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Best Famous Hawthorns Poems

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

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Written by Ted Hughes | Create an image from this poem

The Owl

 I saw my world again through your eyes
As I would see it again through your children's eyes.
Through your eyes it was foreign.
Plain hedge hawthorns were peculiar aliens, A mystery of peculiar lore and doings.
Anything wild, on legs, in your eyes Emerged at a point of exclamation As if it had appeared to dinner guests In the middle of the table.
Common mallards Were artefacts of some unearthliness, Their wooings were a hypnagogic film Unreeled by the river.
Impossible To comprehend the comfort of their feet In the freezing water.
You were a camera Recording reflections you could not fathom.
I made my world perform its utmost for you.
You took it all in with an incredulous joy Like a mother handed her new baby By the midwife.
Your frenzy made me giddy.
It woke up my dumb, ecstatic boyhood Of fifteen years before.
My masterpiece Came that black night on the Grantchester road.
I sucked the throaty thin woe of a rabbit Out of my wetted knuckle, by a copse Where a tawny owl was enquiring.
Suddenly it swooped up, splaying its pinions Into my face, taking me for a post.


Written by Robert Burns | Create an image from this poem

328. Poem on Pastoral Poetry

 HAIL, Poesie! thou Nymph reserv’d!
In chase o’ thee, what crowds hae swerv’d
Frae common sense, or sunk enerv’d
 ’Mang heaps o’ clavers:
And och! o’er aft thy joes hae starv’d,
 ’Mid a’ thy favours!


Say, Lassie, why, thy train amang,
While loud the trump’s heroic clang,
And sock or buskin skelp alang
 To death or marriage;
Scarce ane has tried the shepherd-sang
 But wi’ miscarriage?


In Homer’s craft Jock Milton thrives;
Eschylus’ pen Will Shakespeare drives;
Wee Pope, the knurlin’, till him rives
 Horatian fame;
In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives
 Even Sappho’s flame.
But thee, Theocritus, wha matches? They’re no herd’s ballats, Maro’s catches; Squire Pope but busks his skinklin’ patches O’ heathen tatters: I pass by hunders, nameless wretches, That ape their betters.
In this braw age o’ wit and lear, Will nane the Shepherd’s whistle mair Blaw sweetly in its native air, And rural grace; And, wi’ the far-fam’d Grecian, share A rival place? Yes! there is ane; a Scottish callan! There’s ane; come forrit, honest Allan! Thou need na jouk behint the hallan, A chiel sae clever; The teeth o’ time may gnaw Tantallan, But thou’s for ever.
Thou paints auld Nature to the nines, In thy sweet Caledonian lines; Nae gowden stream thro’ myrtle twines, Where Philomel, While nightly breezes sweep the vines, Her griefs will tell! In gowany glens thy burnie strays, Where bonie lasses bleach their claes, Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes, Wi’ hawthorns gray, Where blackbirds join the shepherd’s lays, At close o’ day.
Thy rural loves are Nature’s sel’; Nae bombast spates o’ nonsense swell; Nae snap conceits, but that sweet spell O’ witchin love, That charm that can the strongest quell, The sternest move.
Written by Rg Gregory | Create an image from this poem

hawthorns and the like

 as the landscape falls away
the hawthorn in its gnarly fashion
is content to stand alone
berries (the very tint of passion)
that birds are wont to feed upon
bloodstain the shortened day

a stubborn tree that speaks
of crusty age - its thorns alert
to any too-spirited invasion
who comes (it seems to say) gets hurt 
not those birds with juicy beaks
insects swarm – by invitation

come may though – winter fading
may tree with its prickly pride
sprouts white in prim rejoicing
hunches around at eastertide
spry uncle with (brightly voicing)
maids and suchlike masquerading

when hedged in (deprived of pique)
its softer nature greenly oozing
it’s host to children’s fingers
(their tasty bread and cheesing)
first name means strength in greek
one of nature’s best harbingers

many names to match its guises
whitethorn quickthorn ske **** hag
rich too in its folklore listings
much belies its tetchy tag
its wry wood (tangled twistings)
pleurisy-cure a book advises

old men have a hawthorn look
pretend to a rough vernacular
deny once-selves gentle as fairies
wince at their own spectacular
maydays (wistful gobbledegook)
as the young feed off their berries
Written by Robert Burns | Create an image from this poem

266. Song—The Banks of Nith

 THE THAMES flows proudly to the sea,
 Where royal cities stately stand;
But sweeter flows the Nith to me,
 Where Comyns ance had high command.
When shall I see that honour’d land, That winding stream I love so dear! Must wayward Fortune’s adverse hand For ever, ever keep me here! How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales, Where bounding hawthorns gaily bloom; And sweetly spread thy sloping dales, Where lambkins wanton through the broom.
Tho’ wandering now must be my doom, Far from thy bonie banks and braes, May there my latest hours consume, Amang the friends of early days!

Book: Shattered Sighs