Best Famous Overhears Poems
Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Overhears poems. This is a select list of the best famous Overhears poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Overhears poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of overhears poems.
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Written by
Emily Dickinson |
The Skies can't keep their secret!
They tell it to the Hills --
The Hills just tell the Orchards --
And they -- the Daffodils!
A Bird -- by chance -- that goes that way --
Soft overhears the whole --
If I should bribe the little Bird --
Who knows but she would tell?
I think I won't -- however --
It's finer -- not to know --
If Summer were an Axiom --
What sorcery had Snow?
So keep your secret -- Father!
I would not -- if I could,
Know what the Sapphire Fellows, do,
In your new-fashioned world!
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Written by
Conrad Aiken |
The cigarette-smoke loops and slides above us,
Dipping and swirling as the waiter passes;
You strike a match and stare upon the flame.
The tiny fire leaps in your eyes a moment,
And dwindles away as silently as it came.
This melody, you say, has certain voices—
They rise like nereids from a river, singing,
Lift white faces, and dive to darkness again.
Wherever you go you bear this river with you:
A leaf falls,—and it flows, and you have pain.
So says the tune to you—but what to me?
What to the waiter, as he pours your coffee,
The violinist who suavely draws his bow?
That man, who folds his paper, overhears it.
A thousand dreams revolve and fall and flow.
Some one there is who sees a virgin stepping
Down marble stairs to a deep tomb of roses:
At the last moment she lifts remembering eyes.
Green leaves blow down. The place is checked with shadows.
A long-drawn murmur of rain goes down the skies.
And oaks are stripped and bare, and smoke with lightning:
And clouds are blown and torn upon high forests,
And the great sea shakes its walls.
And then falls silence . . . And through long silence falls
This melody once more:
'Down endless stairs she goes, as once before.'
So says the tune to him—but what to me?
What are the worlds I see?
What shapes fantastic, terrible dreams? . . .
I go my secret way, down secret alleys;
My errand is not so simple as it seems.
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