10 Best Famous Soars Poems

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

• All Famous Soars Poems

 Ah yes, I love you, and with all my heart; 
Just as a weaker woman loves her own, 
Better than I love my beloved art, 
Which, until you came, reigned royally, alone, 
My king, my master. Since I saw your face
I have dethroned it, and you hold that place.

I am as weak as other women are –
Your frown can make the whole world like a tomb
Your smile shines brighter than the sun, by far; 
Sometimes I think there is not space or room
In all the earth for such a love as mine, 
And it soars up to breathe in realms divine.

I know that your desertion or neglect
Could break my heart, as women’s hearts do break; 
If my wan days had nothing to expect
From your love’s splendour, all joy would forsake
The chambers of my soul. Yes this is true.
And yet, and yet – one thing I keep from you.

There is a subtle part of me, which went
Into my long pursued and worshipped art; 
Though your great love fills me with such content, 
No other love finds room now in my heart.
Yet that rare essence was my art’s alone.
Thank God, you cannot grasp it; ‘tis mine own.

Thank God, I say, for while I love you so, 
With that vast love, as passionate as tender, 
I feel an exultation as I know
I have not made you a complete surrender.
Here is my body; bruise it, if you will, 
And break my heart; I have that something still.

You cannot grasp it. Seize the breath of morn, 
Or bind the perfume of the rose as well.
God put it in my soul when I was born; 
It is not mine to give away, or sell, 
Or offer up on any alter shrine.
It was my art’s; and when not art’s, ‘tis mine.

For Love’s sake, I can put the art away, 
Or anything which stands ‘twixt me and you, 
But that strange essence God bestowed, I say, 
To permeate the work He gave to do: 
And it cannot be drained, dissolved, or sent
Through any channel, save the one He meant.

 TERRIFIC FIEND! thou Monster fell, 
Condemn'd in haunts profane to dwell, 
Why quit thy solitary Home, 
O'er wide Creation's paths to roam? 
Pale Tyrant of the timid Heart, 
Whose visionary spells can bind 
The strongest passions of the mind, 
Freezing Life's current with thy baneful Art. 

Nature recoils when thou art near, 
For round thy form all plagues are seen; 
Thine is the frantic tone, the sullen mien, 
The glance of petrifying fear, 
The haggard Brow, the low'ring Eye, 
The hollow Cheek, the smother'd Sigh, 
When thy usurping fangs assail, 
The sacred Bonds of Friendship fail. 
Meek-bosom'd Pity sues in vain; 
Imperious Sorrow spurns relief, 
Feeds on the luxury of Grief, 
Drinks the hot Tear, and hugs the galling Chain. 

AH! plunge no more thy ruthless dart, 
In the dark centre of the guilty Heart; 
The POW'R SUPREME, with pitying eye, 
Looks on the erring Child of Misery; 
MERCY arrests the wing of Time; 
To expiate the wretch's crime; 
Insulted HEAV'N consign'd thy brand 
To the first Murd'rer's crimson hand. 
Swift o'er the earth the Monster flew, 
And round th' ensanguin'd Poisons threw, 
By CONSCIENCE goaded­driven by FEAR, 
Till the meek Cherub HOPE subdued his fell career. 

Thy Reign is past, when erst the brave 
Imbib'd contagion o'er the midnight lamp, 
Close pent in loathsome cells, where poisons damp 
Hung round the confines of a Living Grave; * 
Where no glimm'ring ray illum'd 
The flinty walls, where pond'rous chains 
Bound the wan Victim to the humid earth, 
Where VALOUR, GENIUS, TASTE, and WORTH, 
In pestilential caves entomb'd, 
Sought thy cold arms, and smiling mock'd their pains. 

THERE,­each procrastinated hour 
The woe-worn suff'rer gasping lay, 
While by his side in proud array 
Stalk'd the HUGE FIEND, DESPOTIC POW'R. 
There REASON clos'd her radiant eye, 
And fainting HOPE retir'd to die, 
Truth shrunk appall'd, 
In spells of icy Apathy enthrall'd; 
Till FREEDOM spurn'd the ignominious chain, 
And roused from Superstition's night, 
Exulting Nature claim'd her right, 
And call'd dire Vengeance from her dark domain. 

