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Best Famous In Harmony Poems

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

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Written by Emma Lazarus | Create an image from this poem

Symphonic Studies (After Schumann)

 Prelude 

Blue storm-clouds in hot heavens of mid-July 
Hung heavy, brooding over land and sea: 
Our hearts, a-tremble, throbbed in harmony 
With the wild, restless tone of air and sky. 
Shall we not call im Prospero who held 
In his enchanted hands the fateful key 
Of that tempestuous hour's mystery, 
And with controlling wand our spirits spelled, 
With him to wander by a sun-bright shore, 
To hear fine, fairy voices, and to fly 
With disembodied Ariel once more 
Above earth's wrack and ruin? Far and nigh 
The laughter of the thunder echoed loud, 
And harmless lightnings leapt from cloud to cloud. 


I

Floating upon a swelling wave of sound, 
We seemed to overlook an endless sea: 
Poised 'twixt clear heavens and glittering surf were we. 
We drank the air in flight: we knew no bound 
To the audacious ventures of desire. 
Nigh us the sun was dropping, drowned in gold; 
Deep, deep below the burning billows rolled; 
And all the sea sang like a smitten lyre. 
Oh, the wild voices of those chanting waves! 
The human faces glimpsed beneath the tide! 
Familiar eyes gazed from profound sea-caves, 
And we, exalted, were as we had died. 
We knew the sea was Life, the harmonious cry 
The blended discords of humanity. 


II

Look deeper yet: mark 'midst the wave-blurred mass, 
In lines distinct, in colors clear defined, 
The typic groups and figures of mankind. 
Behold within the cool and liquid glass 
Bright child-folk sporting with smooth yellow shells, 
Astride of dolphins, leaping up to kiss 
Fair mother-faces. From the vast abyss 
How joyously their thought-free laughter wells! 
Some slumber in grim caverns unafraid, 
Lulled by the overwhelming water's sound, 
And some make mouths at dragons, undismayed. 
Oh dauntless innocence! The gulfs profound 
Reëcho strangely with their ringing glee, 
And with wise mermaids' plaintive melody. 


III

What do the sea-nymphs in that coral cave? 
With wondering eyes their supple forms they bend 
O'er something rarely beautiful. They lend 
Their lithe white arms, and through the golden wave 
They lift it tenderly. Oh blinding sight! 
A naked, radiant goddess, tranced in sleep, 
Full-limbed, voluptuous, 'neath the mantling sweep 
Of auburn locks that kiss her ankles white! 
Upward they bear her, chanting low and sweet: 
The clinging waters part before their way, 
Jewels of flame are dancing 'neath their feet. 
Up in the sunshine, on soft foam, they lay 
Their precious burden, and return forlorn. 
Oh, bliss! oh, anguish! Mortals, Love is born! 


IV

Hark! from unfathomable deeps a dirge 
Swells sobbing through the melancholy air: 
Where love has entered, Death is also there. 
The wail outrings the chafed, tumultuous surge; 
Ocean and earth, the illimitable skies, 
Prolong one note, a mourning for the dead, 
The cry of souls not to be comforted. 
What piercing music! Funeral visions rise, 
And send the hot tears raining down our cheek. 
We see the silent grave upon the hill 
With its lone lilac-bush. O heart, be still! 
She will not rise, she will not stir nor speak. 
Surely, the unreturning dead are blest. 
Ring on, sweet dirge, and knell us to our rest! 


V

Upon the silver beach the undines dance 
With interlinking arms and flying hair; 
Like polished marble gleam their limbs left bare; 
Upon their virgin rites pale moonbeams glance. 
Softer the music! for their foam-bright feet 
Print not the moist floor where they trip their round: 
Affrighted they will scatter at a sound, 
Leap in their cool sea-chambers, nibly fleet, 
And we shall doubt that we have ever seen, 
While our sane eyes behold stray wreaths of mist, 
Shot with faint colors by the moon-rays kissed, 
Floating snow-soft, snow-white, where these had been. 
Already, look! the wave-washed sands are bare, 
And mocking laughter ripples through the air. 


