Best Famous Redundant Poems

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

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• All Famous Redundant Poems

Written by Ogden Nash | Common Cold Go hang yourself, you old M.D.! You shall not sneer at me. Pick up your hat and stethoscope, Go wash your mouth with laundry soap; I contemplate a joy exquisite I'm not paying you for your visit. I did not call you to be told My malady is a common cold. By pounding brow and swollen lip; By fever's hot and scaly grip; By those two red redundant eyes That weep like woeful April skies; By racking snuffle, snort, and sniff; By handkerchief after handkerchief; This cold you wave away as naught Is the damnedest cold man ever caught! Give ear, you scientific fossil! Here is the genuine Cold Colossal; The Cold of which researchers dream, The Perfect Cold, the Cold Supreme. This honored system humbly holds The Super-cold to end all colds; The Cold Crusading for Democracy; The Führer of the Streptococcracy. Bacilli swarm within my portals Such as were ne'er conceived by mortals, But bred by scientists wise and hoary In some Olympic laboratory; Bacteria as large as mice, With feet of fire and heads of ice Who never interrupt for slumber Their stamping elephantine rumba. A common cold, gadzooks, forsooth! Ah, yes. And Lincoln was jostled by Booth; Don Juan was a budding gallant, And Shakespeare's plays show signs of talent; The Arctic winter is fairly coolish, And your diagnosis is fairly foolish. Oh what a derision history holds For the man who belittled the Cold of Colds!

Written by Friedrich von Schiller | The Gods Of Greece Ye in the age gone by, Who ruled the world--a world how lovely then!-- And guided still the steps of happy men In the light leading-strings of careless joy! Ah, flourished then your service of delight! How different, oh, how different, in the day When thy sweet fanes with many a wreath were bright, O Venus Amathusia! Then, through a veil of dreams Woven by song, truth's youthful beauty glowed, And life's redundant and rejoicing streams Gave to the soulless, soul--where'r they flowed Man gifted nature with divinity To lift and link her to the breast of love; All things betrayed to the initiate eye The track of gods above! Where lifeless--fixed afar, A flaming ball to our dull sense is given, Phoebus Apollo, in his golden car, In silent glory swept the fields of heaven! On yonder hill the Oread was adored, In yonder tree the Dryad held her home; And from her urn the gentle Naiad poured The wavelet's silver foam. Yon bay, chaste Daphne wreathed, Yon stone was mournful Niobe's mute cell, Low through yon sedges pastoral Syrinx breathed, And through those groves wailed the sweet Philomel, The tears of Ceres swelled in yonder rill-- Tears shed for Proserpine to Hades borne; And, for her lost Adonis, yonder hill Heard Cytherea mourn!-- Heaven's shapes were charmed unto The mortal race of old Deucalion; Pyrrha's fair daughter, humanly to woo, Came down, in shepherd-guise, Latona's son Between men, heroes, gods, harmonious then Love wove sweet links and sympathies divine; Blest Amathusia, heroes, gods, and men, Equals before thy shrine! Not to that culture gay, Stern self-denial, or sharp penance wan! Well might each heart be happy in that day-- For gods, the happy ones, were kin to man! The beautiful alone the holy there! No pleasure shamed the gods of that young race; So that the chaste Camoenae favoring were, And the subduing grace! A palace every shrine; Your sports heroic;--yours the crown Of contests hallowed to a power divine, As rushed the chariots thundering to renown. Fair round the altar where the incense breathed, Moved your melodious dance inspired; and fair Above victorious brows, the garland wreathed Sweet leaves round odorous hair! The lively Thyrsus-swinger, And the wild car the exulting panthers bore, Announced the presence of the rapture-bringer-- Bounded the Satyr and blithe Faun before; And Maenads, as the frenzy stung the soul, Hymned in their maddening dance, the glorious wine-- As ever beckoned to the lusty bowl The ruddy host divine! Before the bed of death No ghastly spectre stood--but from the porch Of life, the lip--one kiss inhaled the breath, And the mute graceful genius lowered a torch. The judgment-balance of the realms below, A judge, himself of mortal lineage, held; The very furies at the Thracian's woe, Were moved and music-spelled. In the Elysian grove The shades renewed the pleasures life held dear: The faithful spouse rejoined remembered love, And rushed along the meads the charioteer; There Linus poured the old accustomed strain; Admetus there Alcestis still could greet; his Friend there once more Orestes could regain, His arrows--Philoctetes! More glorious than the meeds That in their strife with labor nerved the brave, To the great doer of renowned deeds The Hebe and the heaven the Thunderer gave. Before the rescued rescuer [10] of the dead, Bowed down the silent and immortal host; And the twain stars [11] their guiding lustre shed, On the bark tempest-tossed! Art thou, fair world, no more? Return, thou virgin-bloom on Nature's face; Ah, only on the minstrel's magic shore, Can we the footstep of sweet fable trace! The meadows mourn for the old hallowing life; Vainly we search the earth of gods bereft; Where once the warm and living shapes were rife, Shadows alone are left! Cold, from the north, has gone Over the flowers the blast that killed their May; And, to enrich the worship of the one, A universe of gods must pass away! Mourning, I search on yonder starry steeps, But thee no more, Selene, there I see! And through the woods I call, and o'er the deeps, And--Echo answers me! Deaf to the joys she gives-- Blind to the pomp of which she is possessed-- Unconscious of the spiritual power that lives Around, and rules her--by our bliss unblessed-- Dull to the art that colors or creates, Like the dead timepiece, godless nature creeps Her plodding round, and, by the leaden weights, The slavish motion keeps. To-morrow to receive New life, she digs her proper grave to-day; And icy moons with weary sameness weave From their own light their fulness and decay. Home to the poet's land the gods are flown, Light use in them that later world discerns, Which, the diviner leading-strings outgrown, On its own axle turns. Home! and with them are gone The hues they gazed on and the tones they heard; Life's beauty and life's melody:--alone Broods o'er the desolate void, the lifeless word; Yet rescued from time's deluge, still they throng Unseen the Pindus they were wont to cherish: All, that which gains immortal life in song, To mortal life must perish!

