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Best Famous Heartfelt Poems

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

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Written by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Create an image from this poem

The Day is Done

THE DAY is done and the darkness 
Falls from the wings of Night  
As a feather is wafted downward 
From an eagle in his flight.
I see the lights of the village 5 Gleam through the rain and the mist And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me That my soul cannot resist: A feeling of sadness and longing That is not akin to pain 10 And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.
Come read to me some poem Some simple and heartfelt lay That shall soothe this restless feeling 15 And banish the thoughts of day.
Not from the grand old masters Not from the bards sublime Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of Time.
20 For like strains of martial music Their mighty thoughts suggest Life's endless toil and endeavor; And to-night I long for rest.
Read from some humbler poet 25 Whose songs gushed from his heart As showers from the clouds of summer Or tears from the eyelids start; Who through long days of labor And nights devoid of ease 30 Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies.
Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care And come like the benediction 35 That follows after prayer.
Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice.
40 And the night shall be filled with music And the cares that infest the day Shall fold their tents like the Arabs And as silently steal away.

Written by Delmira Agustini | Create an image from this poem

El Nudo (The Knot)

Spanish    Su idilio fue una larga sonrisa a cuatro labios…En el regazo cálido de rubia primaveraAmáronse talmente que entre sus dedos sabiosPalpitó la divina forma de la Quimera.
    En los palacios fúlgidos de las tardes en calmaHablábanse un lenguaje sentido como un lloro,Y se besaban hondo hasta morderse el alma!…Las horas deshojáronse como flores de oro,    Y el Destino interpuso sus dos manos heladas…Ah! los cuerpos cedieron, mas las almas trenzadasSon el más intrincado nudo que nunca fue…En lucha con sus locos enredos sobrehumanosLas Furias de la vida se rompieron las manosY fatigó sus dedos supremos Ananké…              English    Their idyll was a smile of four lips…In the warm lap of blond springThey loved such that between their wise fingersthe divine form of Chimera trembled.
    In the glimmering palaces of quiet afternoonsThey spoke in a language heartfelt as weeping,And they kissed each other deeply, biting the soul!The hours fluttered away like petals of gold,    Then Fate interposed its two icy hands…Ah! the bodies yielded, but tangled soulsAre the most intricate knot that never unfolds…In strife with its mad superhuman entanglements,Life’s Furies rent their coupled handsAnd wearied your powerful fingers, AnankéAnanké: Goddess (Greek) of Unalterable Necessity

Written by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | Create an image from this poem


 The morn arrived; his footstep quickly scared

The gentle sleep that round my senses clung,
And I, awak'ning, from my cottage fared,

And up the mountain side with light heart sprung;
At every step I felt my gaze ensnared

