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Best Famous Relinquish Poems

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

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North Country

 North Country, filled with gesturing wood, 
With trees that fence, like archers' volleys, 
The flanks of hidden valleys 
Where nothing's left to hide 

But verticals and perpendiculars, 
Like rain gone wooden, fixed in falling, 
Or fingers blindly feeling 
For what nobody cares; 

Or trunks of pewter, bangled by greedy death, 
Stuck with black staghorns, quietly sucking, 
And trees whose boughs go seeking, 
And tress like broken teeth 

With smoky antlers broken in the sky; 
Or trunks that lie grotesquely rigid, 
Like bodies blank and wretched 
After a fool's battue, 

As if they've secret ways of dying here 
And secret places for their anguish 
When boughs at last relinquish 
Their clench of blowing air 

But this gaunt country, filled with mills and saws, 
With butter-works and railway-stations 
And public institutions, 
And scornful rumps of cows, 

North Country, filled with gesturing wood– 
Timber's the end it gives to branches, 
Cut off in cubic inches, 
Dripping red with blood.

Written by Francesco Petrarch |

Sonnet LXXXVIII

SONNET LXXXVIII.
 Spirto felice, che sì dolcemente.
 BEHOLDING IN FANCY THE SHADE OF LAURA, HE TELLS HER THE LOSS THAT THE WORLD SUSTAINED IN HER DEPARTURE.
  Blest spirit, that with beams so sweetly clearThose eyes didst bend on me, than stars more bright,And sighs didst breathe, and words which could delightDespair; and which in fancy still I hear;—I see thee now, radiant from thy pure sphereO'er the soft grass, and violet's purple light,Move, as an angel to my wondering sight;More present than earth gave thee to appear.Yet to the Cause Supreme thou art return'd:And left, here to dissolve, that beauteous veilIn which indulgent Heaven invested thee.Th' impoverish'd world at thy departure mourn'd:For love departed, and the sun grew pale,And death then seem'd our sole felicity.
 Capel Lofft.  O blessed Spirit! who those sun-like eyesSo sweetly didst inform and brightly fill,Who the apt words didst frame and tender sighsWhich in my fond heart have their echo still.Erewhile I saw thee, glowing with chaste flame,Thy feet 'mid violets and verdure set,Moving in angel not in mortal frame,Life-like and light, before me present yet!Her, when returning with thy God to dwell,Thou didst relinquish and that fair veil givenFor purpose high by fortune's grace to thee:Love at thy parting bade the world farewell;Courtesy died; the sun abandon'd heaven,And Death himself our best friend 'gan to be.
 Macgregor.

Written by D. H. Lawrence |

Red Moon-Rise

The train in running across the weald has fallen into a steadier stroke
So even, it beats like silence, and sky and earth in one unbroke
Embrace of darkness lie around, and crushed between them all the loose
And littered lettering of leaves and hills and houses closed, and we
can use
The open book of landscape no more, for the covers of darkness have
shut upon
Its written pages, and sky and earth and all between are closed in one.

And we are smothered between the darkness, we close our eyes and say
"Hush!" we try
To escape in sleep the terror of this immense deep darkness, and we lie
Wrapped up for sleep. And then, dear God, from out of the twofold
darkness, red
As if from the womb the moon arises, as if the twin-walled darkness
had bled
In one great spasm of birth and given us this new, red moon-rise
Which lies on the knees of the darkness bloody, and makes us hide our
eyes.

The train beats frantic in haste, and struggles away
From this ruddy terror of birth that has slid down
From out of the loins of night to flame our way
With fear; but God, I am glad, so glad that I drown
My terror with joy of confirmation, for now
Lies God all red before me, and I am glad,
As the Magi were when they saw the rosy brow
Of the Infant bless their constant folly which had
Brought them thither to God: for now I know
That the Womb is a great red passion whence rises all
The shapeliness that decks us here-below:
Yea like the fire that boils within this ball
Of earth, and quickens all herself with flowers,
God burns within the stiffened clay of us;
And every flash of thought that we and ours
Send up to heaven, and every movement, does
Fly like a spark from this God-fire of passion;
And pain of birth, and joy of the begetting,
And sweat of labour, and the meanest fashion
Of fretting or of gladness, but the jetting
Of a trail of the great fire against the sky
Where we can see it, a jet from the innermost fire:
And even in the watery shells that lie
Alive within the cozy under-mire,
A grain of this same fire I can descry.

And then within the screaming birds that fly
Across the lightning when the storm leaps higher;
And then the swirling, flaming folk that try
To come like fire-flames at their fierce desire,
They are as earth's dread, spurting flames that ply
Awhile and gush forth death and then expire.
And though it be love's wet blue eyes that cry
To hot love to relinquish its desire,
Still in their depths I see the same red spark
As rose to-night upon us from the dark.