10 Best Famous Grottos Poems

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

• All Famous Grottos Poems

 That which he did not feel, he would not sing; 
What most he felt, religion it was to hide 
In a dumb darkling grotto, where the spring 
Of tremulous tears, arising unespied, 
Became a holy well that durst not glide 
Into the day with moil or murmuring; 
Whereto, as if to some unlawful thing, 
He sto]e, musing or praying at its side. 

But in the sun he sang with cheerful heart, 
Of coloured season and the whirling sphere, 
Warm household habitude and human mirth, 
The whole faith-blooded mystery of earth; 
And I, who had his secret, still could hear 
The grotto's whisper low through every part.

 MY Martial owns a garden, famed to please,
Beyond the glades of the Hesperides;
Along Janiculum lies the chosen block
Where the cool grottos trench the hanging rock.
The moderate summit, something plain and bare,
Tastes overhead of a serener air;
And while the clouds besiege the vales below,
Keeps the clear heaven and doth with sunshine glow.
To the June stars that circle in the skies
The dainty roofs of that tall villa rise.
Hence do the seven imperial hills appear;
And you may view the whole of Rome from here;
Beyond, the Alban and the Tuscan hills;
And the cool groves and the cool falling rills,
Rubre Fidenae, and with virgin blood
Anointed once Perenna's orchard wood.
Thence the Flaminian, the Salarian way,
Stretch far broad below the dome of day;
And lo! the traveller toiling towards his home;
And all unheard, the chariot speeds to Rome!
For here no whisper of the wheels; and tho'
The Mulvian Bridge, above the Tiber's flow,
Hangs all in sight, and down the sacred stream
The sliding barges vanish like a dream,
The seaman's shrilling pipe not enters here,
Nor the rude cries of porters on the pier.
And if so rare the house, how rarer far
The welcome and the weal that therein are!
So free the access, the doors so widely thrown,
You half imagine all to be your own.

     What slender youth, besprinkled with perfume,
         Courts you on roses in some grotto's shade?
       Fair Pyrrha, say, for whom
         Your yellow hair you braid,
     So trim, so simple! Ah! how oft shall he
       Lament that faith can fail, that gods can change,
         Viewing the rough black sea
           With eyes to tempests strange,
     Who now is basking in your golden smile,
       And dreams of you still fancy-free, still kind,
         Poor fool, nor knows the guile
           Of the deceitful wind!
     Woe to the eyes you dazzle without cloud
       Untried! For me, they show in yonder fane
         My dripping garments, vow'd
           To Him who curbs the main.