10 Best Famous Recoiling Poems

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

• All Famous Recoiling Poems

 O rose beyond the reach of time and of the senses
O kiss enveloped in the scarves of all the winds
surprise me with one dream 
that my madness will recoil from you 
Recoiling from you
In order to approach you 
I discovered time
Approaching you
in order to recoil form you
I discovered my senses
Between approach and recoil
there is a stone the size of a dream
It does not approach
It does not recoil
You are my country
A stone is not what I am 
therefor I do not like to face the sky 
not do I die level with the ground
but I am a stranger, always a stranger

 Pardon, oh, pardon, that my soul should make,
Of all that strong divineness which I know
For thine and thee, an image only so
Formed of the sand, and fit to shift and break.
It is that distant years which did not take
Thy sovranty, recoiling with a blow,
Have forced my swimming brain to undergo
Their doubt and dread, and blindly to forsake
Thy purity of likeness and distort
Thy worthiest love to a worthless counterfeit:
As if a shipwrecked Pagan, safe in port,
His guardian sea-god to commemorate,
Should set a sculptured porpoise, gills a-snort
And vibrant tail, within the temple-gate.

 AMONG the heathy hills and ragged woods
The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods;
Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds,
Where, thro’ a shapeless breach, his stream resounds.
As high in air the bursting torrents flow,
As deep recoiling surges foam below,
Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends,
And viewles Echo’s ear, astonished, rends.
Dim-seen, through rising mists and ceaseless show’rs,
The hoary cavern, wide surrounding lours:
Still thro’ the gap the struggling river toils,
And still, below, the horrid cauldron boils

 LONG, too long, O land, 
Traveling roads all even and peaceful, you learn’d from joys and prosperity only; 
But now, ah now, to learn from crises of anguish—advancing, grappling with direst
 fate,
 and
 recoiling not; 
And now to conceive, and show to the world, what your children en-masse really are; 
(For who except myself has yet conceiv’d what your children en-masse really are?) 


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