VI

Divided 'twixt the dream-world and the real, 
We heard the waxing passion of the song 
Soar as to scale the heavens on pinions strong. 
Amidst the long-reverberant thunder-peal, 
Against the rain-blurred square of light, the head 
Of the pale poet at the lyric keys 
Stood boldly cut, absorbed in reveries, 
While over it keen-bladed lightnings played. 
"Rage on, wild storm!" the music seemed to sing: 
"Not all the thunders of thy wrath can move 
The soul that's dedicate to worshipping 
Eternal Beauty, everlasting Love." 
No more! the song was ended, and behold, 
A rainbow trembling on a sky of gold! 


Epilogue

Forth in the sunlit, rain-bathed air we stepped, 
Sweet with the dripping grass and flowering vine, 
And saw through irised clouds the pale sun shine. 
Back o'er the hills the rain-mist slowly crept 
Like a transparent curtain's silvery sheen; 
And fronting us the painted bow was arched, 
Whereunder the majestic cloud-shapes marched: 
In the wet, yellow light the dazzling green 
Of lawn and bush and tree seemed stained with blue. 
Our hearts o'erflowed with peace. With smiles we spake 
Of partings in the past, of courage new, 
Of high achievement, of the dreams that make 
A wonder and a glory of our days, 
And all life's music but a hymn of praise.


Written by William Blake | Create an image from this poem

I see the Four-fold Man

 I see the Four-fold Man, The Humanity in deadly sleep 
And its fallen Emanation, the Spectre and its cruel Shadow. 
I see the Past, Present and Future existing all at once 
Before me. O Divine Spirit, sustain me on thy wings, 
That I may awake Albion from his long and cold repose; 
For Bacon and Newton, sheath'd in dismal steel, their terrors hang 
Like iron scourges over Albion: reasonings like vast serpents 
Infold around my limbs, bruising my minute articulations. 

I turn my eyes to the schools and universities of Europe 
And there behold the Loom of Locke, whose Woof rages dire, 
Wash'd by the Water-wheels of Newton: black the cloth 
In heavy wreaths folds over every nation: cruel works 
Of many Wheels I view, wheel without wheel, with cogs tyrannic 
Moving by compulsion each other, not as those in Eden, which, 
Wheel within wheel, in freedom revolve in harmony and peace.
Written by Christina Rossetti | Create an image from this poem

From 'Later Life'

 VI
We lack, yet cannot fix upon the lack: 
Not this, nor that; yet somewhat, certainly. 
We see the things we do not yearn to see 
Around us: and what see we glancing back? 
Lost hopes that leave our hearts upon the rack, 
Hopes that were never ours yet seem’d to be, 
For which we steer’d on life’s salt stormy sea 
Braving the sunstroke and the frozen pack. 
If thus to look behind is all in vain, 
And all in vain to look to left or right, 
Why face we not our future once again, 
Launching with hardier hearts across the main, 
Straining dim eyes to catch the invisible sight, 
And strong to bear ourselves in patient pain? 

IX
Star Sirius and the Pole Star dwell afar 
Beyond the drawings each of other’s strength: 
One blazes through the brief bright summer’s length 
Lavishing life-heat from a flaming car; 
While one unchangeable upon a throne 
Broods o’er the frozen heart of earth alone, 
Content to reign the bright particular star 
Of some who wander or of some who groan. 
They own no drawings each of other’s strength, 
Nor vibrate in a visible sympathy, 
Nor veer along their courses each toward 
Yet are their orbits pitch’d in harmony 
Of one dear heaven, across whose depth and length 
Mayhap they talk together without speech.
Written by William Cullen Bryant | Create an image from this poem

After a Tempest

 The day had been a day of wind and storm;-- 
The wind was laid, the storm was overpast,-- 
And stooping from the zenith, bright and warm 
Shone the great sun on the wide earth at last. 
I stood upon the upland slope and cast 
My eye upon a broad and beauteous scene, 
Where the vast plain lay girt by mountains vast, 
And hills o'er hills lifted their heads of green, 
With pleasant vales scooped out and villages between. 

