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Best Famous Proposal Poems

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

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Written by Billy Collins | Create an image from this poem

Marginalia

 Sometimes the notes are ferocious,
skirmishes against the author
raging along the borders of every page
in tiny black script.
If I could just get my hands on you, Kierkegaard, or Conor Cruise O'Brien, they seem to say, I would bolt the door and beat some logic into your head.
Other comments are more offhand, dismissive - "Nonsense.
" "Please!" "HA!!" - that kind of thing.
I remember once looking up from my reading, my thumb as a bookmark, trying to imagine what the person must look like why wrote "Don't be a ninny" alongside a paragraph in The Life of Emily Dickinson.
Students are more modest needing to leave only their splayed footprints along the shore of the page.
One scrawls "Metaphor" next to a stanza of Eliot's.
Another notes the presence of "Irony" fifty times outside the paragraphs of A Modest Proposal.
Or they are fans who cheer from the empty bleachers, Hands cupped around their mouths.
"Absolutely," they shout to Duns Scotus and James Baldwin.
"Yes.
" "Bull's-eye.
" "My man!" Check marks, asterisks, and exclamation points rain down along the sidelines.
And if you have managed to graduate from college without ever having written "Man vs.
Nature" in a margin, perhaps now is the time to take one step forward.
We have all seized the white perimeter as our own and reached for a pen if only to show we did not just laze in an armchair turning pages; we pressed a thought into the wayside, planted an impression along the verge.
Even Irish monks in their cold scriptoria jotted along the borders of the Gospels brief asides about the pains of copying, a bird signing near their window, or the sunlight that illuminated their page- anonymous men catching a ride into the future on a vessel more lasting than themselves.
And you have not read Joshua Reynolds, they say, until you have read him enwreathed with Blake's furious scribbling.
Yet the one I think of most often, the one that dangles from me like a locket, was written in the copy of Catcher in the Rye I borrowed from the local library one slow, hot summer.
I was just beginning high school then, reading books on a davenport in my parents' living room, and I cannot tell you how vastly my loneliness was deepened, how poignant and amplified the world before me seemed, when I found on one page A few greasy looking smears and next to them, written in soft pencil- by a beautiful girl, I could tell, whom I would never meet- "Pardon the egg salad stains, but I'm in love.
"


Written by Victor Hugo | Create an image from this poem

ENVY AND AVARICE

 ("L'Avarice et l'Envie.") 
 
 {LE CONSERVATEUR LITÉRAIRE, 1820.} 


 Envy and Avarice, one summer day, 
 Sauntering abroad 
 In quest of the abode 
 Of some poor wretch or fool who lived that way— 
 You—or myself, perhaps—I cannot say— 
 Along the road, scarce heeding where it tended, 
 Their way in sullen, sulky silence wended; 
 
 For, though twin sisters, these two charming creatures, 
 Rivals in hideousness of form and features, 
 Wasted no love between them as they went. 
 Pale Avarice, 
 With gloating eyes, 
 And back and shoulders almost double bent, 
 Was hugging close that fatal box 
 For which she's ever on the watch 
 Some glance to catch 
 Suspiciously directed to its locks; 
 And Envy, too, no doubt with silent winking 
 At her green, greedy orbs, no single minute 
 Withdrawn from it, was hard a-thinking 
 Of all the shining dollars in it. 
 
 The only words that Avarice could utter, 
 Her constant doom, in a low, frightened mutter, 
 "There's not enough, enough, yet in my store!" 
 While Envy, as she scanned the glittering sight, 
 Groaned as she gnashed her yellow teeth with spite, 
 "She's more than me, more, still forever more!" 
 
 Thus, each in her own fashion, as they wandered, 
 Upon the coffer's precious contents pondered, 
 When suddenly, to their surprise, 
 The God Desire stood before their eyes. 
 Desire, that courteous deity who grants 
 All wishes, prayers, and wants; 
 Said he to the two sisters: "Beauteous ladies, 
 As I'm a gentleman, my task and trade is 
 To be the slave of your behest— 
 Choose therefore at your own sweet will and pleasure, 
 Honors or treasure! 
 Or in one word, whatever you'd like best. 
 But, let us understand each other—she 
 Who speaks the first, her prayer shall certainly 
 Receive—the other, the same boon redoubled!" 
 
 Imagine how our amiable pair, 
 At this proposal, all so frank and fair, 
 Were mutually troubled! 
 Misers and enviers, of our human race, 
 Say, what would you have done in such a case? 
 Each of the sisters murmured, sad and low 
 "What boots it, oh, Desire, to me to have 
 Crowns, treasures, all the goods that heart can crave, 
 Or power divine bestow, 
 Since still another must have always more?" 
 
