10 Best Famous Gracing Poems
Here is a collection of the top 10 all-time best famous Gracing poems. This is a select list of the best famous Gracing poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Gracing poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of gracing poems.
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Written by
Robert Frost |
To Ridgely Torrence
On Last Looking into His 'Hesperides'
I often see flowers from a passing car
That are gone before I can tell what they are.
I want to get out of the train and go back
To see what they were beside the track.
I name all the flowers I am sure they weren't;
Not fireweed loving where woods have burnt--
Not bluebells gracing a tunnel mouth--
Not lupine living on sand and drouth.
Was something brushed across my mind
That no one on earth will ever find?
Heaven gives it glimpses only to those
Not in position to look too close.
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Written by
Francesco Petrarch |
SONNET XXXIX. Io pensava assai destro esser sull' ale. UNWORTHY TO HAVE LOOKED UPON HER, HE IS STILL MORE SO TO ATTEMPT HER PRAISES. I thought me apt and firm of wing to rise(Not of myself, but him who trains us all)In song, to numbers fitting the fair thrallWhich Love once fasten'd and which Death unties.Slow now and frail, the task too sorely tries,As a great weight upon a sucker small:"Who leaps," I said, "too high may midway fall:Man ill accomplishes what Heaven denies."So far the wing of genius ne'er could fly—Poor style like mine and faltering tongue much less—As Nature rose, in that rare fabric, high.Love follow'd Nature with such full successIn gracing her, no claim could I advanceEven to look, and yet was bless'd by chance. Macgregor.
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Written by
Robert Burns |
Chorus.—I’m o’er young, I’m o’er young,
I’m o’er young to marry yet;
I’m o’er young, ’twad be a sin
To tak me frae my mammy yet.
I AM my mammny’s ae bairn,
Wi’ unco folk I weary, sir;
And lying in a man’s bed,
I’m fley’d it mak me eerie, sir.
I’m o’er young, &c.
My mammie coft me a new gown,
The kirk maun hae the gracing o’t;
Were I to lie wi’ you, kind Sir,
I’m feared ye’d spoil the lacing o’t.
I’m o’er young, &c.
Hallowmass is come and gane,
The nights are lang in winter, sir,
And you an’ I in ae bed,
In trowth, I dare na venture, sir.
I’m o’er young, &c.
Fu’ loud an’ shill the frosty wind
Blaws thro’ the leafless timmer, sir;
But if ye come this gate again;
I’ll aulder be gin simmer, sir.
I’m o’er young, &c.
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Written by
Robert William Service |
They asked the Bard of Ayr to dine;
The banquet hall was fit and fine,
With gracing it a Lord;
The poet came; his face was grim
To find the place reserved for him
Was at the butler's board.
So when the gentry called him in,
He entered with a knavish grin
And sipped a glass of wine;
But when they asked would he recite
Something of late he'd chanced to write
He ettled to decline.
Then with a sly, sardonic look
He opened up a little book
Containing many a gem;
And as they sat in raiment fine,
So smug and soused with rosy wine,
This verse he read to them.
'You see yon birkie caw'ed a Lord,
Who struts and stares an' a' that,
Though hundreds worship at his word
He's but a coof for a' that.
For a' that and a' that,
A man's a man for a' that.
He pointed at that portly Grace
Who glared with apoplectic face,
While others stared with gloom;
Then having paid them all he owed,
Burns, Bard of Homespun, smiled and strode
Superbly from the room.
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