10 Best Famous Statutes Poems

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

• All Famous Statutes Poems

 1
GREAT are the myths—I too delight in them; 
Great are Adam and Eve—I too look back and accept them; 
Great the risen and fallen nations, and their poets, women, sages, inventors, rulers,
 warriors,
 and priests. 
Great is Liberty! great is Equality! I am their follower; 
Helmsmen of nations, choose your craft! where you sail, I sail,
I weather it out with you, or sink with you. 

Great is Youth—equally great is Old Age—great are the Day and Night; 
Great is Wealth—great is Poverty—great is Expression—great is Silence. 

Youth, large, lusty, loving—Youth, full of grace, force, fascination! 
Do you know that Old Age may come after you, with equal grace, force, fascination?

Day, full-blown and splendid—Day of the immense sun, action, ambition, laughter, 
The Night follows close, with millions of suns, and sleep, and restoring darkness. 

Wealth, with the flush hand, fine clothes, hospitality; 
But then the Soul’s wealth, which is candor, knowledge, pride, enfolding love; 
(Who goes for men and women showing Poverty richer than wealth?)

Expression of speech! in what is written or said, forget not that Silence is also
 expressive, 
That anguish as hot as the hottest, and contempt as cold as the coldest, may be without
 words. 

2
Great is the Earth, and the way it became what it is; 
Do you imagine it has stopt at this? the increase abandon’d? 
Understand then that it goes as far onward from this, as this is from the times when it
 lay in
 covering waters and gases, before man had appear’d.

Great is the quality of Truth in man; 
The quality of truth in man supports itself through all changes, 
It is inevitably in the man—he and it are in love, and never leave each other. 

The truth in man is no dictum, it is vital as eyesight; 
If there be any Soul, there is truth—if there be man or woman there is truth—if
 there
 be physical or moral, there is truth;
If there be equilibrium or volition, there is truth—if there be things at all upon
 the
 earth, there is truth. 

O truth of the earth! I am determin’d to press my way toward you; 
Sound your voice! I scale mountains, or dive in the sea after you. 

3
Great is Language—it is the mightiest of the sciences, 
It is the fulness, color, form, diversity of the earth, and of men and women, and of all
 qualities and processes;
It is greater than wealth—it is greater than buildings, ships, religions, paintings,
 music. 

Great is the English speech—what speech is so great as the English? 
Great is the English brood—what brood has so vast a destiny as the English? 
It is the mother of the brood that must rule the earth with the new rule; 
The new rule shall rule as the Soul rules, and as the love, justice, equality in the Soul
 rule.

Great is Law—great are the few old land-marks of the law, 
They are the same in all times, and shall not be disturb’d. 

4
Great is Justice! 
Justice is not settled by legislators and laws—it is in the Soul; 
It cannot be varied by statutes, any more than love, pride, the attraction of gravity,
 can;
It is immutable—it does not depend on majorities—majorities or what not, come at
 last
 before the same passionless and exact tribunal. 

For justice are the grand natural lawyers, and perfect judges—is it in their Souls; 
It is well assorted—they have not studied for nothing—the great includes the
 less; 
They rule on the highest grounds—they oversee all eras, states, administrations. 

The perfect judge fears nothing—he could go front to front before God;
Before the perfect judge all shall stand back—life and death shall stand
 back—heaven
 and hell shall stand back. 

5
Great is Life, real and mystical, wherever and whoever; 
Great is Death—sure as life holds all parts together, Death holds all parts together.


Has Life much purport?—Ah, Death has the greatest purport.

 1
A CALIFORNIA song! 
A prophecy and indirection—a thought impalpable, to breathe, as air; 
A chorus of dryads, fading, departing—or hamadryads departing; 
A murmuring, fateful, giant voice, out of the earth and sky, 
Voice of a mighty dying tree in the Redwood forest dense.

Farewell, my brethren, 
Farewell, O earth and sky—farewell, ye neighboring waters; 
My time has ended, my term has come. 

