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Best Famous It Will Do Poems

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

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Poems are below...

Written by William Matthews | Create an image from this poem

Poem (The lump of coal my parents teased)

 The lump of coal my parents teased
I'd find in my Christmas stocking
turned out each year to be an orange,
for I was their sunshine.
Now I have one C.
gave me, a dense node of sleeping fire.
I keep it where I read and write.
"You're on chummy terms with dread," it reminds me.
"You kiss ambivalence on both cheeks.
But if you close your heart to me ever I'll wreathe you in flames and convert you to energy.
" I don't know what C.
meant me to mind by her gift, but the sun returns unbidden.
Books get read and written.
My mother comes to visit.
My father's dead.
Love needs to be set alight again and again, and in thanks for tending it, will do its very best not to consume us.
Written by Ralph Waldo Emerson | Create an image from this poem


BRING me wine but wine which never grew 
In the belly of the grape  
Or grew on vine whose tap-roots reaching through 
Under the Andes to the Cape  
Suffer'd no savour of the earth to 'scape.
5 Let its grapes the morn salute From a nocturnal root Which feels the acrid juice Of Styx and Erebus; And turns the woe of Night 10 By its own craft to a more rich delight.
We buy ashes for bread; We buy diluted wine; Give me of the true Whose ample leaves and tendrils curl'd 15 Among the silver hills of heaven Draw everlasting dew; Wine of wine Blood of the world Form of forms and mould of statures 20 That I intoxicated And by the draught assimilated May float at pleasure through all natures; The bird-language rightly spell And that which roses say so well: 25 Wine that is shed Like the torrents of the sun Up the horizon walls Or like the Atlantic streams which run When the South Sea calls.
30 Water and bread Food which needs no transmuting Rainbow-flowering wisdom-fruiting Wine which is already man Food which teach and reason can.
35 Wine which Music is ¡ª Music and wine are one ¡ª That I drinking this Shall hear far Chaos talk with me; Kings unborn shall walk with me; 40 And the poor grass shall plot and plan What it will do when it is man.
Quicken'd so will I unlock Every crypt of every rock.
I thank the joyful juice 45 For all I know; Winds of remembering Of the ancient being blow And seeming-solid walls of use Open and flow.
50 Pour Bacchus! the remembering wine; Retrieve the loss of me and mine! Vine for vine be antidote And the grape requite the lote! Haste to cure the old despair; 55 Reason in Nature's lotus drench'd¡ª The memory of ages quench'd¡ª Give them again to shine; Let wine repair what this undid; And where the infection slid 60 A dazzling memory revive; Refresh the faded tints Recut the ag¨¨d prints And write my old adventures with the pen Which on the first day drew 65 Upon the tablets blue The dancing Pleiads and eternal men.
Written by Amy Lowell | Create an image from this poem