By new-born flow'rs that full of dew-drops hung;
The youthful day awoke with ecstacy,
And all things quicken'd were, to quicken me.
And as I mounted, from the valley rose A streaky mist, that upward slowly spread, Then bent, as though my form it would enclose, Then, as on pinions, soar'd above my head: My gaze could now on no fair view repose, in mournful veil conceal'd, the world seem'd dead; The clouds soon closed around me, as a tomb, And I was left alone in twilight gloom.
At once the sun his lustre seem'd to pour, And through the mist was seen a radiant light; Here sank it gently to the ground once more, There parted it, and climb'd o'er wood and height.
How did I yearn to greet him as of yore, After the darkness waxing doubly bright! The airy conflict ofttimes was renew'd, Then blinded by a dazzling glow I stood.
Ere long an inward impulse prompted me A hasty glance with boldness round to throw; At first mine eyes had scarcely strength to see, For all around appear'd to burn and glow.
Then saw I, on the clouds borne gracefully, A godlike woman hov'ring to and fro.
In life I ne'er had seen a form so fair-- She gazed at me, and still she hover'd there.
"Dost thou not know me?" were the words she said In tones where love and faith were sweetly bound; "Knowest thou not Her who oftentimes hath shed The purest balsam in each earthly wound? Thou knows't me well; thy panting heart I led To join me in a bond with rapture crown'd.
Did I not see thee, when a stripling, yearning To welcome me with tears, heartfelt and burning?" "Yes!" I exclaim'd, whilst, overcome with joy, I sank to earth; "I long have worshipp'd thee; Thou gav'st me rest, when passions rack'd the boy, Pervading ev'ry limb unceasingly; Thy heav'nly pinions thou didst then employ The scorching sunbeams to ward off from me.
From thee alone Earth's fairest gifts I gain'd, Through thee alone, true bliss can be obtain'd.
"Thy name I know not; yet I hear thee nam'd By many a one who boasts thee as his own; Each eye believes that tow'rd thy form 'tis aim'd, Yet to most eyes thy rays are anguish-sown.
Ah! whilst I err'd, full many a friend I claim'd, Now that I know thee, I am left alone; With but myself can I my rapture share, I needs must veil and hide thy radiance fair.
She smiled, and answering said: "Thou see'st how wise, How prudent 'twas but little to unveil! Scarce from the clumsiest cheat are clear'd thine eyes, Scarce hast thou strength thy childish bars to scale, When thou dost rank thee 'mongst the deities, And so man's duties to perform would'st fail! How dost thou differ from all other men? Live with the world in peace, and know thee then!" "Oh, pardon me," I cried, "I meant it well: Not vainly did'st thou bless mine eyes with light; For in my blood glad aspirations swell, The value of thy gifts I know aright! Those treasures in my breast for others dwell, The buried pound no more I'll hide from sight.
Why did I seek the road so anxiously, If hidden from my brethren 'twere to be?" And as I answer'd, tow'rd me turn'd her face, With kindly sympathy, that god-like one; Within her eye full plainly could I trace What I had fail'd in, and what rightly done.
She smiled, and cured me with that smile's sweet grace, To new-born joys my spirit soar'd anon; With inward confidence I now could dare To draw yet closer, and observe her there.
Through the light cloud she then stretch'd forth her hand, As if to bid the streaky vapour fly: At once it seemed to yield to her command, Contracted, and no mist then met mine eye.
My glance once more survey'd the smiling land, Unclouded and serene appear'd the sky.
Nought but a veil of purest white she held, And round her in a thousand folds it swell'd.
"I know thee, and I know thy wav'ring will.
I know the good that lives and glows in thee!"-- Thus spake she, and methinks I hear her still-- "The prize long destined, now receive from me; That blest one will be safe from ev'ry ill, Who takes this gift with soul of purity,--" The veil of Minstrelsy from Truth's own hand, Of sunlight and of morn's sweet fragrance plann'd.
"And when thou and thy friends at fierce noon-day Are parched with heat, straight cast it in the air! Then Zephyr's cooling breath will round you play, Distilling balm and flowers' sweet incense there; The tones of earthly woe will die away, The grave become a bed of clouds so fair, To sing to rest life's billows will be seen, The day be lovely, and the night serene.
"-- Come, then, my friends! and whensoe'er ye find Upon your way increase life's heavy load; If by fresh-waken'd blessings flowers are twin'd Around your path, and golden fruits bestow'd, We'll seek the coming day with joyous mind! Thus blest, we'll live, thus wander on our road And when our grandsons sorrow o'er our tomb, Our love, to glad their bosoms, still shall bloom.
Written by William Topaz McGonagall | Create an image from this poem

The Death of Lord and Lady Dalhousie

 Alas! Lord and Lady Dalhousie are dead, and buried at last,
Which causes many people to feel a little downcast;
And both lie side by side in one grave,
But I hope God in His goodness their souls will save.
And may He protect their children that are left behind, And may they always food and raiment find; And from the paths of virtue may they ne'er be led, And may they always find a house wherein to lay their head.
Lord Dalhousie was a man worthy of all praise, And to his memory I hope a monument the people will raise, That will stand for many ages to came To commemorate the good deeds he has done.
He was beloved by men of high and low degree, Especially in Forfarshire by his tenantry: And by many of the inhabitants in and around Dundee, Because he was affable in temper.
and void of all vanity.
He had great affection for his children, also his wife, 'Tis said he loved her as dear as his life; And I trust they are now in heaven above, Where all is joy, peace, and love.
At the age of fourteen he resolved to go to sea, So he entered the training ship Britannia belonging the navy, And entered as a midshipman as he considered most fit Then passed through the course of training with the greatest credit.
In a short time he obtained the rank of lieutenant, Then to her Majesty's ship Galatea he was sent; Which was under the command of the Duke of Edinburgh, And during his service there he felt but little sorrow.
And from that he was promoted to be commander of the Britannia, And was well liked by the men, for what he said was law; And by him Prince Albert Victor and Prince George received a naval education.
Which met with the Prince of Wales' roost hearty approbation.
'Twas in the year 1877 he married the Lady Ada Louisa Bennett, And by marrying that noble lady he ne'er did regret; And he was ever ready to give his service in any way, Most willingly and cheerfully by night or by day.
'Twas in the year of 1887, and on Thursday the 1st of December, Which his relatives and friends will long remember That were present at the funeral in Cockpen, churchyard, Because they had for the noble Lord a great regard.
About eleven o'clock the remains reached Dalhousie, And were met by a body of the tenantry.
They conveyed them inside the building allseemingly woe begone And among those that sent wreaths was Lord Claude Hamilton.
Those that sent wreaths were but very few, But one in particular was the Duke of Buccleuch; Besides Dr.
Herbert Spencer, and Countess Rosebery, and Lady Bennett, Which no doubt were sent by them with heartfelt regret.
Besides those that sent wreaths in addition were the Earl and Countess of Aberdeen, Especially the Prince of Wales' was most lovely to be seen, And the Earl of Dalkeith's wreath was very pretty too, With a mixture of green and white flowers, beautiful to view.
Amongst those present at the interment were Mr Marjoribanks, M.
, Also ex-Provost Ballingall from Bonnie Dundee; Besides the Honourable W.
Colville, representing the Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh, While in every one's face standing at the grave was depicted sorrow.
The funeral service was conducted in the Church of Cockpen By the Rev.
Crabb, of St.
Andrew's Episcopal Church, town of Brechin; And as the two coffins were lowered into their last resting place, Then the people retired with sad hearts at a quick pace.
Written by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | Create an image from this poem


