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Best Famous Leech Poems

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

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Written by William Wordsworth | Create an image from this poem

Resolution And Independence

 I 

There was a roaring in the wind all night; 
The rain came heavily and fell in floods; 
But now the sun is rising calm and bright; 
The birds are singing in the distant woods; 
Over his own sweet voice the Stock-dove broods; 
The Jay makes answer as the Magpie chatters; 
And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters.
II All things that love the sun are out of doors; The sky rejoices in the morning's birth; The grass is bright with rain-drops;--on the moors The hare is running races in her mirth; And with her feet she from the plashy earth Raises a mist, that, glittering in the sun, Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run.
III I was a Traveller then upon the moor, I saw the hare that raced about with joy; I heard the woods and distant waters roar; Or heard them not, as happy as a boy: The pleasant season did my heart employ: My old remembrances went from me wholly; And all the ways of men, so vain and melancholy.
IV But, as it sometimes chanceth, from the might Of joy in minds that can no further go, As high as we have mounted in delight In our dejection do we sink as low; To me that morning did it happen so; And fears and fancies thick upon me came; Dim sadness--and blind thoughts, I knew not, nor could name.
V I heard the sky-lark warbling in the sky; And I bethought me of the playful hare: Even such a happy Child of earth am I; Even as these blissful creatures do I fare; Far from the world I walk, and from all care; But there may come another day to me-- Solitude, pain of heart, distress, and poverty.
VI My whole life I have lived in pleasant thought, As if life's business were a summer mood; As if all needful things would come unsought To genial faith, still rich in genial good; But how can He expect that others should Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all? VII I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous Boy, The sleepless Soul that perished in his pride; Of Him who walked in glory and in joy Following his plough, along the mountain-side: By our own spirits are we deified: We Poets in our youth begin in gladness; But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
VIII Now, whether it were by peculiar grace, A leading from above, a something given, Yet it befell, that, in this lonely place, When I with these untoward thoughts had striven, Beside a pool bare to the eye of heaven I saw a Man before me unawares: The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs.
IX As a huge stone is sometimes seen to lie Couched on the bald top of an eminence; Wonder to all who do the same espy, By what means it could thither come, and whence; So that it seems a thing endued with sense: Like a sea-beast crawled forth, that on a shelf Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun itself; X Such seemed this Man, not all alive nor dead, Nor all asleep--in his extreme old age: His body was bent double, feet and head Coming together in life's pilgrimage; As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage Of sickness felt by him in times long past, A more than human weight upon his frame had cast.
XI Himself he propped, limbs, body, and pale face, Upon a long grey staff of shaven wood: And, still as I drew near with gentle pace, Upon the margin of that moorish flood Motionless as a cloud the old Man stood, That heareth not the loud winds when they call And moveth all together, if it move at all.
XII At length, himself unsettling, he the pond Stirred with his staff, and fixedly did look Upon the muddy water, which he conned, As if he had been reading in a book: And now a stranger's privilege I took; And, drawing to his side, to him did say, "This morning gives us promise of a glorious day.
" XIII A gentle answer did the old Man make, In courteous speech which forth he slowly drew: And him with further words I thus bespake, "What occupation do you there pursue? This is a lonesome place for one like you.
" Ere he replied, a flash of mild surprise Broke from the sable orbs of his yet-vivid eyes, XIV His words came feebly, from a feeble chest, But each in solemn order followed each, With something of a lofty utterance drest-- Choice word and measured phrase, above the reach Of ordinary men; a stately speech; Such as grave Livers do in Scotland use, Religious men, who give to God and man their dues.
XV He told, that to these waters he had come To gather leeches, being old and poor: Employment hazardous and wearisome! And he had many hardships to endure: From pond to pond he roamed, from moor to moor; Housing, with God's good help, by choice or chance, And in this way he gained an honest maintenance.
XVI The old Man still stood talking by my side; But now his voice to me was like a stream Scarce heard; nor word from word could I divide; And the whole body of the Man did seem Like one whom I had met with in a dream; Or like a man from some far region sent, To give me human strength, by apt admonishment.
XVII My former thoughts returned: the fear that kills; And hope that is unwilling to be fed; Cold, pain, and labour, and all fleshly ills; And mighty Poets in their misery dead.
--Perplexed, and longing to be comforted, My question eagerly did I renew, "How is it that you live, and what is it you do?" XVIII He with a smile did then his words repeat; And said, that, gathering leeches, far and wide He travelled; stirring thus about his feet The waters of the pools where they abide.
"Once I could meet with them on every side; But they have dwindled long by slow decay; Yet still I persevere, and find them where I may.
" XIX While he was talking thus, the lonely place, The old Man's shape, and speech--all troubled me: In my mind's eye I seemed to see him pace About the weary moors continually, Wandering about alone and silently.
While I these thoughts within myself pursued, He, having made a pause, the same discourse renewed.
XX And soon with this he other matter blended, Cheerfully uttered, with demeanour kind, But stately in the main; and when he ended, I could have laughed myself to scorn to find In that decrepit Man so firm a mind.
"God," said I, "be my help and stay secure; I'll think of the Leech-gatherer on the lonely moor!"