2
Along the northern coast, 
Just back from the rock-bound shore, and the caves,
In the saline air from the sea, in the Mendocino country, 
With the surge for bass and accompaniment low and hoarse, 
With crackling blows of axes, sounding musically, driven by strong arms, 
Riven deep by the sharp tongues of the axes—there in the Redwood forest dense, 
I heard the mighty tree its death-chant chanting.

The choppers heard not—the camp shanties echoed not; 
The quick-ear’d teamsters, and chain and jack-screw men, heard not, 
As the wood-spirits came from their haunts of a thousand years, to join the refrain; 
But in my soul I plainly heard. 

Murmuring out of its myriad leaves,
Down from its lofty top, rising two hundred feet high, 
Out of its stalwart trunk and limbs—out of its foot-thick bark, 
That chant of the seasons and time—chant, not of the past only, but the future. 

3
You untold life of me, 
And all you venerable and innocent joys,
Perennial, hardy life of me, with joys, ’mid rain, and many a summer sun, 
And the white snows, and night, and the wild winds; 
O the great patient, rugged joys! my soul’s strong joys, unreck’d by man; 
(For know I bear the soul befitting me—I too have consciousness, identity, 
And all the rocks and mountains have—and all the earth;)
Joys of the life befitting me and brothers mine, 
Our time, our term has come. 

Nor yield we mournfully, majestic brothers, 
We who have grandly fill’d our time; 
With Nature’s calm content, and tacit, huge delight,
We welcome what we wrought for through the past, 
And leave the field for them. 

For them predicted long, 
For a superber Race—they too to grandly fill their time, 
For them we abdicate—in them ourselves, ye forest kings!
In them these skies and airs—these mountain peaks—Shasta—Nevadas, 
These huge, precipitous cliffs—this amplitude—these valleys grand—Yosemite, 
To be in them absorb’d, assimilated. 

4
Then to a loftier strain, 
Still prouder, more ecstatic, rose the chant,
As if the heirs, the Deities of the West, 
Joining, with master-tongue, bore part. 

Not wan from Asia’s fetishes, 
Nor red from Europe’s old dynastic slaughter-house, 
(Area of murder-plots of thrones, with scent left yet of wars and scaffolds every
 where,)
But come from Nature’s long and harmless throes—peacefully builded thence, 
These virgin lands—Lands of the Western Shore, 
To the new Culminating Man—to you, the Empire New, 
You, promis’d long, we pledge, we dedicate. 

You occult, deep volitions,
You average Spiritual Manhood, purpose of all, pois’d on yourself—giving, not taking
 law, 
You Womanhood divine, mistress and source of all, whence life and love, and aught that
 comes
 from life and love, 
You unseen Moral Essence of all the vast materials of America, (age upon age,
 working
 in Death the same as Life,) 
You that, sometimes known, oftener unknown, really shape and mould the New World,
 adjusting
 it to Time and Space, 
You hidden National Will, lying in your abysms, conceal’d, but ever alert,
You past and present purposes, tenaciously pursued, may-be unconscious of
 yourselves, 
Unswerv’d by all the passing errors, perturbations of the surface; 
You vital, universal, deathless germs, beneath all creeds, arts, statutes,
 literatures,

Here build your homes for good—establish here—These areas entire, Lands of the Western
 Shore, 
We pledge, we dedicate to you.

For man of you—your characteristic Race, 
Here may be hardy, sweet, gigantic grow—here tower, proportionate to Nature, 
Here climb the vast, pure spaces, unconfined, uncheck’d by wall or roof, 
Here laugh with storm or sun—here joy—here patiently inure, 
Here heed himself, unfold himself (not others’ formulas heed)—here fill
 his time,
To duly fall, to aid, unreck’d at last, 
To disappear, to serve. 

Thus, on the northern coast, 
In the echo of teamsters’ calls, and the clinking chains, and the music of choppers’ axes,

The falling trunk and limbs, the crash, the muffled shriek, the groan,
Such words combined from the Redwood-tree—as of wood-spirits’ voices ecstatic, ancient and
 rustling, 
The century-lasting, unseen dryads, singing, withdrawing, 
All their recesses of forests and mountains leaving, 
From the Cascade range to the Wasatch—or Idaho far, or Utah, 
To the deities of the Modern henceforth yielding,
The chorus and indications, the vistas of coming humanity—the settlements, features all, 
In the Mendocino woods I caught. 