Now take thy solitary flight 
Amid the turbid gales of night, 
Where Spectres starting from the tomb, 
Glide along th' impervious gloom; 
Or, stretch'd upon the sea-beat shore, 
Let the wild winds, as they roar, 
Rock Thee on thy Bed of Stone; 
Or, in gelid caverns pent, 
Listen to the sullen moan 
Of subterranean winds;­or glut thy sight 
Where stupendous mountains rent 
Hurl their vast fragments from their dizzy height. 

At Thy approach the rifted Pine 
Shall o'er the shatter'd Rock incline, 
Whose trembling brow, with wild weeds drest, 
Frowns on the tawny EAGLE's nest; 
THERE enjoy the 'witching hour, 
And freeze in Frenzy's dire conceit, 
Or seek the Screech-owl's lone retreat, 
On the bleak rampart of some nodding Tow'r. 
In some forest long and drear, 
Tempt the fierce BANDITTI's rage, 
War with famish'd Tygers wage, 
And mock the taunts of Fear. 

When across the yawning deep, 
The Demons of the Tempest sweep, 
Or deaf'ning Thunders bursting cast 
Their red bolts on the shivering mast, 
While fix'd below the sea-boy stands, 
As threat'ning Death his soul dismays, 
He lifts his supplicating hands, 
And shrieks, and groans, and weeps, and prays, 
Till lost amid the floating fire 
The agonizing crew expire; 
THEN let thy transports rend the air, 
For mad'ning Anguish feeds DESPAIR. 

When o'er the couch of pale Disease 
The MOTHER bends, with tearful eye, 
And trembles, lest her quiv'ring sigh, 
Should wake the darling of her breast, 
Now, by the taper's feeble rays, 
She steals a last, fond, eager gaze. 
Ah, hapless Parent! gaze no more, 
Thy CHERUB soars among the Blest, 
Life's crimson Fount begins to freeze, 
His transitory scene is o'er. 

She starts­she raves­her burning brain, 
Consumes, unconscious of its fires, 
Dead to the Heart's convulsive Pain, 
Bewilder'd Memory retires. 
See! See! she grasps her flowing hair, 
From her fix'd eye the big drops roll, 
Her proud Affliction mocks controul, 
And riots in DESPAIR, 
Such are thy haunts, malignant Pow'r, 
There all thy murd'rous Poisons pour; 
But come not near my calm retreat, 
Where Peace and holy FRIENDSHIP meet; 
Where SCIENCE sheds a gentle ray, 
And guiltless Mirth beguiles the day, 
Where Bliss congenial to the MUSE 
Shall round my Heart her sweets diffuse, 
Where, from each restless Passion free, 
I give my noiseless hours, BLESS'D POETRY, TO THEE.

 IS there a whim-inspirèd fool,
Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule,
Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool,
 Let him draw near;
And owre this grassy heap sing dool,
 And drap a tear.


Is there a bard of rustic song,
Who, noteless, steals the crowds among,
That weekly this area throng,
 O, pass not by!
But, with a frater-feeling strong,
 Here, heave a sigh.


Is there a man, whose judgment clear
Can others teach the course to steer,
Yet runs, himself, life’s mad career,
 Wild as the wave,
Here pause—and, thro’ the starting tear,
 Survey this grave.


The poor inhabitant below
Was quick to learn the wise to know,
And keenly felt the friendly glow,
 And softer flame;
But thoughtless follies laid him low,
 And stain’d his name!


Reader, attend! whether thy soul
Soars fancy’s flights beyond the pole,
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole,
 In low pursuit:
Know, prudent, cautious, self-control
 Is wisdom’s root.