The rain-drops glistened on the trees around, 
Whose shadows on the tall grass were not stirred, 
Save when a shower of diamonds, to the ground, 
Was shaken by the flight of startled bird; 
For birds were warbling round, and bees were heard 
About the flowers; the cheerful rivulet sung 
And gossiped, as he hastened ocean-ward; 
To the gray oak the squirrel, chiding clung, 
And chirping from the ground the grasshopper upsprung. 

And from beneath the leaves that kept them dry 
Flew many a glittering insect here and there, 
And darted up and down the butterfly, 
That seemed a living blossom of the air. 
The flocks came scattering from the thicket, where 
The violent rain had pent them; in the way 
Strolled groups of damsels frolicksome and fair; 
The farmer swung the scythe or turned the hay, 
And 'twixt the heavy swaths his children were at play. 

It was a scene of peace--and, like a spell, 
Did that serene and golden sunlight fall 
Upon the motionless wood that clothed the fell, 
And precipice upspringing like a wall, 
And glassy river and white waterfall, 
And happy living things that trod the bright 
And beauteous scene; while far beyond them all, 
On many a lovely valley, out of sight, 
Was poured from the blue heavens the same soft golden light. 

I looked, and thought the quiet of the scene 
An emblem of the peace that yet shall be, 
When, o'er earth's continents and isles between, 
The noise of war shall cease from sea to sea, 
And married nations dwell in harmony; 
When millions, crouching in the dust to one, 
No more shall beg their lives on bended knee, 
Nor the black stake be dressed, nor in the sun 
The o'erlabored captive toil, and wish his life were done. 

Too long, at clash of arms amid her bowers 
And pools of blood, the earth has stood aghast, 
The fair earth, that should only blush with flowers 
And ruddy fruits; but not for aye can last 
The storm, and sweet the sunshine when 'tis past. 
Lo, the clouds roll away--they break--they fly, 
And, like the glorious light of summer, cast 
O'er the wide landscape from the embracing sky, 
On all the peaceful world the smile of heaven shall lie.
Written by Dale Harcombe | Create an image from this poem

Brass Kaleidoscope

 My daughter raises the smooth
 brass kaleidoscope
 and watches as coloured glass slivers
 conspire together.
 New worlds create themselves before her eyes.
 Garnet spires flirt with sapphire
 and turquoise.
 Topaz and amethyst meet in harmony,
 a selenic mystery.
 A melody of stars singing a tune only she
 can hear.
 Eclectic patterns shiver and shimmer
 then splinter,
 sparking off at tangents of
 tourmaline and jasper.
 An image complete in itself.



 I had a kaleidoscope once.
 Sometimes
 I still see oblique patterns.

 Slowly my daughter turns the wheel, finds
 a jewelled tapestry 
 to her liking, and hands the kaleidoscope
 to me.
 For a time I see the world she sees
 and it is good. 


*First published LiNQ October 1990


Written by Vachel Lindsay | Create an image from this poem

Why I Voted the Socialist Ticket

 I am unjust, but I can strive for justice. 
My life's unkind, but I can vote for kindness. 
I, the unloving, say life should be lovely. 
I, that am blind, cry out against my blindness. 

Man is a curious brute — he pets his fancies — 
Fighting mankind, to win sweet luxury. 
So he will be, tho' law be clear as crystal, 
Tho' all men plan to live in harmony. 

Come, let us vote against our human nature, 
Crying to God in all the polling places 
To heal our everlasting sinfulness 
And make us sages with transfigured faces.
Written by William Blake | Create an image from this poem

Jerusalem: I see the Four-fold Man The Humanity in deadly sleep

 I see the Four-fold Man, The Humanity in deadly sleep 
And its fallen Emanation, the Spectre and its cruel Shadow.
I see the Past, Present and Future existing all at once
Before me. O Divine Spirit, sustain me on thy wings,
That I may awake Albion from his long and cold repose;
For Bacon and Newton, sheath'd in dismal steel, their terrors hang
Like iron scourges over Albion: reasonings like vast serpents
Infold around my limbs, bruising my minute articulations.

