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Best Famous Mazed Poems

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

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Written by Rudyard Kipling | Create an image from this poem

The English Flag

 Above the portico a flag-staff, bearing the Union Jack,
remained fluttering in the flames for some time, but ultimately
when it fell the crowds rent the air with shouts,
and seemed to see significance in the incident.
-- DAILY PAPERS.
Winds of the World, give answer! They are whimpering to and fro -- And what should they know of England who only England know? -- The poor little street-bred people that vapour and fume and brag, They are lifting their heads in the stillness to yelp at the English Flag! Must we borrow a clout from the Boer -- to plaster anew with dirt? An Irish liar's bandage, or an English coward's shirt? We may not speak of England; her Flag's to sell or share.
What is the Flag of England? Winds of the World, declare! The North Wind blew: -- "From Bergen my steel-shod vanguards go; I chase your lazy whalers home from the Disko floe; By the great North Lights above me I work the will of God, And the liner splits on the ice-field or the Dogger fills with cod.
"I barred my gates with iron, I shuttered my doors with flame, Because to force my ramparts your nutshell navies came; I took the sun from their presence, I cut them down with my blast, And they died, but the Flag of England blew free ere the spirit passed.
"The lean white bear hath seen it in the long, long Arctic night, The musk-ox knows the standard that flouts the Northern Light: What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my bergs to dare, Ye have but my drifts to conquer.
Go forth, for it is there!" The South Wind sighed: -- "From the Virgins my mid-sea course was ta'en Over a thousand islands lost in an idle main, Where the sea-egg flames on the coral and the long-backed breakers croon Their endless ocean legends to the lazy, locked lagoon.
"Strayed amid lonely islets, mazed amid outer keys, I waked the palms to laughter -- I tossed the scud in the breeze -- Never was isle so little, never was sea so lone, But over the scud and the palm-trees an English flag was flown.
"I have wrenched it free from the halliard to hang for a wisp on the Horn; I have chased it north to the Lizard -- ribboned and rolled and torn; I have spread its fold o'er the dying, adrift in a hopeless sea; I have hurled it swift on the slaver, and seen the slave set free.
"My basking sunfish know it, and wheeling albatross, Where the lone wave fills with fire beneath the Southern Cross.
What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my reefs to dare, Ye have but my seas to furrow.
Go forth, for it is there!" The East Wind roared: -- "From the Kuriles, the Bitter Seas, I come, And me men call the Home-Wind, for I bring the English home.
Look -- look well to your shipping! By the breath of my mad typhoon I swept your close-packed Praya and beached your best at Kowloon! "The reeling junks behind me and the racing seas before, I raped your richest roadstead -- I plundered Singapore! I set my hand on the Hoogli; as a hooded snake she rose, And I flung your stoutest steamers to roost with the startled crows.
"Never the lotus closes, never the wild-fowl wake, But a soul goes out on the East Wind that died for England's sake -- Man or woman or suckling, mother or bride or maid -- Because on the bones of the English the English Flag is stayed.
"The desert-dust hath dimmed it, the flying wild-ass knows, The scared white leopard winds it across the taintless snows.
What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my sun to dare, Ye have but my sands to travel.
Go forth, for it is there!" The West Wind called: -- "In squadrons the thoughtless galleons fly That bear the wheat and cattle lest street-bred people die.
They make my might their porter, they make my house their path, Till I loose my neck from their rudder and whelm them all in my wrath.
"I draw the gliding fog-bank as a snake is drawn from the hole, They bellow one to the other, the frighted ship-bells toll, For day is a drifting terror till I raise the shroud with my breath, And they see strange bows above them and the two go locked to death.
"But whether in calm or wrack-wreath, whether by dark or day, I heave them whole to the conger or rip their plates away, First of the scattered legions, under a shrieking sky, Dipping between the rollers, the English Flag goes by.
"The dead dumb fog hath wrapped it -- the frozen dews have kissed -- The naked stars have seen it, a fellow-star in the mist.
What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my breath to dare, Ye have but my waves to conquer.
Go forth, for it is there!"


Written by William Morris | Create an image from this poem

Riding Together

 For many, many days together
The wind blew steady from the East;
For many days hot grew the weather,
About the time of our Lady's Feast.
For many days we rode together, Yet met we neither friend nor foe; Hotter and clearer grew the weather, Steadily did the East wind blow.
We saw the trees in the hot, bright weather, Clear-cut, with shadows very black, As freely we rode on together With helms unlaced and bridles slack.
And often, as we rode together, We, looking down the green-bank'd stream, Saw flowers in the sunny weather, And saw the bubble-making bream.
And in the night lay down together, And hung above our heads the rood, Or watch'd night-long in the dewy weather, The while the moon did watch the wood.
Our spears stood bright and thick together, Straight out the banners stream'd behind, As we gallop'd on in the sunny weather, With faces turn'd towards the wind.
Down sank our threescore spears together, As thick we saw the pagans ride; His eager face in the clear fresh weather, Shone out that last time by my side.
Up the sweep of the bridge we dash'd together, It rock'd to the crash of the meeting spears, Down rain'd the buds of the dear spring weather, The elm-tree flowers fell like tears.
There, as we roll'd and writhed together, I threw my arms above my head, For close by my side, in the lovely weather, I saw him reel and fall back dead.
I and the slayer met together, He waited the death-stroke there in his place, With thoughts of death, in the lovely weather, Gapingly mazed at my madden'd face.
Madly I fought as we fought together; In vain: the little Christian band The pagans drown'd, as in stormy weather The river drowns low-lying land.
They bound my blood-stain'd hands together, They bound his corpse to nod by my side: Then on we rode, in the bright March weather, With clash of cymbals did we ride.
We ride no more, no more together; My prison-bars are thick and strong, I take no heed of any weather, The sweet Saints grant I live not long.
Written by Rudyard Kipling | Create an image from this poem

Song of Diego Valdez

 The God of Fair Beginnings
 Hath prospered here my hand --
The cargoes of my lading,
 And the keels of my command.
For out of many ventures That sailed with hope as high, My own have made the better trade, And Admiral am I.
To me my King's much honour, To me my people's love -- To me the pride of Princes And power all pride above; To me the shouting cities, To me the mob's refrain: -- "Who knows not noble Valdez "Hath never heard of Spain.
" But I remember comrades -- Old playmates on new seas -- Whenas we traded orpiment Among the savages -- A thousand leagues to south'ard And thirty years removed -- They knew nor noble Valdez, But me they knew and loved.
Then they that found good liquor, They drank it not alone, And they that found fair plunder, They told us every one, About our chosen islands Or secret shoals between, When, weary from far voyage, We gathered to careen.
There burned our breaming-fagots All pale along the shore: There rose our worn pavilions -- A sail above an oar: As flashed each yeaming anchor Through mellow seas afire, So swift our careless captains Rowed each to his desire.
Where lay our loosened harness? Where turned our naked feet? Whose tavern 'mid the palm-trees? What quenchings of what heat? Oh, fountain in the desert! Oh, cistern in the waste! Oh, bread we ate in secret! Oh, cup we spilled in haste! The youth new-taught of longing, The widow curbed and wan, The goodwife proud at season, And the maid aware of man -- All souls unslaked, consuming, Defrauded in delays, Desire not more their quittance Than I those forfeit days! I dreamed to wait my pleasure Unchanged my spring would bide: Wherefore, to wait my pleasure, I put my spring aside Till, first in face of Fortune, And last in mazed disdain, I made Diego Valdez High Admiral of Spain.
Then walked no wind 'neath Heaven Nor surge that did not aid -- I dared extreme occasion, Nor ever one betrayed.
They wrought a deeper treason -- (Led seas that served my needs!) They sold Diego Valdez To bondage of great deeds.
The tempest flung me seaward, And pinned and bade me hold The course I might not alter -- And men esteemed me bold! The calms embayed my quarry, The fog-wreath sealed his eyes; The dawn-wind brought my topsails -- And men esteemed me wise! Yet, 'spite my tyrant triumphs, Bewildered, dispossessed -- My dream held I beore me My vision of my rest; But, crowned by Fleet and People, And bound by King and Pope -- Stands here Diego Valdez To rob me of my hope.
No prayer of mine shall move him.
No word of his set free The Lord of Sixty Pennants And the Steward of the Sea.
His will can loose ten thousand To seek their loves again -- But not Diego Valdez, High Admiral of Spain.
There walks no wind 'neath Heaven Nor wave that shall restore The old careening riot And the clamorous, crowded shore -- The fountain in the desert, The cistern in the waste, The bread we ate in secret, The cup we spilled in haste.
Now call I to my Captains -- For council fly the sign -- Now leap their zealous galleys, Twelve-oared, across the brine.
To me the straiter prison, To me the heavier chain -- To me Diego Valdez, High Admiral of Spain!
Written by Dylan Thomas | Create an image from this poem

Love In The Asylum

 A stranger has come
To share my room in the house not right in the head,
 A girl mad as birds

Bolting the night of the door with her arm her plume.
Strait in the mazed bed She deludes the heaven-proof house with entering clouds Yet she deludes with walking the nightmarish room, At large as the dead, Or rides the imagined oceans of the male wards.
She has come possessed Who admits the delusive light through the bouncing wall, Possessed by the skies She sleeps in the narrow trough yet she walks the dust Yet raves at her will On the madhouse boards worn thin by my walking tears.
And taken by light in her arms at long and dear last I may without fail Suffer the first vision that set fire to the stars.
Written by Victor Hugo | Create an image from this poem

LOVE OF THE WOODLAND

 ("Orphée au bois du Caystre.") 
 
 {Bk. I. ii.} 


 Orpheus, through the hellward wood 
 Hurried, ere the eve-star glowed, 
 For the fauns' lugubrious hoots 
 Followed, hollow, from crookèd roots; 
 Aeschylus, where Aetna smoked, 
 Gods of Sicily evoked 
 With the flute, till sulphur taint 
 Dulled and lulled the echoes faint; 
 Pliny, soon his style mislaid, 
 Dogged Miletus' merry maid, 
 As she showed eburnean limbs 
 All-multiplied by brooklet brims; 
 Plautus, see! like Plutus, hold 
 Bosomfuls of orchard-gold, 
 Learns he why that mystic core 
 Was sweet Venus' meed of yore? 
 Dante dreamt (while spirits pass 
 As in wizard's jetty glass) 
 Each black-bossed Briarian trunk 
 Waved live arms like furies drunk; 
 Winsome Will, 'neath Windsor Oak, 
 Eyed each elf that cracked a joke 
 At poor panting grease-hart fast— 
 Obese, roguish Jack harassed; 
 At Versailles, Molière did court 
 Cues from Pan (in heron port, 
 Half in ooze, half treeward raised), 
 "Words so witty, that Boileau's 'mazed!" 
 
 Foliage! fondly you attract! 
 Dian's faith I keep intact, 
 And declare that thy dryads dance 
 Still, and will, in thy green expanse! 


 






Written by Rupert Brooke | Create an image from this poem

Thoughts On The Shape Of The Human Body

 How can we find? how can we rest? how can
We, being gods, win joy, or peace, being man?
We, the gaunt zanies of a witless Fate,
Who love the unloving and lover hate,
Forget the moment ere the moment slips,
Kiss with blind lips that seek beyond the lips,
Who want, and know not what we want, and cry
With crooked mouths for Heaven, and throw it by.
Love's for completeness! No perfection grows 'Twixt leg, and arm, elbow, and ear, and nose, And joint, and socket; but unsatisfied Sprawling desires, shapeless, perverse, denied.
Finger with finger wreathes; we love, and gape, Fantastic shape to mazed fantastic shape, Straggling, irregular, perplexed, embossed, Grotesquely twined, extravagantly lost By crescive paths and strange protuberant ways From sanity and from wholeness and from grace.
How can love triumph, how can solace be, Where fever turns toward fever, knee toward knee? Could we but fill to harmony, and dwell Simple as our thought and as perfectible, Rise disentangled from humanity Strange whole and new into simplicity, Grow to a radiant round love, and bear Unfluctuant passion for some perfect sphere, Love moon to moon unquestioning, and be Like the star Lunisequa, steadfastly Following the round clear orb of her delight, Patiently ever, through the eternal night!
Written by Rudyard Kipling | Create an image from this poem

The Last Rhyme of True Thomas

 The King has called for priest and cup,
 The King has taken spur and blade
To dub True Thomas a belted knight,
 And all for the sake o' the songs he made.
They have sought him high, they have sought him low, They have sought him over down and lea; They have found him by the milk-white thorn That guards the gates o' Faerie.
'Twas bent beneath and blue above, Their eyes were held that they might not see The kine that grazed beneath the knowes, Oh, they were the Queens o' Faerie! "Now cease your song," the King he said, "Oh, cease your song and get you dight To vow your vow and watch your arms, For I will dub you a belted knight.
"For I will give you a horse o' pride, Wi' blazon and spur and page and squire; Wi' keep and tail and seizin and law, And land to hold at your desire.
" True Thomas smiled above his harp, And turned his face to the naked sky, Where, blown before the wastrel wind, The thistle-down she floated by.
"I ha' vowed my vow in another place, And bitter oath it was on me, I ha' watched my arms the lee-long night, Where five-score fighting men would flee.
"My lance is tipped o' the hammered flame, My shield is beat o' the moonlight cold; And I won my spurs in the Middle World, A thousand fathom beneath the mould.
"And what should I make wi' a horse o' pride, And what should I make wi' a sword so brown, But spill the rings o' the Gentle Folk And flyte my kin in the Fairy Town? "And what should I make wi' blazon and belt, Wi' keep and tail and seizin and fee, And what should I do wi' page and squire That am a king in my own countrie? "For I send east and I send west, And I send far as my will may flee, By dawn and dusk and the drinking rain, And syne my Sendings return to me.
"They come wi' news of the groanin' earth, They come wi' news o' the roarin' sea, Wi' word of Spirit and Ghost and Flesh, And man, that's mazed among the three.
" The King he bit his nether lip, And smote his hand upon his knee: "By the faith o' my soul, True Thomas," he said, "Ye waste no wit in courtesie! "As I desire, unto my pride, Can I make Earls by three and three, To run before and ride behind And serve the sons o' my body.
" "And what care I for your row-foot earls, Or all the sons o' your body? Before they win to the Pride o' Name, I trow they all ask leave o' me.
"For I make Honour wi' muckle mouth, As I make Shame wi' mincin' feet, To sing wi' the priests at the market-cross, Or run wi' the dogs in the naked street.
"And some they give me the good red gold, And some they give me the white money, And some they give me a clout o' meal, For they be people o' low degree.
"And the song I sing for the counted gold The same I sing for the white money, But best I sing for the clout o' meal That simple people given me.
" The King cast down a silver groat, A silver groat o' Scots money, "If I come wi' a poor man's dole," he said, "True Thomas, will ye harp to me?" "Whenas I harp to the children small, They press me close on either hand.
And who are you," True Thomas said, "That you should ride while they must stand? "Light down, light down from your horse o' pride, I trow ye talk too loud and hie, And I will make you a triple word, And syne, if ye dare, ye shall 'noble me.
" He has lighted down from his horse o' pride, And set his back against the stone.
"Now guard you well," True Thomas said, "Ere I rax your heart from your breast-bone!" True Thomas played upon his harp, The fairy harp that couldna lee, And the first least word the proud King heard, It harpit the salt tear out o' his ee.
"Oh, I see the love that I lost long syne, I touch the hope that I may not see, And all that I did o' hidden shame, Like little snakes they hiss at me.
"The sun is lost at noon -- at noon! The dread o' doom has grippit me.
True Thomas, hide me under your cloak, God wot, I'm little fit to dee!" 'Twas bent beneath and blue above -- 'Twas open field and running flood -- Where, hot on heath and dike and wall, The high sun warmed the adder's brood.
"Lie down, lie down," True Thomas said.
"The God shall judge when all is done.
But I will bring you a better word And lift the cloud that I laid on.
" True Thomas played upon his harp, That birled and brattled to his hand, And the next least word True Thomas made, It garred the King take horse and brand.
"Oh, I hear the tread o' the fighting men, I see the sun on splent and spear.
I mark the arrow outen the fern That flies so low and sings so clear! "Advance my standards to that war, And bid my good knights prick and ride; The gled shall watch as fierce a fight As e'er was fought on the Border side!" 'Twas bent beneath and blue above, 'Twas nodding grass and naked sky, Where, ringing up the wastrel wind, The eyas stooped upon the pie.
True Thomas sighed above his harp, And turned the song on the midmost string; And the last least word True Thomas made, He harpit his dead youth back to the King.
"Now I am prince, and I do well To love my love withouten fear; To walk wi' man in fellowship, And breathe my horse behind the deer.
"My hounds they bay unto the death, The buck has couched beyond the burn, My love she waits at her window To wash my hands when I return.
"For that I live am I content (Oh! I have seen my true love's eyes) To stand wi' Adam in Eden-glade, And run in the woods o' Paradise!" 'Twas naked sky and nodding grass, 'Twas running flood and wastrel wind, Where, checked against the open pass, The red deer belled to call the hind.
True Thomas laid his harp away, And louted low at the saddle-side; He has taken stirrup and hauden rein, And set the King on his horse o' pride.
"Sleep ye or wake," True Thomas said, "That sit so still, that muse so long; Sleep ye or wake? -- till the latter sleep I trow ye'll not forget my song.
"I ha' harpit a shadow out o' the sun To stand before your face and cry; I ha' armed the earth beneath your heel, And over your head I ha' dusked the sky.
"I ha' harpit ye up to the throne o' God, I ha' harpit your midmost soul in three; I ha' harpit ye down to the Hinges o' Hell, And -- ye -- would -- make -- a Knight o' me!"
Written by Victor Hugo | Create an image from this poem

INFANTILE INFLUENCE

 ("Lorsque l'enfant parait.") 
 
 {XIX., May 11, 1830.} 


 The child comes toddling in, and young and old 
 With smiling eyes its smiling eyes behold, 
 And artless, babyish joy; 
 A playful welcome greets it through the room, 
 The saddest brow unfolds its wrinkled gloom, 
 To greet the happy boy. 
 
 If June with flowers has spangled all the ground, 
 Or winter bleak the flickering hearth around 
 Draws close the circling seat; 
 The child still sheds a never-failing light; 
 We call; Mamma with mingled joy and fright 
 Watches its tottering feet. 
 
 Perhaps at eve as round the fire we draw, 
 We speak of heaven, or poetry, or law, 
 Or politics, or prayer; 
 The child comes in, 'tis now all smiles and play, 
 Farewell to grave discourse and poet's lay, 
 Philosophy and care. 
 
 When fancy wakes, but sense in heaviest sleep 
 Lies steeped, and like the sobs of them that weep 
 The dark stream sinks and swells, 
 The dawn, like Pharos gleaming o'er the sea, 
 Bursts forth, and sudden wakes the minstrelsy 
 Of birds and chiming bells; 
 
 Thou art my dawn; my soul is as the field, 
 Where sweetest flowers their balmy perfumes yield 
 When breathed upon by thee, 
 Of forest, where thy voice like zephyr plays, 
 And morn pours out its flood of golden rays, 
 When thy sweet smile I see. 
 
 Oh, sweetest eyes, like founts of liquid blue; 
 And little hands that evil never knew, 
 Pure as the new-formed snow; 
 Thy feet are still unstained by this world's mire, 
 Thy golden locks like aureole of fire 
 Circle thy cherub brow! 
 
 Dove of our ark, thine angel spirit flies 
 On azure wings forth from thy beaming eyes. 
 Though weak thine infant feet, 
 What strange amaze this new and strange world gives 
 To thy sweet virgin soul, that spotless lives 
 In virgin body sweet. 
 
 Oh, gentle face, radiant with happy smile, 
 And eager prattling tongue that knows no guile, 
 Quick changing tears and bliss; 
 Thy soul expands to catch this new world's light, 
 Thy mazed eyes to drink each wondrous sight, 
 Thy lips to taste the kiss. 
 
 Oh, God! bless me and mine, and these I love, 
 And e'en my foes that still triumphant prove 
 Victors by force or guile; 
 A flowerless summer may we never see, 
 Or nest of bird bereft, or hive of bee, 
 Or home of infant's smile. 
 
 HENRY HIGHTON, M.A. 


 




Written by Rudyard Kipling | Create an image from this poem

The Plea of the Simla Dancers

  Too late, alas! the song
 To remedy the wrong; --
The rooms are taken from us, swept and
 garnished for their fate.
But these tear-besprinkled pages Shall attest to future ages That we cried against the crime of it -- too late, alas! too late! "What have we ever done to bear this grudge?" Was there no room save only in Benmore For docket, duftar, and for office drudge, That you usurp our smoothest dancing floor? Must babus do their work on polished teak? Are ball-rooms fittest for the ink you spill? Was there no other cheaper house to seek? You might have left them all at Strawberry Hill.
We never harmed you! Innocent our guise, Dainty our shining feet, our voices low; And we revolved to divers melodies, And we were happy but a year ago.
To-night, the moon that watched our lightsome wiles -- That beamed upon us through the deodars -- Is wan with gazing on official files, And desecrating desks disgust the stars.
Nay! by the memory of tuneful nights -- Nay! by the witchery of flying feet -- Nay! by the glamour of foredone delights -- By all things merry, musical, and meet -- By wine that sparkled, and by sparkling eyes -- By wailing waltz -- by reckless gallop's strain -- By dim verandas and by soft replies, Give us our ravished ball-room back again! Or -- hearken to the curse we lay on you! The ghosts of waltzes shall perplex your brain, And murmurs of past merriment pursue Your 'wildered clerks that they indite in vain; And when you count your poor Provincial millions, The only figures that your pen shall frame Shall be the figures of dear, dear cotillions Danced out in tumult long before you came.
Yea! "See Saw" shall upset your estimates, "Dream Faces" shall your heavy heads bemuse, Because your hand, unheeding, desecrates Our temple; fit for higher, worthier use.
And all the long verandas, eloquent With echoes of a score of Simla years, Shall plague you with unbidden sentiment -- Babbling of kisses, laughter, love, and tears.
So shall you mazed amid old memories stand, So shall you toil, and shall accomplish nought, And ever in your ears a phantom Band Shall blare away the staid official thought.
Wherefore -- and ere this awful curse he spoken, Cast out your swarthy sacrilegious train, And give -- ere dancing cease and hearts be broken -- Give us our ravished ball-room back again!
Written by Conrad Aiken | Create an image from this poem

Turns And Movies: Dancing Adairs

 Behold me, in my chiffon, gauze, and tinsel, 
Flitting out of the shadow into the spotlight, 
And into the shadow again, without a whisper!— 
Firefly's my name, I am evanescent.
Firefly's your name.
You are evanescent.
But I follow you as remorselessly as darkness, And shut you in and enclose you, at last, and always, Till you are lost,—as a voice is lost in silence.
Till I am lost, as a voice is lost in silence.
.
.
Are you the one who would close so cool about me? My fire sheds into and through you and beyond you: How can your fingers hold me? I am elusive.
How can my fingers hold you? You are elusive? Yes, you are flame, but I surround and love you, Always extend beyond you, cool, eternal, To take you into my heart's great void of silence.
You shut me into your heart's great void of silence.
.
.
O sweet and soothing end for a life of whirling! Now I am still, whose life was mazed with motion.
Now I sink into you, for love of sleep.

Book: Reflection on the Important Things