 Music I love -­ but never strain
Could kindle raptures so divine,
So grief assuage, so conquer pain,
And rouse this pensive heart of mine -­
As that we hear on Christmas morn,
Upon the wintry breezes borne. 
Though Darkness still her empire keep,
And hours must pass, ere morning break;
From troubled dreams, or slumbers deep,
That music kindly bids us wake:
It calls us, with an angel's voice,
To wake, and worship, and rejoice; 

To greet with joy the glorious morn,
Which angels welcomed long ago,
When our redeeming Lord was born,
To bring the light of Heaven below;
The Powers of Darkness to dispel,
And rescue Earth from Death and Hell. 

While listening to that sacred strain,
My raptured spirit soars on high;
I seem to hear those songs again
Resounding through the open sky,
That kindled such divine delight,
In those who watched their flocks by night. 

With them, I celebrate His birth -­
Glory to God, in highest Heaven,
Good-will to men, and peace on Earth,
To us a Saviour-king is given;
Our God is come to claim His own,
And Satan's power is overthrown! 

A sinless God, for sinful men,
Descends to suffer and to bleed;
Hell must renounce its empire then;
The price is paid, the world is freed,
And Satan's self must now confess,
That Christ has earned a Right to bless: 

Now holy Peace may smile from heaven,
And heavenly Truth from earth shall spring:
The captive's galling bonds are riven,
For our Redeemer is our king;
And He that gave his blood for men
Will lead us home to God again.

 I

TRUTH is within ourselves; it takes no rise 
From outward things, whate’er you may believe. 
There is an inmost centre in us all, 
Where truth abides in fullness; and around, 
Wall upon wall, the gross flesh hems it in, 
This perfect, clear perception—which is truth. 
A baffling and perverting carnal mesh 
Binds it, and makes all error: and, to KNOW, 
Rather consists in opening out a way 
Whence the imprisoned splendour may escape, 
Than in effecting entry for a light 
Supposed to be without. 

II

I knew, I felt, (perception unexpressed, 
Uncomprehended by our narrow thought, 
But somehow felt and known in every shift 
And change in the spirit,—nay, in every pore 
Of the body, even,)—what God is, what we are 
What life is—how God tastes an infinite joy 
In infinite ways—one everlasting bliss, 
From whom all being emanates, all power 
Proceeds; in whom is life for evermore, 
Yet whom existence in its lowest form 
Includes; where dwells enjoyment there is he: 
With still a flying point of bliss remote, 
A happiness in store afar, a sphere 
Of distant glory in full view; thus climbs 
Pleasure its heights for ever and for ever. 
The centre-fire heaves underneath the earth, 
And the earth changes like a human face; 
The molten ore bursts up among the rocks, 
Winds into the stone’s heart, outbranches bright 
In hidden mines, spots barren river-beds, 
Crumbles into fine sand where sunbeams bask— 
God joys therein! The wroth sea’s waves are edged 
With foam, white as the bitten lip of hate, 
When, in the solitary waste, strange groups 
Of young volcanos come up, cyclops-like, 
Staring together with their eyes on flame— 
God tastes a pleasure in their uncouth pride. 
Then all is still; earth is a wintry clod: 
But spring-wind, like a dancing psaltress, passes 
Over its breast to waken it, rare verdure 
Buds tenderly upon rough banks, between 
The withered tree-roots and the cracks of frost, 
Like a smile striving with a wrinkled face; 
The grass grows bright, the boughs are swoln with blooms 
Like chrysalids impatient for the air, 
The shining dorrs are busy, beetles run 
Along the furrows, ants make their ade; 
Above, birds fly in merry flocks, the lark 
Soars up and up, shivering for very joy; 
Afar the ocean sleeps; white fishing-gulls 
Flit where the strand is purple with its tribe 
Of nested limpets; savage creatures seek 
Their loves in wood and plain—and God renews 
His ancient rapture. Thus He dwells in all, 
From life’s minute beginnings, up at last 
To man—the consummation of this scheme 
Of being, the completion of this sphere 
Of life: whose attributes had here and there 
Been scattered o’er the visible world before, 
Asking to be combined, dim fragments meant 
To be united in some wondrous whole, 
Imperfect qualities throughout creation, 
Suggesting some one creature yet to make, 
Some point where all those scattered rays should meet 
Convergent in the faculties of man.

 How this tart fable instructs
And mocks! Here's the parody of that moral mousetrap
Set in the proverbs stitched on samplers
Approving chased girls who get them to a tree
And put on bark's nun-black

Habit which deflects
All amorous arrows. For to sheathe the virgin shape
In a scabbard of wood baffles pursuers,
Whether goat-thighed or god-haloed. Ever since that first Daphne
Switched her incomparable back

For a bay-tree hide, respect's
Twined to her hard limbs like ivy: the puritan lip
Cries: 'Celebrate Syrinx whose demurs
Won her the frog-colored skin, pale pith and watery
Bed of a reed. Look:

Pine-needle armor protects
Pitys from Pan's assault! And though age drop
Their leafy crowns, their fame soars,
Eclipsing Eva, Cleo and Helen of Troy:
For which of those would speak

For a fashion that constricts
White bodies in a wooden girdle, root to top
Unfaced, unformed, the nipple-flowers
Shrouded to suckle darkness? Only they
Who keep cool and holy make

A sanctum to attract
Green virgins, consecrating limb and lip
To chastity's service: like prophets, like preachers,
They descant on the serene and seraphic beauty
Of virgins for virginity's sake.'

Be certain some such pact's
Been struck to keep all glory in the grip
Of ugly spinsters and barren sirs
As you etch on the inner window of your eye
This virgin on her rack:

She, ripe and unplucked, 's
Lain splayed too long in the tortuous boughs: overripe
Now, dour-faced, her fingers
Stiff as twigs, her body woodenly
Askew, she'll ache and wake

Though doomsday bud. Neglect's
Given her lips that lemon-tasting droop:
Untongued, all beauty's bright juice sours.
Tree-twist will ape this gross anatomy
Till irony's bough break.

 O THOU, whose sober precepts can controul 
The wild impatience of the troubled soul, 
Sweet Nymph serene ! whose all-consoling pow'r 
Awakes to calm delight the ling'ring hour; 
O hear thy suppliant's ardent pray'r ! 
Chase from my pensive mind corroding care, 
Steal thro' the heated pulses of the brain, 
Charm sorrow to repose­and lull the throb of pain. 

O, tell me, what are life's best joys? 
Are they not visions that decay, 
Sweet honey'd poisons, gilded toys, 
Vain glitt'ring baubles of a day? 
O say what shadow do they leave behind, 
Save the sad vacuum of the sated mind? 

Borne on the eagle wings of Fame, 
MAN soars above calm Reason's sway, 
"Vaulting AMBITION" mocks each tender claim, 
Plucks the dear bonds of social life away; 
As o'er the vanquish'd slave she wields her spear, 
COMPASSION turns aside---REFLECTlON drops a tear. 

Behold the wretch, whose sordid heart, 
Steep'd in Content's oblivious balm, 
Secure in Luxury's bewitching calm, 
Repels pale Mis'ry's touch, and mocks Affliction's smart; 
Unmov'd he marks the bitter tear, 
In vain the plaints of woe his thoughts assail, 
The bashful mourner's pitious tale 
Nor melts his flinty soul, nor vibrates on his ear, 

O blest REFLECTION ! let thy magic pow'r 
Awake his torpid sense, his slumb'ring thought, 
Tel1 him ADVERSITY'S unpitied hour 
A brighter lesson gives, than Stoics taught: 
Tell him that WEALTH no blessing can impart 
So sweet as PITY'S tear­that bathes the wounded Heart. 

Go tell the vain, the insolent, and fair, 
That life's best days are only days of care; 
That BEAUTY, flutt'ring like a painted fly, 
Owes to the spring of youth its rarest die; 
When Winter comes, its charms shall fade away, 
And the poor insect wither in decay: 
Go bid the giddy phantom learn from thee, 
That VIRTUE only braves mortality. 

Then come, REFLECTION, soft-ey'd maid! 
I know thee, and I prize thy charms; 
Come, in thy gentlest smiles array'd, 
And I will press thee in my eager arms: 
Keep from my aching heart the "fiend DESPAIR," 
Pluck from my brow her THORN, and plant the OLIVE there.

 I love all sights of earth and skies, 
From flowers that glow to stars that shine; 
The comet and the penny show, 
All curious things, above, below, 
Hold each in turn my wandering eyes: 
I claim the Christian Pagan's line, 
Humani nihil, -- even so, -- 
And is not human life divine? 
When soft the western breezes blow, 
And strolling youths meet sauntering maids, 
I love to watch the stirring trades 
Beneath the Vallombrosa shades 
Our much-enduring elms bestow; 
The vender and his rhetoric's flow, 
That lambent stream of liquid lies; 
The bait he dangles from his line, 
The gudgeon and his gold-washed prize. 
I halt before the blazoned sign 
That bids me linger to admire 
The drama time can never tire, 
The little hero of the hunch, 
With iron arm and soul of fire, 
And will that works his fierce desire, -- 
Untamed, unscared, unconquered Punch! 
My ear a pleasing torture finds 
In tones the withered sibyl grinds, -- 
The dame sans merci's broken strain, 
Whom I erewhile, perchance, have known, 
When Orleans filled the Bourbon throne, 
A siren singing by the Seine. 

But most I love the tube that spies 
The orbs celestial in their march; 
That shows the comet as it whisks 
Its tail across the planets' disks, 
As if to blind their blood-shot eyes; 
Or wheels so close against the sun 
We tremble at the thought of risks 
Our little spinning ball may run, 
To pop like corn that children parch, 
From summer something overdone, 
And roll, a cinder, through the skies. 

Grudge not to-day the scanty fee 
To him who farms the firmament, 
To whom the Milky Way is free; 
Who holds the wondrous crystal key, 
The silent Open Sesame 
That Science to her sons has lent; 
Who takes his toll, and lifts the bar 
That shuts the road to sun and star. 
If Venus only comes to time, 
(And prophets say she must and shall,) 
To-day will hear the tinkling chime 
Of many a ringing silver dime, 
For him whose optic glass supplies 
The crowd with astronomic eyes, -- 
The Galileo of the Mall. 

Dimly the transit morning broke; 
The sun seemed doubting what to do, 
As one who questions how to dress, 
And takes his doublets from the press, 
And halts between the old and new. 
Please Heaven he wear his suit of blue, 
Or don, at least, his ragged cloak, 
With rents that show the azure through! 

I go the patient crowd to join 
That round the tube my eyes discern, 
The last new-comer of the file, 
And wait, and wait, a weary while, 
And gape, and stretch, and shrug, and smile, 
(For each his place must fairly earn, 
Hindmost and foremost, in his turn,) 
Till hitching onward, pace by pace, 
I gain at last the envied place, 
And pay the white exiguous coin: 
The sun and I are face to face; 
He glares at me, I stare at him; 
And lo! my straining eye has found 
A little spot that, black and round, 
Lies near the crimsoned fire-orb's rim. 
O blessed, beauteous evening star, 
Well named for her whom earth adores, -- 
The Lady of the dove-drawn car, -- 
I know thee in thy white simar; 
But veiled in black, a rayless spot, 
Blank as a careless scribbler's blot, 
Stripped of thy robe of silvery flame, -- 
The stolen robe that Night restores 
When Day has shut his golden doors, -- 
I see thee, yet I know thee not; 
And canst thou call thyself the same? 

A black, round spot, -- and that is all; 
And such a speck our earth would be 
If he who looks upon the stars 
Through the red atmosphere of Mars 
Could see our little creeping ball 
Across the disk of crimson crawl 
As I our sister planet see. 