5
The flashing and golden pageant of California! 
The sudden and gorgeous drama—the sunny and ample lands; 
The long and varied stretch from Puget Sound to Colorado south;
Lands bathed in sweeter, rarer, healthier air—valleys and mountain cliffs; 
The fields of Nature long prepared and fallow—the silent, cyclic chemistry; 
The slow and steady ages plodding—the unoccupied surface ripening—the rich ores forming
 beneath; 
At last the New arriving, assuming, taking possession, 
A swarming and busy race settling and organizing every where;
Ships coming in from the whole round world, and going out to the whole world, 
To India and China and Australia, and the thousand island paradises of the Pacific; 
Populous cities—the latest inventions—the steamers on the rivers—the railroads—with
 many a thrifty farm, with machinery, 
And wool, and wheat, and the grape—and diggings of yellow gold. 

6
But more in you than these, Lands of the Western Shore!
(These but the means, the implements, the standing-ground,) 
I see in you, certain to come, the promise of thousands of years, till now deferr’d, 
Promis’d, to be fulfill’d, our common kind, the Race. 

The New Society at last, proportionate to Nature, 
In Man of you, more than your mountain peaks, or stalwart trees imperial,
In Woman more, far more, than all your gold, or vines, or even vital air. 

Fresh come, to a New World indeed, yet long prepared, 
I see the Genius of the Modern, child of the Real and Ideal, 
Clearing the ground for broad humanity, the true America, heir of the past so grand, 
To build a grander future.

 (a) radical

ban all fires
and places where people congregate
to create comfort
put an end to sleep
good cooking
and the delectation of wine
tear lovers apart
piss on the sun and moon
degut all heavenly harmony
strike out across the bitter ice
and the poisonous marshes

make (if you dare) a better world

(b) expect poison from standing water
  (iii)
lake erie
why not as a joke one night
pick up your bed and walk
to washington – sleep
your damned sleep in its streets
so that one bright metallic morning
it can wake up to the stench
and fermentation of flesh
the gutrot of nerves – the blood’s
green effervescence so active
your skin has a job to keep it all in

isn’t that what things with the palsy
are supposed to do – lovely lake
give the world the miracle it waits for
what a laugh that would be

especially if washington lost its temper
and screamed christ lake erie
i don’t even know what to do
with my own garbage

pollution is just one of those things

go on lake erie
do it tonight

(c) drive your cart and your plow over the bones of the dead

(i)
isn't the next one
easter egg

  i don't want to live any more in an old way

yes it is

  to be a socialist wearing capitalism's cap
  a teacher in the shadow of a dead headmaster
  a tree using somebody else's old sap

  i want to build my future out of new emotions
  to seek more than my own in a spring surround
  to move amongst people keen to move outwards
  putting love and ideas into fresh ground

  who will come with me across this border
  not anywhere but in the bonds we make
  taking the old apart to find new order
  living ourselves boldly for each other's sake

then love is

  if you ask me today what love is
  i should have to name the people i love
  and perhaps because it's spring
  and i cannot control the knife that's in me
  their names would surprise me as much as you

  for years i have assumed that love is bloody
  a thing locked up in house and a family tree
  but suddenly its ache goes out beyond me
  and the first love is greater for the new

  this year more than any other
  the winter has savaged my deepest roots
  and the easter sun is banging hard against the window
  the arms of my loves are flowering widely
  and over the fields a new definition is running

  even though the streets we walk cannot be altered
  and faces there are that will not understand
  we have a sun born of our mutual longings
  whose shine is a hard fact - love is a new land

new spartans

  i haven't felt this young for twenty years
  yesterday i felt twenty years older
  then i had the curtains drawn over recluse fears
  today the sun comes in and instantly it's colder

  must shave and get dressed - i'm being nagged
  to shove my suspicions in a corner and get out
  what use the sun if being plagued with new life
  i can't throw off this centrally-heated doubt

  accept people with ice in their brows
  are the new spartans - they wait
      shall i go with them
  indoor delights that slowly breed into lies
  need to be dumped out of doors - and paralysis with them

