10 Best Famous Starlights Poems

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

• All Famous Starlights Poems

What is love ? A lifetime spent  
Of days that pain does fill, 
That thousand tears can't content, 
But asks for tears still. 

With but a little glance coquet 
Your soul it knows to tie, 
That of its spell you can't forget 
Until the day you die. 

Upon your threshold does it stand, 
In every nook conspire, 
That you may whisper hand in hand 
Your tale of heart's aspire. 

Till fades the very earth and sky, 
Your heart completely broken, 
And all the world hangs on a sigh, 
A word but partly spoken. 

It follows you for weeks and weeks 
And in your soul assembles 
The memory of blushing cheeks 
And eyelash fair that trembles. 

It comes to you a sudden ray 
As though of starlight's spending, 
How many and many a time each day 
And every night unending. 

For of your life has fate decreed 
That pain shall it enfold, 
As does the clinging water-weed 
About a swimmer hold. 
--------
English version by Corneliu M. Popescu
Transcribed by Alina Micu
School No. 10, Focsani, Romania

 KEEP a red heart of memories
Under the great gray rain sheds of the sky,
Under the open sun and the yellow gloaming embers.
Remember all paydays of lilacs and songbirds;
All starlights of cool memories on storm paths.

Out of this prairie rise the faces of dead men.
They speak to me. I can not tell you what they say.

Other faces rise on the prairie.
 They are the unborn. The future.

Yesterday and to-morrow cross and mix on the skyline
The two are lost in a purple haze. One forgets. One waits.

In the yellow dust of sunsets, in the meadows of vermilion eight o’clock June nights … the dead men and the unborn children speak to me … I can not tell you what they say … you listen and you know.

I don’t care who you are, man:
I know a woman is looking for you
and her soul is a corn-tassel kissing a south-west wind.
(The farm-boy whose face is the color of brick-dust, is calling the cows; he will form the letter X with crossed streams of milk from the teats; he will beat a tattoo on the bottom of a tin pail with X’s of milk.)

I don’t care who you are, man:
I know sons and daughters looking for you
And they are gray dust working toward star paths
And you see them from a garret window when you laugh
At your luck and murmur, “I don’t care.”

I don’t care who you are, woman:
I know a man is looking for you
And his soul is a south-west wind kissing a corn-tassel.

(The kitchen girl on the farm is throwing oats to the chickens and the buff of their feathers says hello to the sunset’s late maroon.)

I don’t care who you are, woman:
I know sons and daughters looking for you
And they are next year’s wheat or the year after hidden in the dark and loam.

My love is a yellow hammer spinning circles in Ohio, Indiana. My love is a redbird shooting flights in straight lines in Kentucky and Tennessee. My love is an early robin flaming an ember of copper on her shoulders in March and April. My love is a graybird living in the eaves of a Michigan house all winter. Why is my love always a crying thing of wings?

On the Indiana dunes, in the Mississippi marshes, I have asked: Is it only a fishbone on the beach?
Is it only a dog’s jaw or a horse’s skull whitening in the sun? Is the red heart of man only ashes? Is the flame of it all a white light switched off and the power house wires cut?

Why do the prairie roses answer every summer? Why do the changing repeating rains come back out of the salt sea wind-blown? Why do the stars keep their tracks? Why do the cradles of the sky rock new babies?