I turn my eyes to the schools and universities of Europe
And there behold the Loom of Locke, whose Woof rages dire,
Wash'd by the Water-wheels of Newton: black the cloth
In heavy wreaths folds over every nation: cruel works
Of many Wheels I view, wheel without wheel, with cogs tyrannic
Moving by compulsion each other, not as those in Eden, which,
Wheel within wheel, in freedom revolve in harmony and peace.
Written by William Henry Davies | Create an image from this poem

Sweet Stay-at-Home

 Sweet Stay-at-Home, sweet Well-content, 
Thou knowest of no strange continent; 
Thou hast not felt thy bosom keep 
A gentle motion with the deep; 
Thou hast not sailed in Indian seas, 
Where scent comes forth in every breeze. 
Thou hast not seen the rich grape grow 
For miles, as far as eyes can go: 
Thou hast not seen a summer's night 
When maids could sew by a worm's light; 
Nor the North Sea in spring send out 
Bright hues that like birds flit about 
In solid cages of white ice -- 
Sweet Stay-at-Home, sweet Love-one-place, 
Thou hast not seen black fingers pick 
White cotton when the bloom is thick, 
Nor heard black throats in harmony; 
Nor hast thou sat on stones that lie 
Flat on the earth, that once did rise 
To hide proud kings from common eyes. 
Thou hast not seen plains full of bloom 
Where green things had such little room 
They pleased the eye like fairer flowers -- 
Sweet Stay-at-Home, all these long hours. 
Sweet Well-content, sweet Love-one-place, 
Sweet, simple maid, bless thy dear face; 
For thou hast made more homely stuff 
Nurture thy gentle self enough; 
I love thee for a heart that's kind -- 
Not for the knowledge in thy mind.
Written by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | Create an image from this poem

The Muses Son

 [Goethe quotes the beginning of this song in 
his Autobiography, as expressing the manner in which his poetical 
effusions used to pour out from him.]

THROUGH field and wood to stray,
And pipe my tuneful lay,--

'Tis thus my days are pass'd;
And all keep tune with me,
And move in harmony,

And so on, to the last.

To wait I scarce have power
The garden's earliest flower,

The tree's first bloom in Spring;
They hail my joyous strain,--
When Winter comes again,

Of that sweet dream I sing.

My song sounds far and near,
O'er ice it echoes clear,

Then Winter blossoms bright;
And when his blossoms fly,
Fresh raptures meet mine eye,

Upon the well-till'd height.

When 'neath the linden tree,
Young folks I chance to see,

I set them moving soon;
His nose the dull lad curls,
The formal maiden whirls,

Obedient to my tune.

Wings to the feet ye lend,
O'er hill and vale ye send

The lover far from home;
When shall I, on your breast,.

Ye kindly muses, rest,
And cease at length to roam?

1800.*
Written by Robert William Service | Create an image from this poem

Shakespeare And Cervantes

 Obit 23rd April 1616

Is it not strange that on this common date,
Two titans of their age, aye of all Time,
Together should renounce this mortal state,
And rise like gods, unsullied and sublime?
Should mutually render up the ghost,
And hand n hand join Jove's celestial host?

What wondrous welcome from the scribes on high!
Homer and Virgil would be waiting there;
Plato and Aristotle standing nigh;
Petrarch and Dante greet the peerless pair:
And as in harmony they make their bow,
Horace might quip: "Great timing, you'll allow."

Imagine this transcendant team arrive
At some hilarious banquet of the gods!
Their nations battled when they were alive,
And they were bitter foes - but what's the odd?
Actor and soldier, happy hand in hand,
By death close-linked, like loving brothers stand.

But how diverse! Our Will had gold and gear,
Chattels and land, the starshine of success;
The bleak Castilian fought with casque and spear,
Passing his life in prisons - more or less.
The Bard of Avon was accounted rich;
Cervantes often bedded in a ditch.

Yet when I slough this flesh, if I could meet
By sweet, fantastic fate one of these two,
In languorous Elysian retreat,
Which would I choose? Fair reader, which would you?
Well, though our William more divinely wrote,
By gad! the lousy Spaniard has my vote.

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry