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Best Famous Great Grandfather Poems

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

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Written by Pablo Neruda | Create an image from this poem

Cats Dream

 How neatly a cat sleeps,
Sleeps with its paws and its posture,
Sleeps with its wicked claws,
And with its unfeeling blood,
Sleeps with ALL the rings a series 
Of burnt circles which have formed 
The odd geology of its sand-colored tail.

I should like to sleep like a cat,
With all the fur of time,
With a tongue rough as flint,
With the dry sex of fire and 
After speaking to no one,
Stretch myself over the world,
Over roofs and landscapes,
With a passionate desire
To hunt the rats in my dreams.

I have seen how the cat asleep
Would undulate, how the night flowed 
Through it like dark water and at times, 
It was going to fall or possibly 
Plunge into the bare deserted snowdrifts.

Sometimes it grew so much in sleep
Like a tiger's great-grandfather,
And would leap in the darkness over
Rooftops, clouds and volcanoes.

Sleep, sleep cat of the night with 
Episcopal ceremony and your stone-carved moustache.
Take care of all our dreams
Control the obscurity
Of our slumbering prowess
With your relentless HEART
And the great ruff of your tail.


Written by Hilaire Belloc | Create an image from this poem

Hildebrand

 Who was frightened by a Passing Motor, and was brought to Reason 

"Oh murder! What was that, Papa!"
"My child, It was a Motor-Car,
A most Ingenious Toy!
Designed to Captivate and Charm
Much rather than to rouse Alarm
In any English Boy.

"What would your Great Grandfather who
Was Aide-de-Camp to General Brue,
And lost a leg at Waterloo,
And Quatre-Bras and Ligny too!
And died at Trafalgar!-
What would he have remarked to hear
His Young Descendant shriek with fear,
Because he happened to be near
A Harmless Motor-Car!
But do not fret about it! Come!
We'll off to Town
And purchase some!"
Written by William Butler Yeats | Create an image from this poem

The Seven Sages

 The First. My great-grandfather spoke to Edmund Burke
 In Grattan's house.
The Second. My great-grandfather shared
 A pot-house bench with Oliver Goldsmith once.
The Third. My great-grandfather's father talked of music,
 Drank tar-water with the Bishop of Cloyne.
The Fourth. But mine saw Stella once.
The Fifth. Whence came our thought?
The Sixth. From four great minds that hated Whiggery.
The Fifth. Burke was a Whig.
The Sixth. Whether they knew or not,
 Goldsmith and Burke, Swift and the Bishop of Cloyne
 All hated Whiggery; but what is Whiggery?
 A levelling, rancorous, rational sort of mind
 That never looked out of the eye of a saint
 Or out of drunkard's eye.
The Seventh. All's Whiggery now,
 But we old men are massed against the world.
The First. American colonies, Ireland, France and India
 Harried, and Burke's great melody against it.
The Second. Oliver Goldsmith sang what he had seen,
 Roads full of beggars, cattle in the fields,
 But never saw the trefoil stained with blood,
 The avenging leaf those fields raised up against it.
The Fourth. The tomb of Swift wears it away.
The Third. A voice
 Soft as the rustle of a reed from Cloyne
 That gathers volume; now a thunder-clap.
The Sixtb. What schooling had these four?
The Seventh. They walked the roads
 Mimicking what they heard, as children mimic;
 They understood that wisdom comes of beggary.
Written by Robert Desnos | Create an image from this poem

Dove in the Arch

 Cursed!
be the father of the bride
of the blacksmith who forged the iron for the axe
with which the woodsman hacked down the oak
from which the bed was carved
in which was conceived the great-grandfather
of the man who was driving the carriage
in which your mother met your father.
Written by Robert William Service | Create an image from this poem

The Centenarian

 Great Grandfather was ninety-nine
 And so it was our one dread,
That though his health was superfine
 He'd fail to make the hundred.
Though he was not a rolling stone
 No moss he seemed to gather:
A patriarch of brawn and bone
 Was Great Grandfather.

He should have been senile and frail
 Instead of hale and hearty;
But no, he loved a mug of ale,
 A boisterous old party.
'As frisky as a cold,' said he,
 'A man's allotted span
I've lived but now I plan to be
 A Centenarian.'

Then one night when I called on him
 Oh what a change I saw!
His head was bowed, his eye was dim,
 Down-fallen was his jaw.
Said he: 'Leave me to die, I pray;
 I'm no more bloody use . . .
For in my mouth I found today--
 A tooth that's loose.'



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