And art thou, then, a world like ours, 
Flung from the orb that whirled our own 
A molten pebble from its zone? 
How must thy burning sands absorb 
The fire-waves of the blazing orb, 
Thy chain so short, thy path so near, 
Thy flame-defying creatures hear 
The maelstroms of the photosphere! 
And is thy bosom decked with flowers 
That steal their bloom from scalding showers? 
And hast thou cities, domes, and towers, 
And life, and love that makes it dear, 
And death that fills thy tribes with fear? 


Lost in my dream, my spirit soars 
Through paths the wandering angels know; 
My all-pervading thought explores 
The azure ocean's lucent shores; 
I leave my mortal self below, 
As up the star-lit stairs I climb, 
And still the widening view reveals 
In endless rounds the circling wheels 
That build the horologe of time. 
New spheres, new suns, new systems gleam; 
The voice no earth-born echo hears 
Steals softly on my ravished ears: 
I hear them "singing as they shine" -- 
A mortal's voice dissolves my dream: 
My patient neighbor, next in line, 
Hints gently there are those who wait. 
O guardian of the starry gate, 
What coin shall pay this debt of mine? 
Too slight thy claim, too small the fee 
That bids thee turn the potent key 
The Tuscan's hand has placed in thine. 
Forgive my own the small affront, 
The insult of the proffered dime; 
Take it, O friend, since this thy wont, 
But still shall faithful memory be 
A bankrupt debtor unto thee, 
And pay thee with a grateful rhyme.

 Freer
than most birds
an eagle flies up
over San Francisco
freer than most places
soars high up
floats and glides high up
in the still
open spaces

flown from the mountains
floated down
far over ocean
where the sunset has begun
a mirror of itself

He sails high over
turning and turning
where seaplanes might turn
where warplanes might burn

He wheels about burning
in the red sun
climbs and glides
and doubles back upon himself
now over ocean
now over land
high over pinwheels suck in sand
where a rollercoaster used to stand

soaring eagle setting sun
All that is left of our wilderness

 The shadowy Daughter of Urthona stood before red Orc, 
When fourteen suns had faintly journey'd o'er his dark abode:
His food she brought in iron baskets, his drink in cups of iron:
Crown'd with a helmet and dark hair the nameless female stood;
A quiver with its burning stores, a bow like that of night,
When pestilence is shot from heaven: no other arms she need!
Invulnerable though naked, save where clouds roll round her loins
Their awful folds in the dark air: silent she stood as night;
For never from her iron tongue could voice or sound arise,
But dumb till that dread day when Orc assay'd his fierce embrace.
'Dark Virgin,' said the hairy youth, 'thy father stern, abhorr'd,
Rivets my tenfold chains while still on high my spirit soars;
Sometimes an Eagle screaming in the sky, sometimes a Lion
Stalking upon the mountains, and sometimes a Whale, I lash
The raging fathomless abyss; anon a Serpent folding
Around the pillars of Urthona, and round thy dark limbs
On the Canadian wilds I fold; feeble my spirit folds,
For chain'd beneath I rend these caverns: when thou bringest food
I howl my joy, and my red eyes seek to behold thy face--
In vain! these clouds roll to and fro, and hide thee from my sight.' 

Silent as despairing love, and strong as jealousy,
The hairy shoulders rend the links; free are the wrists of fire;
Round the terrific loins he seiz'd the panting, struggling womb;
It joy'd: she put aside her clouds and smiled her first-born smile,
As when a black cloud shews its lightnings to the silent deep. 

Soon as she saw the terrible boy, then burst the virgin cry: 

'I know thee, I have found thee, and I will not let thee go:
Thou art the image of God who dwells in darkness of Africa,
And thou art fall'n to give me life in regions of dark death.
On my American plains I feel the struggling afflictions
Endur'd by roots that writhe their arms into the nether deep.
I see a Serpent in Canada who courts me to his love,
In Mexico an Eagle, and a Lion in Peru;
I see a Whale in the south-sea, drinking my soul away.
O what limb-rending pains I feel! thy fire and my frost
Mingle in howling pains, in furrows by thy lightnings rent.
This is eternal death, and this the torment long foretold.