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Best Famous Lengthening Poems

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

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Written by Sarah Fuller Flower Adams | Create an image from this poem

Part In Peace: Is Day Before Us?

Part in peace: is day before us?
Praise His Name for life and light;
Are the shadows lengthening o’er us?
Bless His care Who guards the night.
Part in peace: with deep thanksgiving, Rendering, as we homeward tread, Gracious service to the living, Tranquil memory to the dead.
Part in peace: such are the praises God our Maker loveth best; Such the worship that upraises Human hearts to heavenly rest.


Written by Amy Lowell | Create an image from this poem

In Answer to a Request

 You ask me for a sonnet.
Ah, my Dear, Can clocks tick back to yesterday at noon? Can cracked and fallen leaves recall last June And leap up on the boughs, now stiff and sere? For your sake, I would go and seek the year, Faded beyond the purple ranks of dune, Blown sands of drifted hours, which the moon Streaks with a ghostly finger, and her sneer Pulls at my lengthening shadow.
Yes, 'tis that! My shadow stretches forward, and the ground Is dark in front because the light's behind.
It is grotesque, with such a funny hat, In watching it and walking I have found More than enough to occupy my mind.
I cannot turn, the light would make me blind.
Written by Bliss Carman | Create an image from this poem

The Winter Scene

 I
The rutted roads are all like iron; skies
Are keen and brilliant; only the oak-leaves cling
In the bare woods, or the hardy bitter-sweet;
Drivers have put their sheepskin jackets on;
And all the ponds are sealed with sheeted ice
That rings with stroke of skate and hockey-stick,
Or in the twilight cracks with running whoop.
Bring in the logs of oak and hickory, And make an ample blaze on the wide hearth.
Now is the time, with winter o'er the world, For books and friends and yellow candle-light, And timeless lingering by the settling fire.
While all the shuddering stars are keen with cold.
II Out from the silent portal of the hours, When frosts are come and all the hosts put on.
Their burnished gear to march across the night And o'er a darkened earth in splendor shine, Slowly above the world Orion wheels His glittering square, while on the shadowy hill And throbbing like a sea-light through the dusk, Great Sirius rises in his flashing blue.
Lord of the winter night, august and pure, Returning year on year untouched by time, To hearten faith with thine unfaltering fire, There are no hurts that beauty cannot ease, No ills that love cannot at last repair, In the victorious progress of the soul.
III Russet and white and gray is the oak wood In the great snow.
Still from the North it comes, Whispering, settling, sifting through the trees, O'erloading branch and twig.
The road is lost.
Clearing and meadow, stream and ice-bound pond Are made once more a trackless wilderness In the white hush where not a creature stirs; And the pale sun is blotted from the sky.
In that strange twilight the lone traveller halts To listen to the stealthy snowflakes fall.
And then far off toward the Stamford shore, Where through the storm the coastwise liners go, Faint and recurrent on the muffled air, A foghorn booming through the Smother--hark! IV When the day changed and the mad wind died down, The powdery drifts that all day long had blown Across the meadows and the open fields, Or whirled like diamond dust in the bright sun, Settled to rest, and for a tranquil hour The lengthening bluish shadows on the snow Stole down the orchard slope, and a rose light Flooded the earth with beauty and with peace.
Then in the west behind the cedars black The sinking sun stained red the winter dusk With sullen flare upon the snowy ridge,-- As in a masterpiece by Hokusai, Where on a background gray, with flaming breath A scarlet dragon dies in dusky gold.
Written by Edgar Lee Masters | Create an image from this poem

John Wasson

 Oh! the dew-wet grass of the meadow in North Carolina
Through which Rebecca followed me wailing, wailing,
One child in her arms, and three that ran along wailing,
Lengthening out the farewell to me off to the war with the British,
And then the long, hard years down to the day of Yorktown.
And then my search for Rebecca, Finding her at last in Virginia, Two children dead in the meanwhile.
We went by oxen to Tennessee, Thence after years to Illinois, At last to Spoon River.
We cut the buffalo grass, We felled the forests, We built the school houses, built the bridges, Leveled the roads and tilled the fields Alone with poverty, scourges, death- If Harry Wilmans who fought the Filipinos Is to have a flag on his grave Take it from mine!
Written by Alan Seeger | Create an image from this poem

Lyonesse

 In Lyonesse was beauty enough, men say: 
Long Summer loaded the orchards to excess, 
And fertile lowlands lengthening far away, 
In Lyonesse.
Came a term to that land's old favoredness: Past the sea-walls, crumbled in thundering spray, Rolled the green waves, ravening, merciless.
Through bearded boughs immobile in cool decay, Where sea-bloom covers corroding palaces, The mermaid glides with a curious glance to-day, In Lyonesse.


Written by Mother Goose | Create an image from this poem

Lengthening Days


As the days grow longer
The storms grow stronger.

Written by Oliver Wendell Holmes | Create an image from this poem

Under the Violets

 HER hands are cold; her face is white;
No more her pulses come and go;
Her eyes are shut to life and light;--
Fold the white vesture, snow on snow,
And lay her where the violets blow.
But not beneath a graven stone, To plead for tears with alien eyes; A slender cross of wood alone Shall say, that here a maiden lies In peace beneath the peaceful skies.
And gray old trees of hugest limb Shall wheel their circling shadows round To make the scorching sunlight dim That drinks the greenness from the ground, And drop their dead leaves on her mound.
When o'er their boughs the squirrels run, And through their leaves the robins call, And, ripening in the autumn sun, The acorns and the chestnuts fall, Doubt not that she will heed them all.
For her the morning choir shall sing Its matins from the branches high, And every minstrel-voice of Spring, That trills beneath the April sky, Shall greet her with its earliest cry.
When, turning round their dial-track, Eastward the lengthening shadows pass, Her little mourners, clad in black, The crickets, sliding through the grass, Shall pipe for her an evening mass.
At last the rootlets of the trees Shall find the prison where she lies, And bear the buried dust they seize In leaves and blossoms to the skies.
So may the soul that warmed it rise! If any, born of kindlier blood, Should ask, What maiden lies below? Say only this: A tender bud, That tried to blossom in the snow, Lies withered where the violets blow.
Written by Louise Bogan | Create an image from this poem

Song For The Last Act

 Now that I have your face by heart, I look
Less at its features than its darkening frame
Where quince and melon, yellow as young flame,
Lie with quilled dahlias and the shepherd's crook.
Beyond, a garden, There, in insolent ease The lead and marble figures watch the show Of yet another summer loath to go Although the scythes hang in the apple trees.
Now that I have your face by heart, I look.
Now that I have your voice by heart, I read In the black chords upon a dulling page Music that is not meant for music's cage, Whose emblems mix with words that shake and bleed.
The staves are shuttled over with a stark Unprinted silence.
In a double dream I must spell out the storm, the running stream.
The beat's too swift.
The notes shift in the dark.
Now that I have your voice by heart, I read.
Now that I have your heart by heart, I see The wharves with their great ships and architraves; The rigging and the cargo and the slaves On a strange beach under a broken sky.
O not departure, but a voyage done! The bales stand on the stone; the anchor weeps Its red rust downward, and the long vine creeps Beside the salt herb, in the lengthening sun.
Now that I have your heart by heart, I see.
Written by Friedrich von Schiller | Create an image from this poem

Hero And Leander

 See you the towers, that, gray and old,
Frown through the sunlight's liquid gold,
Steep sternly fronting steep?
The Hellespont beneath them swells,
And roaring cleaves the Dardanelles,
The rock-gates of the deep!
Hear you the sea, whose stormy wave,
From Asia, Europe clove in thunder?
That sea which rent a world, cannot
Rend love from love asunder!

In Hero's, in Leander's heart,
Thrills the sweet anguish of the dart
Whose feather flies from love.
All Hebe's bloom in Hero's cheek-- And his the hunter's steps that seek Delight, the hills above! Between their sires the rival feud Forbids their plighted hearts to meet; Love's fruits hang over danger's gulf, By danger made more sweet.
Alone on Sestos' rocky tower, Where upward sent in stormy shower, The whirling waters foam,-- Alone the maiden sits, and eyes The cliffs of fair Abydos rise Afar--her lover's home.
Oh, safely thrown from strand to strand, No bridge can love to love convey; No boatman shoots from yonder shore, Yet Love has found the way.
-- That love, which could the labyrinth pierce-- Which nerves the weak, and curbs the fierce, And wings with wit the dull;-- That love which o'er the furrowed land Bowed--tame beneath young Jason's hand-- The fiery-snorting bull! Yes, Styx itself, that ninefold flows, Has love, the fearless, ventured o'er, And back to daylight borne the bride, From Pluto's dreary shore! What marvel then that wind and wave, Leander doth but burn to brave, When love, that goads him, guides! Still when the day, with fainter glimmer, Wanes pale--he leaps, the daring swimmer, Amid the darkening tides; With lusty arms he cleaves the waves, And strikes for that dear strand afar; Where high from Hero's lonely tower Lone streams the beacon-star.
In vain his blood the wave may chill, These tender arms can warm it still-- And, weary if the way, By many a sweet embrace, above All earthly boons--can liberal love The lover's toil repay, Until Aurora breaks the dream, And warns the loiterer to depart-- Back to the ocean's icy bed, Scared from that loving heart.
So thirty suns have sped their flight-- Still in that theft of sweet delight Exult the happy pair; Caress will never pall caress, And joys that gods might envy, bless The single bride-night there.
Ah! never he has rapture known, Who has not, where the waves are driven Upon the fearful shores of hell, Plucked fruits that taste of heaven! Now changing in their season are, The morning and the Hesper star;-- Nor see those happy eyes The leaves that withering droop and fall, Nor hear, when, from its northern hall, The neighboring winter sighs; Or, if they see, the shortening days But seem to them to close in kindness; For longer joys, in lengthening nights, They thank the heaven in blindness.
It is the time, when night and day, In equal scales contend for sway-- Lone, on her rocky steep, Lingers the girl with wistful eyes That watch the sun-steeds down the skies, Careering towards the deep.
Lulled lay the smooth and silent sea, A mirror in translucent calm, The breeze, along that crystal realm, Unmurmuring, died in balm.
In wanton swarms and blithe array, The merry dolphins glide and play Amid the silver waves.
In gray and dusky troops are seen, The hosts that serve the ocean-queen, Upborne from coral caves: They--only they--have witnessed love To rapture steal its secret way: And Hecate [36] seals the only lips That could the tale betray! She marks in joy the lulled water, And Sestos, thus thy tender daughter, Soft-flattering, woos the sea! "Fair god--and canst thou then betray? No! falsehood dwells with them that say That falsehood dwells with thee! Ah! faithless is the race of man, And harsh a father's heart can prove; But thee, the gentle and the mild, The grief of love can move!" "Within these hated walls of stone, Should I, repining, mourn alone, And fade in ceaseless care, But thou, though o'er thy giant tide, Nor bridge may span, nor boat may glide, Dost safe my lover bear.
And darksome is thy solemn deep, And fearful is thy roaring wave; But wave and deep are won by love-- Thou smilest on the brave!" "Nor vainly, sovereign of the sea, Did Eros send his shafts to thee What time the rain of gold, Bright Helle, with her brother bore, How stirred the waves she wandered o'er, How stirred thy deeps of old! Swift, by the maiden's charms subdued, Thou cam'st from out the gloomy waves, And in thy mighty arms, she sank Into thy bridal caves.
" "A goddess with a god, to keep In endless youth, beneath the deep, Her solemn ocean-court! And still she smooths thine angry tides, Tames thy wild heart, and favoring guides The sailor to the port! Beautiful Helle, bright one, hear Thy lone adoring suppliant pray! And guide, O goddess--guide my love Along the wonted way!" Now twilight dims the waters' flow, And from the tower, the beacon's glow Waves flickering o'er the main.
Ah, where athwart the dismal stream, Shall shine the beacon's faithful beam The lover's eyes shall strain! Hark! sounds moan threatening from afar-- From heaven the blessed stars are gone-- More darkly swells the rising sea The tempest labors on! Along the ocean's boundless plains Lies night--in torrents rush the rains From the dark-bosomed cloud-- Red lightning skirs the panting air, And, loosed from out their rocky lair, Sweep all the storms abroad.
Huge wave on huge wave tumbling o'er, The yawning gulf is rent asunder, And shows, as through an opening pall, Grim earth--the ocean under! Poor maiden! bootless wail or vow-- "Have mercy, Jove--be gracious, thou! Dread prayer was mine before!" What if the gods have heard--and he, Lone victim of the stormy sea, Now struggles to the shore! There's not a sea-bird on the wave-- Their hurrying wings the shelter seek; The stoutest ship the storms have proved, Takes refuge in the creek.
"Ah, still that heart, which oft has braved The danger where the daring saved, Love lureth o'er the sea;-- For many a vow at parting morn, That naught but death should bar return, Breathed those dear lips to me; And whirled around, the while I weep, Amid the storm that rides the wave, The giant gulf is grasping down The rash one to the grave! "False Pontus! and the calm I hailed, The awaiting murder darkly veiled-- The lulled pellucid flow, The smiles in which thou wert arrayed, Were but the snares that love betrayed To thy false realm below! Now in the midway of the main, Return relentlessly forbidden, Thou loosenest on the path beyond The horrors thou hadst hidden.
" Loud and more loud the tempest raves In thunder break the mountain waves, White-foaming on the rock-- No ship that ever swept the deep Its ribs of gnarled oak could keep Unshattered by the shock.
Dies in the blast the guiding torch To light the struggler to the strand; 'Tis death to battle with the wave, And death no less to land! On Venus, daughter of the seas, She calls the tempest to appease-- To each wild-shrieking wind Along the ocean-desert borne, She vows a steer with golden horn-- Vain vow--relentless wind! On every goddess of the deep, On all the gods in heaven that be, She calls--to soothe in calm, awhile The tempest-laden sea! "Hearken the anguish of my cries! From thy green halls, arise--arise, Leucothoe the divine! Who, in the barren main afar, Oft on the storm-beat mariner Dost gently-saving shine.
Oh,--reach to him thy mystic veil, To which the drowning clasp may cling, And safely from that roaring grave, To shore my lover bring!" And now the savage winds are hushing.
And o'er the arched horizon, blushing, Day's chariot gleams on high! Back to their wonted channels rolled, In crystal calm the waves behold One smile on sea and sky! All softly breaks the rippling tide, Low-murmuring on the rocky land, And playful wavelets gently float A corpse upon the strand! 'Tis he!--who even in death would still Not fail the sweet vow to fulfil; She looks--sees--knows him there! From her pale lips no sorrow speaks, No tears glide down her hueless cheeks; Cold-numbed in her despair-- She looked along the silent deep, She looked upon the brightening heaven, Till to the marble face the soul Its light sublime had given! "Ye solemn powers men shrink to name, Your might is here, your rights ye claim-- Yet think not I repine Soon closed my course; yet I can bless The life that brought me happiness-- The fairest lot was mine! Living have I thy temple served, Thy consecrated priestess been-- My last glad offering now receive Venus, thou mightiest queen!" Flashed the white robe along the air, And from the tower that beetled there She sprang into the wave; Roused from his throne beneath the waste, Those holy forms the god embraced-- A god himself their grave! Pleased with his prey, he glides along-- More blithe the murmured music seems, A gush from unexhausted urns His everlasting streams!
Written by Eugene Field | Create an image from this poem

Christmas treasures

 I count my treasures o'er with care.
-- The little toy my darling knew, A little sock of faded hue, A little lock of golden hair.
Long years ago this holy time, My little one--my all to me-- Sat robed in white upon my knee And heard the merry Christmas chime.
"Tell me, my little golden-head, If Santa Claus should come to-night, What shall he bring my baby bright,-- What treasure for my boy?" I said.
And then he named this little toy, While in his round and mournful eyes There came a look of sweet surprise, That spake his quiet, trustful joy.
And as he lisped his evening prayer He asked the boon with childish grace; Then, toddling to the chimney-place, He hung this little stocking there.
That night, while lengthening shadows crept, I saw the white-winged angels come With singing to our lowly home And kiss my darling as he slept.
They must have heard his little prayer, For in the morn, with rapturous face, He toddled to the chimney-place, And found this little treasure there.
They came again one Christmas-tide,-- That angel host, so fair and white! And singing all that glorious night, They lured my darling from my side.
A little sock, a little toy, A little lock of golden hair, The Christmas music on the air, A watching for my baby boy! But if again that angel train And golden-head come back for me, To bear me to Eternity, My watching will not be in vain! 1879.

Book: Reflection on the Important Things