no leave it
there's still one more
the need now

  the need now is to chronicle new times
  by their own statutes not as ***-ends of the old
  ideas stand out bravely against the surrounding grey
  seeking their own order in what themselves proclaim
  fortresses no longer belong by right to an older day

  i want to gather in my hands things i believe in
  not to be told that other rules prevail - there is
  a treading forward to be done of great excitement
  and people to be found who by the old laws
  should be little more than dead
      this enlightment

  is cutting like spring into a bitter winter
  and there is this smashing of many concrete shells
  a dream with the cheek to be aggressive has assumed
  its own flesh and bone and will not put up with sleep
  as its prime condition - life out of death is exhumed

it's the other side
is so disappointing
no thanks
leave it for now

(ii)

there follows a brief interlude in honour of mr vasko popa
(the yugoslav poet who in a short visit to this country
has stayed a long time)
and it will not now take place

  this game is called x
  no one else can play

  when the game is over
  we have all joined in

  those who have not been playing
  have to give in an ear

  if you don't have an ear
  use one of those lying about

  left over from the last time
  the game wasn't played

  this game is not to do with ears
  shooting must be done from the heart

  x sits in the middle of the ring - he
  has gone for a stroll up his left nostril

  how can he seize a left-over ear
  and drag it under the ground

  hands up if you have been shot from the heart
  x comes up in the middle of himself

  in this way the game is over before
  it began and everyone willy-nilly

  has had to go home
  before he could put a foot outside


(d) enough! – or too much

   reading popa
   i let fly
   too many words

   i bang away
   at the seed
   but can’t break it

   hurt i turn to
   constructing
   castles with cards

   if you can’t split
   the atom
   man stop writing

 OF Public Opinion; 
Of a calm and cool fiat, sooner or later, (How impassive! How certain and final!) 
Of the President with pale face, asking secretly to himself, What will the people say
 at
 last? 
Of the frivolous Judge—Of the corrupt Congressman, Governor, Mayor—Of such as
 these,
 standing helpless and exposed; 
Of the mumbling and screaming priest—(soon, soon deserted;)
Of the lessening, year by year, of venerableness, and of the dicta of officers, statutes,
 pulpits, schools; 
Of the rising forever taller and stronger and broader, of the intuitions of men and women,
 and
 of self-esteem, and of personality; 
—Of the New World—Of the Democracies, resplendent, en-masse; 
Of the conformity of politics, armies, navies, to them and to me, 
Of the shining sun by them—Of the inherent light, greater than the rest,
Of the envelopment of all by them, and of the effusion of all from them.

 1
COURAGE yet! my brother or my sister! 
Keep on! Liberty is to be subserv’d, whatever occurs; 
That is nothing, that is quell’d by one or two failures, or any number of failures, 
Or by the indifference or ingratitude of the people, or by any unfaithfulness, 
Or the show of the tushes of power, soldiers, cannon, penal statutes.

Revolt! and still revolt! revolt! 
What we believe in waits latent forever through all the continents, and all the islands
 and
 archipelagos of the sea; 
What we believe in invites no one, promises nothing, sits in calmness and light, is
 positive
 and composed, knows no discouragement, 
Waiting patiently, waiting its time. 

(Not songs of loyalty alone are these,
But songs of insurrection also; 
For I am the sworn poet of every dauntless rebel, the world over, 
And he going with me leaves peace and routine behind him, 
And stakes his life, to be lost at any moment.) 

2
Revolt! and the downfall of tyrants!
The battle rages with many a loud alarm, and frequent advance and retreat, 
The infidel triumphs—or supposes he triumphs, 
Then the prison, scaffold, garrote, hand-cuffs, iron necklace and anklet, lead-balls, do
 their
 work, 
The named and unnamed heroes pass to other spheres, 
The great speakers and writers are exiled—they lie sick in distant lands,
The cause is asleep—the strongest throats are still, choked with their own blood, 
The young men droop their eyelashes toward the ground when they meet; 
—But for all this, liberty has not gone out of the place, nor the infidel
 enter’d
 into full possession. 