What we sing in company
Soon from heart to heart will fly.
----- THE Gesellige Lieder, which I have angicisled as above, as several of them cannot be called convivial songs, are separated by Goethe from his other songs, and I have adhered to the same arrangement.
The Ergo bibamus is a well-known drinking song in Germany, where it enjoys vast popularity.
[Composed for a merry party that used to meet, in 1802, at Goethe's house.
] FATE now allows us, 'Twixt the departing And the upstarting, Happy to be; And at the call of Memory cherish'd, Future and perish'd Moments we see.
Seasons of anguish,-- Ah, they must ever Truth from woe sever, Love and joy part; Days still more worthy Soon will unite us, Fairer songs light us, Strength'ning the heart.
We, thus united, Think of, with gladness, Rapture and sadness, Sorrow now flies.
Oh, how mysterious Fortune's direction! Old the connection, New-born the prize! Thank, for this, Fortune, Wavering blindly! Thank all that kindly Fate may bestow! Revel in change's Impulses clearer, Love far sincerer, More heartfelt glow! Over the old one, Wrinkles collected, Sad and dejected, Others may view; But, on us gently Shineth a true one, And to the new one We, too, are new.
As a fond couple 'Midst the dance veering, First disappearing, Then reappear, So let affection Guide thro' life's mazy Pathways so hazy Into the year! 1802.

Written by Kahlil Gibran | Create an image from this poem

The House of Fortune III

 My wearied heart bade me farewell and left for the House of Fortune.
As he reached that holy city which the soul had blessed and worshipped, he commenced wondering, for he could not find what he had always imagined would be there.
The city was empty of power, money, and authority.
And my heart spoke to the daughter of Love saying, "Oh Love, where can I find Contentment? I heard that she had come here to join you.
" And the daughter of Love responded, "Contentment has already gone to preach her gospel in the city, where greed and corruption are paramount; we are not in need of her.
" Fortune craves not Contentment, for it is an earthly hope, and its desires are embraced by union with objects, while Contentment is naught but heartfelt.
The eternal soul is never contented; it ever seeks exaltation.
Then my heart looked upon Life of Beauty and said: "Thou art all knowledge; enlighten me as to the mystery of Woman.
" And he answered, "Oh human heart, woman is your own reflection, and whatever you are, she is; wherever you live, she lives; she is like religion if not interpreted by the ignorant, and like a moon, if not veiled with clouds, and like a breeze, if not poisoned with impurities.
" And my heart walked toward Knowledge, the daughter of Love and Beauty, and said, "Bestow upon me wisdom, that I might share it with the people.
" And she responded, "Say not wisdom, but rather fortune, for real fortune comes not from outside, but begins in the Holy of Holies of life.
Share of thyself with the people.
Written by Robert Frost | Create an image from this poem

Love and a Question

 A stranger came to the door at eve, 
And he spoke the bridegroom fair.
He bore a green-white stick in his hand, And, for all burden, care.
He asked with the eyes more than the lips For a shelter for the night, And he turned and looked at the road afar Without a window light.
The bridegroom came forth into the porch With, 'Let us look at the sky, And question what of the night to be, Stranger, you and I.
' The woodbine leaves littered the yard, The woodbine berries were blue, Autumn, yes, winter was in the wind; 'Stranger, I wish I knew.
' Within, the bride in the dusk alone Bent over the open fire, Her face rose-red with the glowing coal And the thought of the heart's desire.
The bridegroom looked at the weary road, Yet saw but her within, And wished her heart in a case of gold And pinned with a silver pin.
The bridegroom thought it little to give A dole of bread, a purse, A heartfelt prayer for the poor of God, Or for the rich a curse; But whether or not a man was asked To mar the love of two By harboring woe in the bridal house, The bridegroom wished he knew.
Written by David Wagoner | Create an image from this poem