Written by Barry Tebb | A Fine Madness Any poets about or bored muses fancying a day out? Rainy, windy, cold Leeds City Station Half-way through its slow chaotic transformation Contractors’ morning break, overalls, hard hats and harness Flood McDonalds where I sip my tea and try to translate Val?ry. London has everything except my bardic inspiration I’ve only to step off the coach in Leeds and it whistles Its bravuras down every wind, rattles the cobbles in Kirkgate Market Hovers in the drunken brogue of a Dubliner in the chippie As we share our love of Joyce the Aire becomes the Liffey. All my three muses have abandoned me. Daisy in Asia, Brenda protesting outside the Royal Free, Barbara seeing clients at the C.A.B. Past Saltaire’s Mill, the world’s eighth wonder, The new electric train whisperglides on wet rails Past Shipley’s fairy glen and other tourist trails Past Kirkstall’s abandoned abbey and redundant forge To Grandma Wild’s in Keighley where I sit and gorge. I’ve travelled on the Haworth bus so often The driver chats as if I were a local But when the rainbow’s lightning flash Illumines all the valleys there’s a hush And every pensioner's rheumy eye is rooted On the gleaming horizon as its mooted The Bronte’s spirits make the thunder crack Three cloaked figures converging round the Oakworth track. Haworth in a storm is a storm indeed The lashing and the crashing makes the gravestones bleed The mashing and the bashing makes the light recede And on the moor top I lose my way and find it Half a dozen times slipping in the mud and heather Heather than can stand the thrust of any weather. Just as suddenly as it had come the storm abated Extremes demand those verbs so antiquated Archaic and abhorred and second-rated Yet still they stand like moorland rocks in mist And wait as I do till the storm has passed Buy postcards at the parsonage museum shop Sit half an hour in the tea room drying off And pen a word or two to my three muses Who after all presented their excuses But nonetheless the three all have their uses.

Written by Czeslaw Milosz | In Black Despair In grayish doubt and black despair, I drafted hymns to the earth and the air, pretending to joy, although I lacked it. The age had made lament redundant. So here's the question -- who can answer it -- Was he a brave man or a hypocrite?

Written by Adela Florence Cory Nicolson | The Regret of the Ranee in the Hall of Peacocks The tropic day's redundant charms Cool twilight soothes away, The sun slips down behind the palms And leaves the landscape grey. I want to take you in my arms And kiss your lips away! I wake with sunshine in my eyes And find the morning blue, A night of dreams behind me lies And all were dreams of you! Ah, how I wish the while I rise, That what I dream were true. The weary day's laborious pace, I hasten and beguile By fancies, which I backwards trace To things I loved erstwhile; The weary sweetness of your face, Your faint, illusive smile. The silken softness of your hair Where faint bronze shadows are, Your strangely slight and youthful air, No passions seem to mar,— Oh, why, since Fate has made you fair, Must Fortune keep you far? Thus spent, the day so long and bright Less hot and brilliant seems, Till in a final flare of light The sun withdraws his beams. Then, in the coolness of the night, I meet you in my dreams!