Get Your Premium Membership

Best Famous Outward Bound Poems

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

Search and read the best famous Outward Bound poems, articles about Outward Bound poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Outward Bound poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:
Written by Henry Lawson | Create an image from this poem

In The Days When The World Was Wide

 The world is narrow and ways are short, and our lives are dull and slow, 
For little is new where the crowds resort, and less where the wanderers go; 
Greater, or smaller, the same old things we see by the dull road-side -- 
And tired of all is the spirit that sings 
of the days when the world was wide. 

When the North was hale in the march of Time, 
and the South and the West were new, 
And the gorgeous East was a pantomime, as it seemed in our boyhood's view; 
When Spain was first on the waves of change, 
and proud in the ranks of pride, 
And all was wonderful, new and strange in the days when the world was wide. 

Then a man could fight if his heart were bold, 
and win if his faith were true -- 
Were it love, or honour, or power, or gold, or all that our hearts pursue; 
Could live to the world for the family name, or die for the family pride, 
Could fly from sorrow, and wrong, and shame 
in the days when the world was wide. 

They sailed away in the ships that sailed ere science controlled the main, 
When the strong, brave heart of a man prevailed 
as 'twill never prevail again; 
They knew not whither, nor much they cared -- 
let Fate or the winds decide -- 
The worst of the Great Unknown they dared 
in the days when the world was wide. 

They raised new stars on the silent sea that filled their hearts with awe; 
They came to many a strange countree and marvellous sights they saw. 
The villagers gaped at the tales they told, 
and old eyes glistened with pride -- 
When barbarous cities were paved with gold 
in the days when the world was wide. 

'Twas honest metal and honest wood, in the days of the Outward Bound, 
When men were gallant and ships were good -- roaming the wide world round. 
The gods could envy a leader then when `Follow me, lads!' he cried -- 
They faced each other and fought like men 
in the days when the world was wide. 

They tried to live as a freeman should -- they were happier men than we, 
In the glorious days of wine and blood, when Liberty crossed the sea; 
'Twas a comrade true or a foeman then, and a trusty sword well tried -- 
They faced each other and fought like men 
in the days when the world was wide. 

The good ship bound for the Southern seas when the beacon was Ballarat, 
With a `Ship ahoy!' on the freshening breeze, 
`Where bound?' and `What ship's that?' -- 
The emigrant train to New Mexico -- the rush to the Lachlan Side -- 
Ah! faint is the echo of Westward Ho! 
from the days when the world was wide. 

South, East, and West in advance of Time -- and, ay! in advance of Thought 
Those brave men rose to a height sublime -- and is it for this they fought? 
And is it for this damned life we praise the god-like spirit that died 
At Eureka Stockade in the Roaring Days 
with the days when the world was wide? 

We fight like women, and feel as much; the thoughts of our hearts we guard; 
Where scarcely the scorn of a god could touch, 
the sneer of a sneak hits hard; 
The treacherous tongue and cowardly pen, the weapons of curs, decide -- 
They faced each other and fought like men 
in the days when the world was wide. 

Think of it all -- of the life that is! Study your friends and foes! 
Study the past! And answer this: `Are these times better than those?' 
The life-long quarrel, the paltry spite, the sting of your poisoned pride! 
No matter who fell it were better to fight 
as they did when the world was wide. 

Boast as you will of your mateship now -- crippled and mean and sly -- 
The lines of suspicion on friendship's brow 
were traced since the days gone by. 
There was room in the long, free lines of the van 
to fight for it side by side -- 
There was beating-room for the heart of a man 
in the days when the world was wide. 

. . . . . 

With its dull, brown days of a-shilling-an-hour 
the dreary year drags round: 
Is this the result of Old England's power? 
-- the bourne of the Outward Bound? 
Is this the sequel of Westward Ho! -- of the days of Whate'er Betide? 
The heart of the rebel makes answer `No! 
We'll fight till the world grows wide!' 

The world shall yet be a wider world -- for the tokens are manifest; 
East and North shall the wrongs be hurled that followed us South and West. 
The march of Freedom is North by the Dawn! Follow, whate'er betide! 
Sons of the Exiles, march! March on! March till the world grows wide!


Written by Robert Frost | Create an image from this poem

Good Hours

 I had for my winter evening walk--
No one at all with whom to talk,
But I had the cottages in a row
Up to their shining eyes in snow.

And I thought I had the folk within:
I had the sound of a violin;
I had a glimpse through curtain laces
Of youthful forms and youthful faces.

I had such company outward bound.
I went till there were no cottages found.
I turned and repented, but coming back
I saw no window but that was black.

Over the snow my creaking feet
Disturbed the slumbering village street
Like profanation, by your leave,
At ten o'clock of a winter eve.
Written by Denise Levertov | Create an image from this poem

From the Roof

 This wild night, gathering the washing as if it were flowers animal vines twisting over the line and
slapping my face lightly, soundless merriment
in the gesticulations of shirtsleeves,
I recall out of my joy a night of misery

walking in the dark and the wind over broken earth,
halfmade foundations and unfinished drainage trenches and the spaced-out circles of glaring light marking streets that were to be walking with you but so far from you, 

and now alone in October's first decision towards winter, so close to you-- my arms full of playful rebellious linen, a freighter going down-river two blocks away, outward bound, the green wolf-eyes of the Harborside Terminal glittering on the Jersey shore,
and a train somewhere under ground bringing you towards me to our new living-place from which we can see a river and its traffic (the Hudson and the hidden river, who can say which it is we see, we see something of both. Or who can say the crippled broom-vendor yesterday, who passed
just as we needed a new broom, was not one of the Hidden Ones?)
Crates of fruit are unloading
across the street on the cobbles,
and a brazier flaring
to warm the men and burn trash. He wished us
luck when we bought the broom. But not luck 
brought us here. By design

clean air and cold wind polish 
the river lights, by design
we are to live now in a new place.

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry