Best Famous Rejoin Poems

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

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• All Famous Rejoin Poems

Written by Emily Dickinson | Within my Garden rides a Bird Within my Garden, rides a Bird Upon a single Wheel -- Whose spokes a dizzy Music make As 'twere a travelling Mill -- He never stops, but slackens Above the Ripest Rose -- Partakes without alighting And praises as he goes, Till every spice is tasted -- And then his Fairy Gig Reels in remoter atmospheres -- And I rejoin my Dog, And He and I, perplex us If positive, 'twere we -- Or bore the Garden in the Brain This Curiosity -- But He, the best Logician, Refers my clumsy eye -- To just vibrating Blossoms! An Exquisite Reply!

Written by Marriott Edgar | Sam Goes To It Sam Small had retired from the Army, In the old Duke of Wellington's time, So when present unpleasantness started, He were what you might call... past his prime. He'd lived for some years in retirement, And knew nowt of war, if you please, Till they blasted and bombed his allotment, And shelled the best part of his peas. 'T were as if bugles called Sam to duty, For his musket he started to search, He found it at last in the Hen house, Buff Orpingtons had it for perch. Straight off to the Fusilliers' depot, He went to rejoin his old troop... Where he found as they couldn't recruit Him, Until his age group was called up. Now Sam wasn't getting no younger, Past the three score and ten years was he, And he reckoned by time they reached his age group, He'd be very near ten score and three. So he took up the matter with Churchill, Who said, "I don't know what to do, Never was there a time when so many, Came asking so much from so few." "I don't want no favours" Sam answered, "Don't think as I'm one of that mob, All I'm asking is give me the tools, lad, And let me help finish the job." "I'll fit you in somewhere," said Winnie, "Old soldiers we must not discard." Then seeing he'd got his own musket, He sent him to join the Home Guard. They gave Sam a coat with no stripes on, In spite of the service he'd seen, Which considering he'd been a King's sergeant, Kind of rankled... you know what I mean. He said "I come back to the Army, Expecting my country's thanks, And the first thing I find when I get here, Is that I've been reduced to the ranks. He found all the lads sympathetic, They agreed that 'twere a disgrace, Except one old chap in the corner, With a nutcracker kind of a face. Said the old fella, "Who do you think you are? The last to appear on the scene, And you start off by wanting promotion, Last come, last served... see what I mean?" Said Sam, "Wasn't I at Corunna, And when company commander got shot, Didn't I lead battalion to victory?" Said the old fella, "No... you did not." "I didn't?" said Sam quite indignent, "Why, in every fight Wellington fought, Wasn't I at his right hand to guard him?" Said old chap, "You were nowt of the sort." "What do you know of Duke and his battles?" Said Sam, with a whithering look, Said the old man, "I ought to know something, Between you and me... I'm the Duke." And if you should look in any evening, You'll find them both in the canteen, Ex Commander-in-Chief and ex Sergeant, Both just Home Guards... you know what I mean?

Written by Edna St. Vincent Millay | Autumn Daybreak Cold wind of autumn, blowing loud At dawn, a fortnight overdue, Jostling the doors, and tearing through My bedroom to rejoin the cloud, I know—for I can hear the hiss And scrape of leaves along the floor— How may boughs, lashed bare by this, Will rake the cluttered sky once more. Tardy, and somewhat south of east, The sun will rise at length, made known More by the meagre light increased Than by a disk in splendour shown; When, having but to turn my head, Through the stripped maple I shall see, Bleak and remembered, patched with red, The hill all summer hid from me.

Written by Joseph Brodsky | Folk Tune It's not that the Muse feels like clamming up it's more like high time for the lad's last nap. And the scarf-waving lass who wished him the best drives a steamroller across his chest. And the words won't rise either like that rod or like logs to rejoin their old grove's sweet rot and like eggs in the frying pan the face spills its eyes all over the pillowcase. Are you warm tonight under those six veils in that basin of yours whose strung bottom wails; where like fish that gasp at the foreign blue my raw lip was catching what then was you? I would have hare's ears sewn to my bald head in thick woods for your sake I'd gulp drops of lead and from black gnarled snags in the oil-smooth poad I'd bob up to your face as some Tirpitz won't. But it's not on the cards or the waiter's tray and it pains to say where one's hair turns gray. There are more blue veins than the blood to swell their dried web let alone some remote brain cell We are parting for good my friend that's that. Draw an empty circle on your blue pad. This will be me: no insides in thrall. Stare at it a while then erase the scrawl.

Written by Emily Dickinson | Of nearness to her sundered Things Of nearness to her sundered Things The Soul has special times -- When Dimness -- looks the Oddity -- Distinctness -- easy -- seems -- The Shapes we buried, dwell about, Familiar, in the Rooms -- Untarnished by the Sepulchre, The Mouldering Playmate comes -- In just the Jacket that he wore -- Long buttoned in the Mold Since we -- old mornings, Children -- played -- Divided -- by a world -- The Grave yields back her Robberies -- The Years, our pilfered Things -- Bright Knots of Apparitions Salute us, with their wings -- As we -- it were -- that perished -- Themself -- had just remained till we rejoin them -- And 'twas they, and not ourself That mourned.

Written by Emily Dickinson | A throe upon the features A throe upon the features -- A hurry in the breath -- An ecstasy of parting Denominated "Death" -- An anguish at the mention Which when to patience grown, I've known permission given To rejoin its own.