When liberty goes out of a place, it is not the first to go, nor the second or third to
 go, 
It waits for all the rest to go—it is the last.

When there are no more memories of heroes and martyrs, 
And when all life, and all the souls of men and women are discharged from any part of the
 earth, 
Then only shall liberty, or the idea of liberty, be discharged from that part of the
 earth, 
And the infidel come into full possession. 

3
Then courage! European revolter! revoltress!
For, till all ceases, neither must you cease. 

I do not know what you are for, (I do not know what I am for myself, nor what anything is
 for,)

But I will search carefully for it even in being foil’d, 
In defeat, poverty, misconception, imprisonment—for they too are great. 

Revolt! and the bullet for tyrants!
Did we think victory great? 
So it is—But now it seems to me, when it cannot be help’d, that defeat is great,

And that death and dismay are great.

 Father, part of his double interest
Unto thy kingdom, thy Son gives to me,
His jointure in the knotty Trinity
He keeps, and gives to me his death's conquest.
This Lamb, whose death with life the world hath blest,
Was from the world's beginning slain, and he
Hath made two Wills which with the Legacy
Of his and thy kingdom do thy Sons invest.
Yet such are thy laws that men argue yet
Whether a man those statutes can fulfil;
None doth; but all-healing grace and spirit
Revive again what law and letter kill.
Thy law's abridgement, and thy last command
Is all but love; Oh let this last Will stand!

 The books of nature and scripture.
For a Lord's-day morning

Behold, the lofty sky
Declares its Maker God,
And all his starry works on high
Proclaim his power abroad.

The darkness and the light
Still keep their course the same;
While night to day, and day to night,
Divinely teach his name.

In every diff'rent land
Their general voice is known;
They show the wonders of his hand,
And orders of his throne.

Ye British lands, rejoice,
Here he reveals his word;
We are not left to nature's voice,
To bid us know the Lord.

His statutes and commands
Are set before our eyes;
He puts his gospel in our hands,
Where our salvation lies.

His laws are just and pure,
His truth without deceit,
His promises for ever sure,
And his rewards are great.

[Not honey to the taste
Affords so much delight,
Nor gold that has the furnace passed
So much allures the sight.

While of thy works I sing,
Thy glory to proclaim,
Accept the praise, my God, my King
In my Redeemer's name.]

 heeley (sheffield) autumn 1988

dodging the broken bottles
dog-**** the pavement spew
i wheel my young son matthew
through the heeley streets
shop to shop this early
morning (short of milk)
unsettled day - the sun
comes through the clouds in
ragged strips where windy
rain has had the night
to puff and piddle

puddles idle in
the dips of surfaces
neglected for decades

another place where caring's
lost a public vision
only detritus of hope
dares poke its battered 
visage out of doors

no pride here on pavements
what's local's long been
squashed - wealth's dogs
prefer more stately
avenues to piss up

the air is fresh
i'm moving briskly
getting a lift from
my negotiating skills

take a buggy on 
two wheels to skirt
a sudden pool a twirl
past faeces - a kind of
hop-scotch over jags
of milky glass - and come
to stop on a hillside
where slopes of grass drop
sleekly on what were
backs of houses

i'm out of breath
a darkness ripples
past my eyes and knocks
on my unfitness
i am locked for one
brief aeon as a rock
that's held its place upon
this hill inscrutably

a wildness explodes
from every blade of grass
i touch upon deep springs
(a healing flow upsurging
through the **** and glass
the torn-down homes)

my body's lapped - my
old eyes washed of dirt
a comb's gone through the
landscape at my feet
the muck's redeemed

a larger time lets
nothing be what is
but everything is used
for what is coming

today-defunct breeds
trees that bloom tomorrow
nothing's next step on 
is one - what's poor is
where new worlds are just
beginning - the ****
spew glass the death
of hope have done their time