Written by Michael Ondaatje | Create an image from this poem

The Time Around Scars

 A girl whom I've not spoken to
or shared coffee with for several years
writes of an old scar.
On her wrist it sleeps, smooth and white, the size of a leech.
I gave it to her brandishing a new Italian penknife.
Look, I said turning, and blood spat onto her shirt.
My wife has scars like spread raindrops on knees and ankles, she talks of broken greenhouse panes and yet, apart from imagining red feet, (a nymph out of Chagall) I bring little to that scene.
We remember the time around scars, they freeze irrelevant emotions and divide us from present friends.
I remember this girl's face, the widening rise of surprise.
And would she moving with lover or husband conceal or flaunt it, or keep it at her wrist a mysterious watch.
And this scar I then remember is a medallion of no emotion.
I would meet you now and I would wish this scar to have been given with all the love that never occurred between us.
Written by William Wordsworth | Create an image from this poem

Resolution And Independence

 I 

There was a roaring in the wind all night; 
The rain came heavily and fell in floods; 
But now the sun is rising calm and bright; 
The birds are singing in the distant woods; 
Over his own sweet voice the Stock-dove broods; 
The Jay makes answer as the Magpie chatters; 
And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters.
II All things that love the sun are out of doors; The sky rejoices in the morning's birth; The grass is bright with rain-drops;--on the moors The hare is running races in her mirth; And with her feet she from the plashy earth Raises a mist, that, glittering in the sun, Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run.
III I was a Traveller then upon the moor, I saw the hare that raced about with joy; I heard the woods and distant waters roar; Or heard them not, as happy as a boy: The pleasant season did my heart employ: My old remembrances went from me wholly; And all the ways of men, so vain and melancholy.
IV But, as it sometimes chanceth, from the might Of joy in minds that can no further go, As high as we have mounted in delight In our dejection do we sink as low; To me that morning did it happen so; And fears and fancies thick upon me came; Dim sadness--and blind thoughts, I knew not, nor could name.
V I heard the sky-lark warbling in the sky; And I bethought me of the playful hare: Even such a happy Child of earth am I; Even as these blissful creatures do I fare; Far from the world I walk, and from all care; But there may come another day to me-- Solitude, pain of heart, distress, and poverty.
VI My whole life I have lived in pleasant thought, As if life's business were a summer mood; As if all needful things would come unsought To genial faith, still rich in genial good; But how can He expect that others should Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all? VII I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous Boy, The sleepless Soul that perished in his pride; Of Him who walked in glory and in joy Following his plough, along the mountain-side: By our own spirits are we deified: We Poets in our youth begin in gladness; But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
VIII Now, whether it were by peculiar grace, A leading from above, a something given, Yet it befell, that, in this lonely place, When I with these untoward thoughts had striven, Beside a pool bare to the eye of heaven I saw a Man before me unawares: The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs.
IX As a huge stone is sometimes seen to lie Couched on the bald top of an eminence; Wonder to all who do the same espy, By what means it could thither come, and whence; So that it seems a thing endued with sense: Like a sea-beast crawled forth, that on a shelf Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun itself; X Such seemed this Man, not all alive nor dead, Nor all asleep--in his extreme old age: His body was bent double, feet and head Coming together in life's pilgrimage; As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage Of sickness felt by him in times long past, A more than human weight upon his frame had cast.
