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Best Famous Jane Austen Poems

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

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Written by Erica Jong | Create an image from this poem

Dear Colette

 Dear Colette,
I want to write to you
about being a woman
for that is what you write to me.
I want to tell you how your face enduring after thirty, forty, fifty.
.
.
hangs above my desk like my own muse.
I want to tell you how your hands reach out from your books & seize my heart.
I want to tell you how your hair electrifies my thoughts like my own halo.
I want to tell you how your eyes penetrate my fear & make it melt.
I want to tell you simply that I love you-- though you are "dead" & I am still "alive.
" Suicides & spinsters-- all our kind! Even decorous Jane Austen never marrying, & Sappho leaping, & Sylvia in the oven, & Anna Wickham, Tsvetaeva, Sara Teasdale, & pale Virginia floating like Ophelia, & Emily alone, alone, alone.
.
.
.
But you endure & marry, go on writing, lose a husband, gain a husband, go on writing, sing & tap dance & you go on writing, have a child & still you go on writing, love a woman, love a man & go on writing.
You endure your writing & your life.
Dear Colette, I only want to thank you: for your eyes ringed with bluest paint like bruises, for your hair gathering sparks like brush fire, for your hands which never willingly let go, for your years, your child, your lovers, all your books.
.
.
.
Dear Colette, you hold me to this life.


Written by Rudyard Kipling | Create an image from this poem

The Mares Nest

 Jane Austen Beecher Stowe de Rouse
 Was good beyond all earthly need;
But, on the other hand, her spouse
 Was very, very bad indeed.
He smoked cigars, called churches slow, And raced -- but this she did not know.
For Belial Machiavelli kept The little fact a secret, and, Though o'er his minor sins she wept, Jane Austen did not understand That Lilly -- thirteen-two and bay Absorbed one-half her husband's pay.
She was so good, she made hime worse; (Some women are like this, I think;) He taught her parrot how to curse, Her Assam monkey how to drink.
He vexed her righteous soul until She went up, and he went down hill.
Then came the crisis, strange to say, Which turned a good wife to a better.
A telegraphic peon, one day, Brought her -- now, had it been a letter For Belial Machiavelli, I Know Jane would just have let it lie.
But 'twas a telegram instead, Marked "urgent," and her duty plain To open it.
Jane Austen read: "Your Lilly's got a cough again.
Can't understand why she is kept At your expense.
" Jane Austen wept.
It was a misdirected wire.
Her husband was at Shaitanpore.
She spread her anger, hot as fire, Through six thin foreign sheets or more.
Sent off that letter, wrote another To her solicitor -- and mother.
Then Belial Machiavelli saw Her error and, I trust, his own, Wired to the minion of the Law, And traveled wifeward -- not alone.
For Lilly -- thirteen-two and bay -- Came in a horse-box all the way.
There was a scene -- a weep or two -- With many kisses.
Austen Jane Rode Lilly all the season through, And never opened wires again.
She races now with Belial.
This Is very sad, but so it is.