 So each, lest she should speak before 
 The other, hesitating slow and long 
 Till the god lost all patience, held her tongue. 
 He was enraged, in such a way, 
 To be kept waiting there all day, 
 With two such beauties in the public road; 
 Scarce able to be civil even, 
 He wished them both—well, not in heaven. 
 
 Envy at last the silence broke, 
 And smiling, with malignant sneer, 
 Upon her sister dear, 
 Who stood in expectation by, 
 Ever implacable and cruel, spoke 
 "I would be blinded of one eye!" 
 
 American Keepsake 


 




Written by Edward Lear | Create an image from this poem

The Courtship of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo

 I 

On the Coast of Coromandel
Where the early pumpkins blow,
In the middle of the woods
Lived the Yonghy-Bonghy-B?.
Two old chairs, and half a candle,-- One old jug without a handle,-- These were all his worldly goods: In the middle of the woods, These were all the worldly goods, Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-B?, Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-B?.
II Once, among the Bong-trees walking Where the early pumpkins blow, To a little heap of stones Came the Yonghy-Bonghy-B?.
There he heard a Lady talking, To some milk-white Hens of Dorking,-- ''Tis the lady Jingly Jones! 'On that little heap of stones 'Sits the Lady Jingly Jones!' Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-B?, Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-B?.
III 'Lady Jingly! Lady Jingly! 'Sitting where the pumpkins blow, 'Will you come and be my wife?' Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-B?.
'I am tired of living singly,-- 'On this coast so wild and shingly,-- 'I'm a-weary of my life: 'If you'll come and be my wife, 'Quite serene would be my life!'-- Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-B?, Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-B?.
IV 'On this Coast of Coromandel, 'Shrimps and watercresses grow, 'Prawns are plentiful and cheap,' Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-B?.
'You shall have my chairs and candle, 'And my jug without a handle!-- 'Gaze upon the rolling deep ('Fish is plentiful and cheap) 'As the sea, my love is deep!' Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-B?, Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-B?.
V Lady Jingly answered sadly, And her tears began to flow,-- 'Your proposal comes too late, 'Mr.
Yonghy-Bonghy-B?! 'I would be your wife most gladly!' (Here she twirled her fingers madly,) 'But in England I've a mate! 'Yes! you've asked me far too late, 'For in England I've a mate, 'Mr.
Yonghy-Bonghy-B?! 'Mr.
Yonghy-Bonghy-B?!' VI 'Mr.
Jones -- (his name is Handel,-- 'Handel Jones, Esquire, & Co.
) 'Dorking fowls delights to send, 'Mr.
Yonghy-Bonghy-B?! 'Keep, oh! keep your chairs and candle, 'And your jug without a handle,-- 'I can merely be your friend! '-- Should my Jones more Dorkings send, 'I will give you three, my friend! 'Mr.
Yonghy-Bonghy-B?! 'Mr.
Yonghy-Bonghy-B?!' VII 'Though you've such a tiny body, 'And your head so large doth grow,-- 'Though your hat may blow away, 'Mr.
Yonghy-Bonghy-B?! 'Though you're such a Hoddy Doddy-- 'Yet a wish that I could modi- 'fy the words I needs must say! 'Will you please to go away? 'That is all I have to say-- 'Mr.
Yonghy-Bonghy-B?! 'Mr.
Yonghy-Bonghy-B?!'.
VIII Down the slippery slopes of Myrtle, Where the early pumpkins blow, To the calm and silent sea Fled the Yonghy-Bonghy-B?.
There, beyond the Bay of Gurtle, Lay a large and lively Turtle,-- 'You're the Cove,' he said, 'for me 'On your back beyond the sea, 'Turtle, you shall carry me!' Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-B?, Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-B?.
IX Through the silent-roaring ocean Did the Turtle swiftly go; Holding fast upon his shell Rode the Yonghy-Bonghy-B?.
With a sad prim?val motion Towards the sunset isles of Boshen Still the Turtle bore him well.
Holding fast upon his shell, 'Lady Jingly Jones, farewell!' Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-B?, Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-B?.
X From the Coast of Coromandel, Did that Lady never go; On that heap of stones she mourns For the Yonghy-Bonghy-B?.
On that Coast of Coromandel, In his jug without a handle Still she weeps, and daily moans; On that little hep of stones To her Dorking Hens she moans, For the Yonghy-Bonghy-B?, For the Yonghy-Bonghy-B?.