10 Best Famous Ownership Poems

Here is a collection of the top 10 all-time best famous Ownership poems. This is a select list of the best famous Ownership poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Ownership poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of ownership poems.

• All Famous Ownership Poems

 Far spread the moorey ground a level scene
Bespread with rush and one eternal green
That never felt the rage of blundering plough
Though centurys wreathed spring's blossoms on its brow
Still meeting plains that stretched them far away
In uncheckt shadows of green brown, and grey
Unbounded freedom ruled the wandering scene
Nor fence of ownership crept in between
To hide the prospect of the following eye
Its only bondage was the circling sky
One mighty flat undwarfed by bush and tree
Spread its faint shadow of immensity
And lost itself, which seemed to eke its bounds
In the blue mist the horizon's edge surrounds
Now this sweet vision of my boyish hours
Free as spring clouds and wild as summer flowers
Is faded all—a hope that blossomed free,
And hath been once, no more shall ever be
Inclosure came and trampled on the grave
Of labour's rights and left the poor a slave
And memory's pride ere want to wealth did bow
Is both the shadow and the substance now
The sheep and cows were free to range as then
Where change might prompt nor felt the bonds of men
Cows went and came, with evening morn and night,
To the wild pasture as their common right
And sheep, unfolded with the rising sun
Heard the swains shout and felt their freedom won
Tracked the red fallow field and heath and plain
Then met the brook and drank and roamed again
The brook that dribbled on as clear as glass
Beneath the roots they hid among the grass
While the glad shepherd traced their tracks along
Free as the lark and happy as her song
But now all's fled and flats of many a dye
That seemed to lengthen with the following eye
Moors, loosing from the sight, far, smooth, and blea
Where swopt the plover in its pleasure free
Are vanished now with commons wild and gay
As poet's visions of life's early day
Mulberry-bushes where the boy would run
To fill his hands with fruit are grubbed and done
And hedgrow-briars—flower-lovers overjoyed
Came and got flower-pots—these are all destroyed
And sky-bound mores in mangled garbs are left
Like mighty giants of their limbs bereft
Fence now meets fence in owners' little bounds
Of field and meadow large as garden grounds
In little parcels little minds to please
With men and flocks imprisoned ill at ease
Each little path that led its pleasant way
As sweet as morning leading night astray
Where little flowers bloomed round a varied host
That travel felt delighted to be lost
Nor grudged the steps that he had ta-en as vain
When right roads traced his journeys and again -
Nay, on a broken tree he'd sit awhile
To see the mores and fields and meadows smile
Sometimes with cowslaps smothered—then all white
With daiseys—then the summer's splendid sight
Of cornfields crimson o'er the headache bloomd
Like splendid armys for the battle plumed
He gazed upon them with wild fancy's eye
As fallen landscapes from an evening sky
These paths are stopt—the rude philistine's thrall
Is laid upon them and destroyed them all
Each little tyrant with his little sign
Shows where man claims earth glows no more divine
But paths to freedom and to childhood dear
A board sticks up to notice 'no road here'
And on the tree with ivy overhung
The hated sign by vulgar taste is hung
As tho' the very birds should learn to know
When they go there they must no further go
Thus, with the poor, scared freedom bade goodbye
And much they feel it in the smothered sigh
And birds and trees and flowers without a name
All sighed when lawless law's enclosure came
And dreams of plunder in such rebel schemes
Have found too truly that they were but dreams.

 A few long-hoarded pennies in his hand
Behold him stand;
A kilted Hedonist, perplexed and sad.
The joy that once he had,
The first delight of ownership is fled.
He bows his little head.
Ah, cruel Time, to kill
That splendid thrill!
Then in his tear-dimmed eyes
New lights arise.
He drops his treasured pennies on the ground,
They roll and bound
And scattered, rest.
Now with what zest
He runs to find his errant wealth again!
So unto men
Doth God, depriving that He may bestow.
Fame, health and money go,
But that they may, new found, be newly sweet.
Yea, at His feet
Sit, waiting us, to their concealment bid,
All they, our lovers, whom His Love hath hid.
Lo, comfort blooms on pain, and peace on strife,
And gain on loss.
What is the key to Everlasting Life?
A blood-stained Cross.

 1
OF ownership—As if one fit to own things could not at pleasure enter upon all, and
 incorporate
 them into himself or herself. 
2
Of waters, forests, hills; 
Of the earth at large, whispering through medium of me; 
Of vista—Suppose some sight in arriere, through the formative chaos, presuming the
 growth,
 fulness, life, now attain’d on the journey; 
(But I see the road continued, and the journey ever continued;)
—Of what was once lacking on earth, and in due time has become supplied—And of
 what
 will
 yet be supplied, 
Because all I see and know, I believe to have purport in what will yet be supplied.

 i don’t know what you’re up to
yet but for me
you wouldn’t exist
(not on this page anyway -
not using the word exist)
so – you’re a fake (eternity)
one i wouldn’t raise a cup to
except you’re there
and won’t go away
i can’t win – and it’s not fair

best turn my back on you – get on
with what i meet
smack in the eyes
(that’s experience for you)
if i could trust my eyes
i can’t – it’s too neat
there are more things (horatio set on)
live life whole – mere string
devout adore you
most not back anything

beginning and end – invention
fills in the gaps
at best rank guesses
random peeing in the ocean
(this one’s guesses
another’s mishaps)
eureka quick becomes convention
then cosmos farts
alters the laws of motion
(a fresh menu of starts)

fear and loneliness – the basic drives
we take to bed
(sacrifice to you)
desperately wanting a sign
bringing us close to you
you – whom we give a head
voice (ownership of lives)
the only game at hand -
give selves a shine
play at being your ampersand

the wise settle for stardust
the grit the pearl
was fostered out of
minute (maybe) but precious
from it – never out of
esteem – the proud furl
forwards and the far thrust
that blossoms into dream
able to wish us
shares in the cosmic scheme

well – if the mess we make of things
in the dirty now
the piqued powers we grant
to the unnatural twisters
don’t forfeit that grant
skydust should endow
(despite all bunderings)
god be in the grain
of life’s worst festers
starspeak find tongue again

 Nothing in life is alien to you:
I was a penniless girl from Summum
Who stepped from the morning train in Spoon River.
All the houses stood before me with closed doors
And drawn shades -- I was barred out;
I had no place or part in any of them.
And I walked past the old McNeely mansion,
A castle of stone 'mid walks and gardens,
With workmen about the place on guard,
And the County and State upholding it
For its lordly owner, full of pride.
I was so hungry I had a vision:
I saw a giant pair of scissors
Dip from the sky, like the beam of a dredge,
And cut the house in two like a curtain.
But at the "Commercial" I saw a man,
Who winked at me as I asked for work --
It was Wash McNeely's son.
He proved the link in the chain of title
To half my ownership of the mansion,
Through a breach of promise suit -- the scissors.
So, you see, the house, from the day I was born,
Was only waiting for me.