XI Himself he propped, limbs, body, and pale face, Upon a long grey staff of shaven wood: And, still as I drew near with gentle pace, Upon the margin of that moorish flood Motionless as a cloud the old Man stood, That heareth not the loud winds when they call And moveth all together, if it move at all.
XII At length, himself unsettling, he the pond Stirred with his staff, and fixedly did look Upon the muddy water, which he conned, As if he had been reading in a book: And now a stranger's privilege I took; And, drawing to his side, to him did say, "This morning gives us promise of a glorious day.
" XIII A gentle answer did the old Man make, In courteous speech which forth he slowly drew: And him with further words I thus bespake, "What occupation do you there pursue? This is a lonesome place for one like you.
" Ere he replied, a flash of mild surprise Broke from the sable orbs of his yet-vivid eyes, XIV His words came feebly, from a feeble chest, But each in solemn order followed each, With something of a lofty utterance drest-- Choice word and measured phrase, above the reach Of ordinary men; a stately speech; Such as grave Livers do in Scotland use, Religious men, who give to God and man their dues.
XV He told, that to these waters he had come To gather leeches, being old and poor: Employment hazardous and wearisome! And he had many hardships to endure: From pond to pond he roamed, from moor to moor; Housing, with God's good help, by choice or chance, And in this way he gained an honest maintenance.
XVI The old Man still stood talking by my side; But now his voice to me was like a stream Scarce heard; nor word from word could I divide; And the whole body of the Man did seem Like one whom I had met with in a dream; Or like a man from some far region sent, To give me human strength, by apt admonishment.
XVII My former thoughts returned: the fear that kills; And hope that is unwilling to be fed; Cold, pain, and labour, and all fleshly ills; And mighty Poets in their misery dead.
--Perplexed, and longing to be comforted, My question eagerly did I renew, "How is it that you live, and what is it you do?" XVIII He with a smile did then his words repeat; And said, that, gathering leeches, far and wide He travelled; stirring thus about his feet The waters of the pools where they abide.
"Once I could meet with them on every side; But they have dwindled long by slow decay; Yet still I persevere, and find them where I may.
" XIX While he was talking thus, the lonely place, The old Man's shape, and speech--all troubled me: In my mind's eye I seemed to see him pace About the weary moors continually, Wandering about alone and silently.
While I these thoughts within myself pursued, He, having made a pause, the same discourse renewed.
XX And soon with this he other matter blended, Cheerfully uttered, with demeanour kind, But stately in the main; and when he ended, I could have laughed myself to scorn to find In that decrepit Man so firm a mind.
"God," said I, "be my help and stay secure; I'll think of the Leech-gatherer on the lonely moor!"
Written by Percy Bysshe Shelley | Create an image from this poem

English In 1819

 An old, mad, blind, despised, and dying king,-- 
Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who 
Through public scorn,--mud from a muddy spring,-- 
Rulers who neither see, nor feel, nor know, 
But leech-like to their fainting country cling, 
Till they drop, blind in blood, without a blow,-- 
A people starved and stabbed in the untilled field,-- 
An army, which liberticide and prey 
Makes as a two-edged sword to all who wield,-- 
Golden and sanguine laws which tempt and slay; 
Religion Christless, Godless--a book sealed; 
A Senate, Time's worst statute unrepealed,-- 
Are graves, from which a glorious Phantom may 
Burst, to illumine our tempestuous day.
Written by Rudyard Kipling | Create an image from this poem

Outsong in the Jungle

 For the sake of him who showed
One wise Frog the Jungle-Road,
Keep the Law the Man-Pack make
For thy blind old Baloo's sake!
Clean or tainted, hot or stale,
Hold it as it were the Trail,
Through the day and through the night,
Questing neither left nor right.
For the sake of him who loves Thee beyond all else that moves, When thy Pack would make thee pain, Say: " Tabaqui sings again.
" When thy Pack would work thee ill, Say: "Shere Khan is yet to kill.
" When the knife is drawn to slay, Keep the Law and go thy way.
(Root and honey, palm and spathe, Guard a cub from harm and scathe!) Wood and Water, Wind and Tree, Jungle-Favour go with thee! Kaa Anger is the egg of Fear-- Only lidless eyes see clear.
Cobra-poison none may leech-- Even so with Cobra-speech.
Open talk shall call to thee Strength, whose mate is Courtesy.
Send no lunge beyond thy length.
Lend no rotten bough thy strength.
Gauge thy gape with buck or goat, Lest thine eye should choke thy throat.
After gorging, wouldst thou sleep ? Look thy den be hid and deep, Lest a wrong, by thee forgot, Draw thy killer to the spot.
East and West and North and South, Wash thy hide and close thy mouth.
(Pit and rift and blue pool-brim, Middle-Jungle follow him!) Wood and Water, Wind and Tree, Jungle-Favour go with thee! Bagheera In the cage my life began; Well I know the worth of Man.
By the Broken Lock that freed-- Man-cub, ware the Man-cub's breed! Scenting-dew or starlight pale, Choose no tangled tree-cat trail.
Pack or council, hunt or den, Cry no truce with Jackal-Men.
Feed them silence when they say: "Come with us an easy way.
" Feed them silence when they seek Help of thine to hurt the weak.
Make no bandar's boast of skill; Hold thy peace above the kill.
Let nor call nor song nor sign Turn thee from thy hunting-line.
(Morning mist or twilight clear, Serve him, Wardens of the Deer!) Wood and Water, Wind and Tree, Jungle-Favour go with thee! The Three On the trail that thou must tread To the threshold of our dread, Where the Flower blossoms red; Through the nights when thou shalt lie Prisoned from our Mother-sky, Hearing us, thy loves, go by; In the dawns when thou.
shalt wake To the toil thou canst not break, Heartsick for the Jungle's sake; Wood and Water, Wind air Tree, Wisdom, Strength, and Courtesy, Jungle-Favour go with thee!


Written by Dylan Thomas | Create an image from this poem

The Force That Through The Green Fuse Drives The Flower

 The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.
The force that drives the water through the rocks Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams Turns mine to wax.
And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.
The hand that whirls the water in the pool Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind Hauls my shroud sail.
And I am dumb to tell the hanging man How of my clay is made the hangman's lime.
The lips of time leech to the fountain head; Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood Shall calm her sores.
And I am dumb to tell a weather's wind How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.
And I am dumb to tell the lover's tomb How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.
Written by Victor Hugo | Create an image from this poem

SEA-ADVENTURERS' SONG

 ("En partant du Golfe d'Otrante.") 
 
 {Bk. XXVIII.} 


 We told thirty when we started 
 From port so taut and fine, 
 But soon our crew were parted, 
 Till now we number nine. 
 
 Tom Robbins, English, tall and straight, 
 Left us at Aetna light; 
 He left us to investigate 
 What made the mountain bright; 
 "I mean to ask Old Nick himself, 
 (And here his eye he rolls) 
 If I can't bring Newcastle pelf 
 By selling him some coals!" 
 
 In Calabree, a lass and cup 
 Drove scowling Spada wild: 
 She only held her finger up, 
 And there he drank and smiled; 
 And over in Gaëta Bay, 
 Ascanio—ashore 
 A fool!—must wed a widow gay 
 Who'd buried three or four. 
 
 At Naples, woe! poor Ned they hanged— 
 Hemp neckcloth he disdained— 
 And prettily we all were banged— 
 And two more blades remained 
 
 To serve the Duke, and row in chains— 
 Thank saints! 'twas not my cast! 
 We drank deliverance from pains— 
 We who'd the ducats fast. 
 
