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Best Famous Hurtle Poems

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

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Written by Alexander Pushkin | Create an image from this poem

Devils

 Storm-clouds hurtle, storm-clouds hover;
Flying snow is set alight
By the moon whose form they cover;
Blurred the heavens, blurred the night.
On and on our coach advances,
Little bell goes din-din-din...
Round are vast, unknown expanses;
Terror, terror is within.

-- Faster, coachman! "Can't, sir, sorry:
Horses, sir, are nearly dead.
I am blinded, all is blurry,
All snowed up; can't see ahead.
Sir, I tell you on the level:
We have strayed, we've lost the trail.
What can WE do, when a devil
Drives us, whirls us round the vale?

"There, look, there he's playing, jolly!
Huffing, puffing in my course;
There, you see, into the gully
Pushing the hysteric horse;
Now in front of me his figure
Looms up as a ***** mile-mark --
Coming closer, growing bigger,
Sparking, melting in the dark."

Storm-clouds hurtle, storm-clouds hover;
Flying snow is set alight
By the moon whose form they cover;
Blurred the heavens, blurred the night.
We can't whirl so any longer!
Suddenly, the bell has ceased,
Horses halted... -- Hey, what's wrong there?
"Who can tell! -- a stump? a beast?.."

Blizzard's raging, blizzard's crying,
Horses panting, seized by fear;
Far away his shape is flying;
Still in haze the eyeballs glare;
Horses pull us back in motion,
Little bell goes din-din-din...
I behold a strange commotion:
Evil spirits gather in --

Sundry, ugly devils, whirling
In the moonlight's milky haze:
Swaying, flittering and swirling
Like the leaves in autumn days...
What a crowd! Where are they carried?
What's the plaintive song I hear?
Is a goblin being buried,
Or a sorceress married there?

Storm-clouds hurtle, storm-clouds hover;
Flying snow is set alight
By the moon whose form they cover;
Blurred the heavens, blurred the night.
Swarms of devils come to rally,
Hurtle in the boundless height;
Howling fills the whitening valley,
Plaintive screeching rends my heart...


Translated by Genia Gurarie July 29, 1995.
Copyright retained by Genia Gurarie.
email: egurarie@princeton.edu
http://www.princeton.edu/~egurarie/
For permission to reproduce, write personally to the translator.


Written by Gerard Manley Hopkins | Create an image from this poem

St. Alphonsus Rodriguez

 Laybrother of the Society of Jesus


Honour is flashed off exploit, so we say; 
And those strokes once that gashed flesh or galled shield
Should tongue that time now, trumpet now that field, 
And, on the fighter, forge his glorious day. 
On Christ they do and on the martyr may;
But be the war within, the brand we wield 
Unseen, the heroic breast not outward-steeled, 
Earth hears no hurtle then from fiercest fray. 

Yet God (that hews mountain and continent, 
Earth, all, out; who, with trickling increment,
Veins violets and tall trees makes more and more) 
Could crowd career with conquest while there went 
Those years and years by of world without event 
That in Majorca Alfonso watched the door.
Written by Gerard Manley Hopkins | Create an image from this poem

In Honour Of St. Alphonsus Rodriguez

 Laybrother of the Society of Jesus


Honour is flashed off exploit, so we say;
And those strokes once that gashed flesh or galled shield
Should tongue that time now, trumpet now that field,
And, on the fighter, forge his glorious day.
On Christ they do and on the martyr may;
But be the war within, the brand we wield
Unseen, the heroic breast not outward-steeled,
Earth hears no hurtle then from fiercest fray. 

 Yet God (that hews mountain and continent,
Earth, all, out; who, with trickling increment,
Veins violets and tall trees makes more and more)
Could crowd career with conquest while there went
Those years and years by of world without event
That in Majorca Alfonso watched the door.
Written by William Butler Yeats | Create an image from this poem

The Valley Of The Black Pig

 The dews drop slowly and dreams gather: unknown spears
Suddenly hurtle before my dream-awakened eyes,
And then the clash of fallen horsemen and the cries
Of unknown perishing armies beat about my ears.
We who still labour by the cromlech on the shore,
The grey caim on the hill, when day sinks drowned in dew,
Being weary of the world's empires, bow down to you.
Master of the still stars and of the flaming door.
Written by Lucy Maud Montgomery | Create an image from this poem

Song of the Sea-Wind

 When the sun sets over the long blue wave
I spring from my couch of rest,
And I hurtle and boom over leagues of foam 
That toss in the weltering west,
I pipe a hymn to the headlands high, 
My comrades forevermore,
And I chase the tricksy curls of foam 
O'er the glimmering sandy shore. 

The moon is my friend on clear, white nights
When I ripple her silver way,
And whistle blithely about the rocks 
Like an elfin thing at play;
But anon I ravin with cloud and mist 
And wail 'neath a curdled sky,
When the reef snarls yon like a questing beast, 
And the frightened ships go by. 

I scatter the dawn across the sea
Like wine of amber flung
From a crystal goblet all far and fine 
Where the morning star is hung;
I blow from east and I blow from west 
Wherever my longing be-
The wind of the land is a hindered thing 
But the ocean wind is free!



Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry