Moon, and Stars, withdrawn a’;) And bring an angel-pen to write My transports with my Anna! POSTSCRIPTThe Kirk an’ State may join an’ tell, To do sic things I maunna: The Kirk an’ State may gae to hell, And I’ll gae to my Anna.
She is the sunshine o’ my e’e, To live but her I canna; Had I on earth but wishes three, The first should be my Anna.
Written by Robert Louis Stevenson | Create an image from this poem

In The Green And Gallant Spring

 IN the green and gallant Spring,
Love and the lyre I thought to sing,
And kisses sweet to give and take
By the flowery hawthorn brake.
Now is russet Autumn here, Death and the grave and winter drear, And I must ponder here aloof While the rain is on the roof.