 At Malta Dick became a monk— 
 (What vineyards have those priests!) 
 And Gobbo to quack-salver sunk, 
 To leech vile murrained beasts; 
 And lazy André, blown off shore, 
 Was picked up by the Turk, 
 And in some harem, you be sure, 
 Is forced at last to work. 
 
 Next, three of us whom nothing daunts, 
 Marched off with Prince Eugene, 
 To take Genoa! oh, it vaunts 
 Girls fit—each one—for queen! 
 Had they but promised us the pick, 
 Perchance we had joined, all; 
 But battering bastions built of brick— 
 Bah, give me wooden wall! 
 
 By Leghorn, twenty caravels 
 Came 'cross our lonely sail— 
 Spinoza's Sea-Invincibles! 
 But, whew! our shots like hail 
 Made shortish work of galley long 
 And chubby sailing craft— 
 Our making ready first to close 
 Sent them a-spinning aft. 
 
 Off Marseilles, ne'er by sun forsook 
 We friends fell-to as foes! 
 For Lucca Diavolo mistook 
 Angelo's wife for Rose, 
 
 And hang me! soon the angel slid 
 The devil in the sea, 
 And would of lass likewise be rid— 
 And so we fought it free! 
 
 At Palmas eight or so gave slip, 
 Pescara to pursue, 
 And more, perchance, had left the ship, 
 But Algiers loomed in view; 
 And here we cruised to intercept 
 Some lucky-laden rogues, 
 Whose gold-galleons but slowly crept, 
 So that we trounced the dogs! 
 
 And after making war out there, 
 We made love at "the Gib." 
 We ten—no more! we took it fair, 
 And kissed the gov'nor's "rib," 
 And made the King of Spain our take, 
 Believe or not, who cares? 
 I tell ye that he begged till black 
 I' the face to have his shares. 
 
 We're rovers of the restless main, 
 But we've some conscience, mark! 
 And we know what it is to reign, 
 And finally did heark— 
 Aye, masters of the narrow Neck, 
 We hearkened to our heart, 
 And gave him freedom on our deck, 
 His town, and gold—in part. 
 
 My lucky mates for that were made 
 Grandees of Old Castile, 
 And maids of honor went to wed, 
 Somewhere in sweet Seville; 
 
 Not they for me were fair enough, 
 And so his Majesty 
 Declared his daughter—'tis no scoff! 
 My beauteous bride should be. 
 
 "A royal daughter!" think of that! 
 But I would never one. 
 I have a lass (I said it pat) 
 Who's not been bred like nun— 
 But, merry maid with eagle eye, 
 It's proud she smiles and bright, 
 And sings upon the cliff, to spy 
 My ship a-heave in sight! 
 
 My Faenzetta has my heart! 
 In Fiesoné she 
 The fairest! Nothing shall us part, 
 Saving, in sooth, the Sea! 
 And that not long! its rolling wave 
 And such breeze holding now 
 Will send me along to her I love— 
 And so I made my bow. 
 
 We told thirty when we started 
 From port so taut and fine, 
 But thus our crew were parted, 
 And now we number nine. 


 




Written by Emily Dickinson | Create an image from this poem

It would have starved a Gnat --

 It would have starved a Gnat --
To live so small as I --
And yet I was a living Child --
With Food's necessity

Upon me -- like a Claw --
I could no more remove
Than I could coax a Leech away --
Or make a Dragon -- move --

Not like the Gnat -- had I --
The privilege to fly
And seek a Dinner for myself --
How mightier He -- than I --

Nor like Himself -- the Art
Upon the Window Pane
To gad my little Being out --
And not begin -- again --
Written by Emily Dickinson | Create an image from this poem

One Anguish -- in a Crowd --

 One Anguish -- in a Crowd --
A Minor thing -- it sounds --
And yet, unto the single Doe
Attempted of the Hounds

'Tis Terror as consummate
As Legions of Alarm
Did leap, full flanked, upon the Host --
'Tis Units -- make the Swarm --

A Small Leech -- on the Vitals --
The sliver, in the Lung --
The Bung out -- of an Artery --
Are scarce accounted -- Harms --

Yet might -- by relation
To that Repealless thing --
A Being -- impotent to end --
When once it has begun --