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Best Famous Realisation Poems

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

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Written by Philip Larkin | Create an image from this poem


 I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
Till then I see what's really always there: Unresting death, a whole day nearer now, Making all thought impossible but how And where and when I shall myself die.
Arid interrogation: yet the dread Of dying, and being dead, Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.
The mind blanks at the glare.
Not in remorse -- The good not done, the love not given, time Torn off unused -- nor wretchedly because An only life can take so long to climb Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never; But at the total emptiness for ever, The sure extinction that we travel to And shall be lost in always.
Not to be here, Not to be anywhere, And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.
This is a special way of being afraid No trick dispels.
Religion used to try, That vast moth-eaten musical brocade Created to pretend we never die, And specious stuff that says No rational being Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing That this is what we fear -- no sight, no sound, No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with, Nothing to love or link with, The anaesthetic from which none come round.
And so it stays just on the edge of vision, A small unfocused blur, a standing chill That slows each impulse down to indecision.
Most things may never happen: this one will, And realisation of it rages out In furnace-fear when we are caught without People or drink.
Courage is no good: It means not scaring others.
Being brave Lets no one off the grave.
Death is no different whined at than withstood.
Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.
It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know, Have always known, know that we can't escape, Yet can't accept.
One side will have to go.
Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring Intricate rented world begins to rouse.
The sky is white as clay, with no sun.
Work has to be done.
Postmen like doctors go from house to house.

Written by Ella Wheeler Wilcox | Create an image from this poem


 ‘Anticipation is sweeter than realisation.
’ It may be, yet I have not found it so.
In those first golden dreams of future fame I did not find such happiness as came When toil was crowned with triumph.
Now I know My words have recognition, and will go Straight to some listening heart, my early aim, To win the idle glory of a name, Pales like a candle in the noonday’s glow.
So with the deeper joys of which I dreamed: Life yields more rapture than did childhood’s fancies, And each year brings more pleasure than I waited.
Friendship proves truer than of old it seemed, And, all beyond youth’s passion-hued romances, Love is more perfect than anticipated.
Written by Ella Wheeler Wilcox | Create an image from this poem


 Hers was a lonely, shadowed lot; 
Or so the unperceiving thought, 
Who looked no deeper than her face, 
Devoid of chiselled lines of grace –
No farther than her humble grate, 
And wondered how she bore her fate.
Yet she was neither lone nor sad; So much of love her spirit had, She found an ever-flowing spring Of happiness in everything.
So near to her was Nature’s heart It seemed a very living part Of her own self; and bud and blade, And heat and cold, and sun and shade, And dawn and sunset, Spring and Fall, Held raptures for her, one and all.
The year’s four changing seasons brought To her own door what thousands sought In wandering ways and did not find – Diversion and content of mind.
She loved the tasks that filled each day – Such menial duties; but her way Of looking at them lent a grace To things the world deemed commonplace.
Obscure and without place or name, She gloried in another’s fame.
Poor, plain and humble in her dress, She thrilled when beauty and success And wealth passed by, on pleasure bent; They made earth seem so opulent.
Yet none of quicker sympathy, When need or sorrow came, than she.
And so she lived, and so she died.
She woke as from a dream.
How wide And wonderful the avenue That stretched to her astonished view! And up the green ascending lawn A palace caught the rays of dawn.
Then suddenly the silence stirred With one clear keynote of a bird; A thousand answered, till ere long The air was quivering bits of song.
She rose and wandered forth in awe, Amazed and moved by all she saw, For, like so many souls who go Away from earth, she did not know The cord was severed.
Down the street, With eager arms stretched forth to greet, Came one she loved and mourned in youth; Her mother followed; then the truth Broke on her, golden wave on wave, Of knowledge infinite.
The grave, The body and the earthly sphere Were gone! Immortal life was here! They led her through the Palace halls; From gleaming mirrors on the walls She saw herself, with radiant mien, And robed in splendour like a queen, While glory round about her shone.
‘All this, ’ Love murmured, ‘is your own.
’ And when she gazed with wondering eye, And questioned whence and where and why, Love answered thus: ‘All Heaven is made By thoughts on earth; your walls were laid, Year after year, of purest gold; The beauty of your mind behold In this fair palace; ay, and more Waits farther on, so vast your store.
I was not worthy when I died To take my place here at your side; I toiled through long and weary years From lower planes to these high spheres; And through the love you sent from earth I have attained a second birth.
Oft when my erring soul would tire I felt the strength of your desire; I heard you breathe my name in prayer, And courage conquered weak despair.
Ah! earth needs heaven, but heaven indeed Of earth has just as great a need! Across the terrace with a bound There sped a lambkin with a hound (Dumb comrades of the old earth land) And fondled her caressing hand.