Wallace Stevens On His Way To Work

 He would leave early and walk slowly
 As if balancing books
 On the way to school, already expecting
To be tardy once again and heavy
 With numbers, the unfashionably rounded
 Toes of his shoes invisible beyond
The slope of his corporation.
He would pause At his favorite fundamentally sound Park bench, which had been the birthplace Of paeans and ruminations on other mornings, And would turn his back to it, having gauged the distance Between his knees and the edge of the hardwood Almost invariably unoccupied At this enlightened hour by the bums of nighttime (For whom the owlish eye of the moon Had been closed by daylight), and would give himself wholly over Backwards and trustingly downwards And be well seated there.
He would remove From his sinister jacket pocket a postcard And touch it and retouch it with the point Of the fountain he produced at his fingertips And fill it with his never-before-uttered Runes and obbligatos and pellucidly cryptic Duets from private pageants, from broken ends Of fandangos with the amoeba chaos chaos Couchant and rampant.
Then he would rise With an effort as heartfelt as a decision To get out of bed on Sunday and carefully Relocate his center of gravity Above and beyond an imaginary axis Between his feet and carry the good news Along the path and the sidewalk, well on his way To readjusting the business of the earth.
Written by Brooks Haxton | Create an image from this poem

Salesmanship With Half A Dram Of Tears

 Gripping the lectern, rocking it, searching
the faces for the souls, for signs of heartfelt
mindfulness at work, I thought, as I recited
words I wrote in tears: instead of tears,
if I had understood my father's business,
I could be selling men's clothes.
I could be kneeling, complimenting someone at the bay of mirrors, mumblingly, with pinpoints pressed between my lips.
That was the life I held in scorn while young, because I thought to live without distraction, using words.
Yet, looking now into the room of strangers' eyes, I wanted them to feel what I said touch, as palpably as when a men in double worsted felt the cuff drop to his wrist.
There was a rush in the applause of gratitude and mercy: they could go.
A teenager, embarrassed for himself and me, lefthandedly squeezed my fingers, and said thanks.
Written by Robert Burns | Create an image from this poem

177. Elegy on the Death of Sir James Hunter Blair

 THE LAMP of day, with-ill presaging glare,
 Dim, cloudy, sank beneath the western wave;
Th’ inconstant blast howl’d thro’ the dark’ning air,
 And hollow whistled in the rocky cave.
Lone as I wander’d by each cliff and dell, Once the lov’d haunts of Scotia’s royal train; 1 Or mus’d where limpid streams, once hallow’d well, 2 Or mould’ring ruins mark the sacred fane.
3 Th’ increasing blast roar’d round the beetling rocks, The clouds swift-wing’d flew o’er the starry sky, The groaning trees untimely shed their locks, And shooting meteors caught the startled eye.
The paly moon rose in the livid east.
And ’mong the cliffs disclos’d a stately form In weeds of woe, that frantic beat her breast, And mix’d her wailings with the raving storm Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow, ’Twas Caledonia’s trophied shield I view’d: Her form majestic droop’d in pensive woe, The lightning of her eye in tears imbued.
Revers’d that spear, redoubtable in war, Reclined that banner, erst in fields unfurl’d, That like a deathful meteor gleam’d afar, And brav’d the mighty monarchs of the world.
“My patriot son fills an untimely grave!” With accents wild and lifted arms—she cried; “Low lies the hand oft was stretch’d to save, Low lies the heart that swell’d with honest pride.
“A weeping country joins a widow’s tear; The helpless poor mix with the orphan’s cry; The drooping arts surround their patron’s bier; And grateful science heaves the heartfelt sigh! “I saw my sons resume their ancient fire; I saw fair Freedom’s blossoms richly blow: But ah! how hope is born but to expire! Relentless fate has laid their guardian low.
“My patriot falls: but shall he lie unsung, While empty greatness saves a worthless name? No; every muse shall join her tuneful tongue, And future ages hear his growing fame.
“And I will join a mother’s tender cares, Thro’ future times to make his virtues last; That distant years may boast of other Blairs!”— She said, and vanish’d with the sweeping blast.
Note 1.
The King’s Park at Holyrood House.
[back] Note 2.
Anthony’s well.
[back] Note 3.
Anthony’s Chapel.