(cartons which the future's
thrown away as minds
and spirits snout amongst
the refuse seeking forms
to dress their fresh selves in)

the meek are gathered
in millions on this hill
disparaged destitute
of any say in this
dead time as others
roll their tongues
round easy riches

but here's the future
too - a start of ages
a cry whose agony's
a pinprick or a seedling
a drib of red and green
the statute's blind to

across the valley
sheffield snarls itself
to this day's life
its smoke-tuned buildings
boxed-in by the past
(upheavals mortised in
its joints make it confused)

for all its roar it
slumbers through its present
wanting its glory back
the talk of its old
workers flawed with steely
pride (that stainless stain)
there's no dawn there - its power
and wealth have long borne
all its sons away

it's in the detritus
i stand in (in this mix
of race and stymied
passion heeley has become
- and all such cast-off
cesspits of our dreams)
the not-yet written 
songs of human dignity
are not yet being sung

the shudder leaves me
i'm just this oldish
man with his youngest son
pushing a buggy through
scarred heeley streets
more concerned to get
no **** upon the wheels
than to hold a sand-grain
to the world and turn
its atoms inside out

i'll not live to see
the newlaid honest
pavements going down
and houses have that look
within their glass that sings
of confidence-returned

i push on up the hill
(to where my oldest son
has done his house up)
once more safely in
the compound of my 
aging flesh talking
with matthew playing
buggy games

  triumphant
only that after
so many sorry shops
i'd found one that did
sell milk - the morning
cup of tea reclaimed

the real world put to rights

 WE two boys together clinging, 
One the other never leaving, 
Up and down the roads going—North and South excursions making, 
Power enjoying—elbows stretching—fingers clutching, 
Arm’d and fearless—eating, drinking, sleeping, loving,
No law less than ourselves owning—sailing, soldiering, thieving, threatening, 
Misers, menials, priests alarming—air breathing, water drinking, on the turf or the
 sea-beach
 dancing, 
Cities wrenching, ease scorning, statutes mocking, feebleness chasing, 
Fulfilling our foray.

 The last judgment.

The Lord, the Sovereign, sends his summons forth,
Calls the south nations and awakes the north;
From east to west the sounding orders spread,
Through distant worlds and regions of the dead:
No more shall atheists mock his long delay;
His vengeance sleeps no more: behold the day!

Behold, the Judge descends, his guards are nigh;
Tempest and fire attend him down the sky:
Heav'n, earth, and hell, draw near; let all things come
To hear his justice, and the sinner's doom:
"But gather first my saints," the Judge commands,
"Bring them, ye angels, from their distant lands.

"Behold, my cov'nant stands for ever good,
Sealed by th' eternal Sacrifice in blood,
And signed with all their names; the Greek, the Jew,
That paid the ancient worship or the new,
There's no distinction here; come, spread their thrones,
And near me seat my fav'rites and my sons.

"I, their Almighty Savior and their God,
I am their Judge: ye heav'ns, proclaim abroad
My just eternal sentence, and declare
Those awful truths that sinners dread to hear:
Sinners in Zion, tremble and retire;
I doom the painted hypocrite to fire.

"Not for the want of goats or bullocks slain
Do I condemn thee; bulls and goats are vain
Without the flames of love; in vain the store
Of brutal off'rings that were mine before;
Mine are the tamer beasts and savage breed,
Flocks, herds, and fields and forests where they feed.

"If I were hungry, would I ask thee food?
When did I thirst, or drink thy bullocks' blood?
Can I be flattered with thy cringing bows,
Thy solemn chatt'rings and fantastic vows?
Are my eyes charmed thy vestments to behold,
Glaring in gems, and gay in woven gold?

"Unthinking wretch! how couldst thou hope to please
A God, a Spirit, with such toys as these,
While, with my grace and statutes on thy tongue,
Thou lov'st deceit, and dost thy brother wrong?
In vain to pious forms thy zeal pretends,
Thieves and adulterers are thy chosen friends.

"Silent I waited with long-suff'ring love,
But didst thou hope that I should ne'er reprove?
And cherish such an impious thought within,
That God, the Righteous, would indulge thy sin?
Behold my terrors now: my thunders roll,
And thy own crimes affright thy guilty soul."

Sinners, awake betimes; ye fools, be wise;
Awake before this dreadful morning rise;
Change your vain thoughts, your crooked works amend,
Fly to the Savior, make the Judge your friend
Lest, like a lion, his last vengeance tear
Your trembling souls, and no deliv'rer near.