Lead Soldiers

 The nursery fire burns brightly, crackling in cheerful 
little explosions
and trails of sparks up the back of the chimney.
Miniature rockets peppering the black bricks with golden stars, as though a gala flamed a night of victorious wars.
The nodding mandarin on the bookcase moves his head forward and back, slowly, and looks into the air with his blue-green eyes.
He stares into the air and nods -- forward and back.
The red rose in his hand is a crimson splash on his yellow coat.
Forward and back, and his blue-green eyes stare into the air, and he nods -- nods.
Tommy's soldiers march to battle, Trumpets flare and snare-drums rattle.
Bayonets flash, and sabres glance -- How the horses snort and prance! Cannon drawn up in a line Glitter in the dizzy shine Of the morning sunlight.
Flags Ripple colours in great jags.
Red blows out, then blue, then green, Then all three -- a weaving sheen Of prismed patriotism.
March Tommy's soldiers, stiff and starch, Boldly stepping to the rattle Of the drums, they go to battle.
Tommy lies on his stomach on the floor and directs his columns.
He puts his infantry in front, and before them ambles a mounted band.
Their instruments make a strand of gold before the scarlet-tunicked soldiers, and they take very long steps on their little green platforms, and from the ranks bursts the song of Tommy's soldiers marching to battle.
The song jolts a little as the green platforms stick on the thick carpet.
Tommy wheels his guns round the edge of a box of blocks, and places a squad of cavalry on the commanding eminence of a footstool.
The fire snaps pleasantly, and the old Chinaman nods -- nods.
The fire makes the red rose in his hand glow and twist.
Hist! That is a bold song Tommy's soldiers sing as they march along to battle.
Crack! Rattle! The sparks fly up the chimney.
Tommy's army's off to war -- Not a soldier knows what for.
But he knows about his rifle, How to shoot it, and a trifle Of the proper thing to do When it's he who is shot through.
Like a cleverly trained flea, He can follow instantly Orders, and some quick commands Really make severe demands On a mind that's none too rapid, Leaden brains tend to the vapid.
But how beautifully dressed Is this army! How impressed Tommy is when at his heel All his baggage wagons wheel About the patterned carpet, and Moving up his heavy guns He sees them glow with diamond suns Flashing all along each barrel.
And the gold and blue apparel Of his gunners is a joy.
Tommy is a lucky boy.
Boom! Boom! Ta-ra! The old mandarin nods under his purple umbrella.
The rose in his hand shoots its petals up in thin quills of crimson.
Then they collapse and shrivel like red embers.
The fire sizzles.
Tommy is galloping his cavalry, two by two, over the floor.
They must pass the open terror of the door and gain the enemy encamped under the wash-stand.
The mounted band is very grand, playing allegro and leading the infantry on at the double quick.
The tassel of the hearth-rug has flung down the bass-drum, and he and his dapple-grey horse lie overtripped, slipped out of line, with the little lead drumsticks glistening to the fire's shine.
The fire burns and crackles, and tickles the tripped bass-drum with its sparkles.
The marching army hitches its little green platforms valiantly, and steadily approaches the door.
The overturned bass-drummer, lying on the hearth-rug, melting in the heat, softens and sheds tears.
The song jeers at his impotence, and flaunts the glory of the martial and still upstanding, vaunting the deeds it will do.
For are not Tommy's soldiers all bright and new? Tommy's leaden soldiers we, Glittering with efficiency.
Not a button's out of place, Tons and tons of golden lace Wind about our officers.
Every manly bosom stirs At the thought of killing -- killing! Tommy's dearest wish fulfilling.
We are gaudy, savage, strong, And our loins so ripe we long First to kill, then procreate, Doubling so the laws of Fate.
On their women we have sworn To graft our sons.
And overborne They'll rear us younger soldiers, so Shall our race endure and grow, Waxing greater in the wombs Borrowed of them, while damp tombs Rot their men.
O Glorious War! Goad us with your points, Great Star! The china mandarin on the bookcase nods slowly, forward and back -- forward and back -- and the red rose writhes and wriggles, thrusting its flaming petals under and over one another like tortured snakes.
The fire strokes them with its dartles, and purrs at them, and the old man nods.
Tommy does not hear the song.
He only sees the beautiful, new, gaily-coloured lead soldiers.
They belong to him, and he is very proud and happy.
He shouts his orders aloud, and gallops his cavalry past the door to the wash-stand.
He creeps over the floor on his hands and knees to one battalion and another, but he sees only the bright colours of his soldiers and the beautiful precision of their gestures.
He is a lucky boy to have such fine lead soldiers to enjoy.
Tommy catches his toe in the leg of the wash-stand, and jars the pitcher.
He snatches at it with his hands, but it is too late.
The pitcher falls, and as it goes, he sees the white water flow over its lip.
It slips between his fingers and crashes to the floor.
But it is not water which oozes to the door.
The stain is glutinous and dark, a spark from the firelight heads it to red.
In and out, between the fine, new soldiers, licking over the carpet, squirms the stream of blood, lapping at the little green platforms, and flapping itself against the painted uniforms.
The nodding mandarin moves his head slowly, forward and back.
The rose is broken, and where it fell is black blood.
The old mandarin leers under his purple umbrella, and nods -- forward and back, staring into the air with blue-green eyes.
Every time his head comes forward a rosebud pushes between his lips, rushes into full bloom, and drips to the ground with a splashing sound.
The pool of black blood grows and grows, with each dropped rose, and spreads out to join the stream from the wash-stand.
The beautiful army of lead soldiers steps boldly forward, but the little green platforms are covered in the rising stream of blood.
The nursery fire burns brightly and flings fan-bursts of stars up the chimney, as though a gala flamed a night of victorious wars.
Written by William Topaz McGonagall | Create an image from this poem

The Great Franchise Demonstration

 'Twas in the year of 1884, and on Saturday the 20th of September,
Which the inhabitants of Dundee will long remember
The great Liberal Franchise Demonstration,
Which filled their minds with admiration.
Oh! it was a most magnificent display, To see about 20 or 30 thousand men all in grand array; And each man with a medal on his breast; And every man in the procession dressed in his best.
The banners of the processionists were really grand to see- The like hasn't been seen for a long time in Dundee; While sweet music from the bands did rend the skies, And every processionist was resolved to vote for the Franchise.
And as the procession passed along each street, The spectators did loudly the processionists greet; As they viewed their beautiful banners waving in the wind, They declared such a scene would be ever fresh in their mind.
The mustering of the processionists was very grand, As along the Esplanade each man took his stand, And as soon as they were marshalled in grand array, To the Magdalen Green, in haste, they wended their way.
And when they arrived on the Magdalen Green, I'm sure it was a very beautiful imposing scene- While the cheers of that vast multitude ascended to the skies, For the "Grand Old Man," Gladstone, the Hero of the Franchise, Who has struggled very hard for the people's rights, Many long years, and many weary nights; And I think the "Grand Old Man" will gain the Franchise, And if he does, the people will laud him to the skies.
And his name should be written in letters of gold : For he is a wise statesman- true and bold- Who has advocated the people's rights for many long years; And when he is dead they will thank him with their tears.
For he is the man for the working man, And without fear of contradiction, deny it who can; Because he wishes the working man to have a good coat, And, both in town and country, to have power to vote.
The reason why the Lords won't pass the Franchise Bill : They fear that it will do themselves some ill; That is the reason why they wish to throw it out, Yes, believe me, fellow citizens, that's the cause without doubt.
The emblems and mottoes in the procession, were really grand, The like hasn't been seen in broad Scotland; Especially the picture of Gladstone- the nation's hope, Who is a much cleverer man than Sir John Cope.
There were masons and ploughmen all in a row, Also tailors, tenters, and blacksmiths, which made a grand show; Likewise carters and bakers which was most beautiful to be seen, To see them marching from the Esplanade to the Magdalen Green.
I'm sure it was a most beautiful sight to see, The like has never been seen before in Dundee; Such a body of men, and Gladstone at the helm, Such a sight, I'm sure, 'twould the Lords o'erwhelm.
Oh! it was grand to see that vast crowd, And to hear the speeches, most eloquent and loud, That were made by the speakers, regarding the Franchise; While the spectators applauded them to the skies.
And for the "Grand Old Man" they gave three cheers, Hoping he would live for many long years; And when the speeches were ended, the people's hearts were gay, And they all dispersed quietly to their homes without delay.