10 Best Famous Suffices Poems

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

• All Famous Suffices Poems

Written by Charlotte Bronte | Pilates Wifes Dream I've quenched my lamp, I struck it in that start Which every limb convulsed, I heard it fall­ The crash blent with my sleep, I saw depart Its light, even as I woke, on yonder wall; Over against my bed, there shone a gleam Strange, faint, and mingling also with my dream. It sunk, and I am wrapt in utter gloom; How far is night advanced, and when will day Retinge the dusk and livid air with bloom, And fill this void with warm, creative ray ? Would I could sleep again till, clear and red, Morning shall on the mountain-tops be spread! I'd call my women, but to break their sleep, Because my own is broken, were unjust; They've wrought all day, and well-earned slumbers steep Their labours in forgetfulness, I trust; Let me my feverish watch with patience bear, Thankful that none with me its sufferings share. Yet, Oh, for light ! one ray would tranquilise My nerves, my pulses, more than effort can; I'll draw my curtain and consult the skies: These trembling stars at dead of night look wan, Wild, restless, strange, yet cannot be more drear Than this my couch, shared by a nameless fear. All black­one great cloud, drawn from east to west, Conceals the heavens, but there are lights below; Torches burn in Jerusalem, and cast On yonder stony mount a lurid glow. I see men stationed there, and gleaming spears; A sound, too, from afar, invades my ears. Dull, measured, strokes of axe and hammer ring From street to street, not loud, but through the night Distinctly heard­and some strange spectral thing Is now upreared­and, fixed against the light Of the pale lamps; defined upon that sky, It stands up like a column, straight and high. I see it all­I know the dusky sign­ A cross on Calvary, which Jews uprear While Romans watch; and when the dawn shall shine Pilate, to judge the victim will appear, Pass sentence­yield him up to crucify; And on that cross the spotless Christ must die. Dreams, then, are true­for thus my vision ran; Surely some oracle has been with me, The gods have chosen me to reveal their plan, To warn an unjust judge of destiny: I, slumbering, heard and saw; awake I know, Christ's coming death, and Pilate's life of woe. I do not weep for Pilate­who could prove Regret for him whose cold and crushing sway No prayer can soften, no appeal can move; Who tramples hearts as others trample clay, Yet with a faltering, an uncertain tread, That might stir up reprisal in the dead. Forced to sit by his side and see his deeds; Forced to behold that visage, hour by hour, In whose gaunt lines, the abhorrent gazer reads A triple lust of gold, and blood, and power; A soul whom motives, fierce, yet abject, urge Rome's servile slave, and Judah's tyrant scourge. How can I love, or mourn, or pity him ? I, who so long my fettered hands have wrung; I, who for grief have wept my eye-sight dim; Because, while life for me was bright and young, He robbed my youth­he quenched my life's fair ray­ He crushed my mind, and did my freedom slay. And at this hour­although I be his wife­ He has no more of tenderness from me Than any other wretch of guilty life; Less, for I know his household privacy­ I see him as he is­without a screen; And, by the gods, my soul abhors his mien ! Has he not sought my presence, dyed in blood­ Innocent, righteous blood, shed shamelessly ? And have I not his red salute withstood ? Aye,­when, as erst, he plunged all Galilee In dark bereavement­in affliction sore, Mingling their very offerings with their gore. Then came he­in his eyes a serpent-smile, Upon his lips some false, endearing word, And, through the streets of Salem, clanged the while, His slaughtering, hacking, sacrilegious sword­ And I, to see a man cause men such woe, Trembled with ire­I did not fear to show. And now, the envious Jewish priests have brought Jesus­whom they in mockery call their king­ To have, by this grim power, their vengeance wrought; By this mean reptile, innocence to sting. Oh ! could I but the purposed doom avert, And shield the blameless head from cruel hurt! Accessible is Pilate's heart to fear, Omens will shake his soul, like autumn leaf; Could he this night's appalling vision hear, This just man's bonds were loosed, his life were safe, Unless that bitter priesthood should prevail, And make even terror to their malice quail. Yet if I tell the dream­but let me pause. What dream ? Erewhile the characters were clear, Graved on my brain­at once some unknown cause Has dimmed and rased the thoughts, which now appear, Like a vague remnant of some by-past scene;­ Not what will be, but what, long since, has been. I suffered many things, I heard foretold A dreadful doom for Pilate,­lingering woes, In far, barbarian climes, where mountains cold Built up a solitude of trackless snows, There, he and grisly wolves prowled side by side, There he lived famished­there methought he died; But not of hunger, nor by malady; I saw the snow around him, stained with gore; I said I had no tears for such as he, And, lo ! my cheek is wet­mine eyes run o'er; I weep for mortal suffering, mortal guilt, I weep the impious deed­the blood self-spilt. More I recall not, yet the vision spread Into a world remote, an age to come­ And still the illumined name of Jesus shed A light, a clearness, through the enfolding gloom­ And still I saw that sign, which now I see, That cross on yonder brow of Calvary. What is this Hebrew Christ ? To me unknown, His lineage­doctrine­mission­yet how clear, Is God-like goodness, in his actions shewn ! How straight and stainless is his life's career ! The ray of Deity that rests on him, In my eyes makes Olympian glory dim. The world advances, Greek, or Roman rite Suffices not the inquiring mind to stay; The searching soul demands a purer light To guide it on its upward, onward way; Ashamed of sculptured gods­Religion turns To where the unseen Jehovah's altar burns. Our faith is rotten­all our rites defiled, Our temples sullied, and methinks, this man, With his new ordinance, so wise and mild, Is come, even as he says, the chaff to fan And sever from the wheat; but will his faith Survive the terrors of to-morrow's death ? * * * * * I feel a firmer trust­a higher hope Rise in my soul­it dawns with dawning day; Lo ! on the Temple's roof­on Moriah's slope Appears at length that clear, and crimson ray, Which I so wished for when shut in by night; Oh, opening skies, I hail, I bless your light ! Part, clouds and shadows ! glorious Sun appear ! Part, mental gloom ! Come insight from on high ! Dusk dawn in heaven still strives with daylight clear, The longing soul, doth still uncertain sigh. Oh ! to behold the truth­that sun divine, How doth my bosom pant, my spirit pine ! This day, time travails with a mighty birth, This day, Truth stoops from heaven and visits earth, Ere night descends, I shall more surely know What guide to follow, in what path to go; I wait in hope­I wait in solemn fear, The oracle of God­the sole­true God­to hear.

Written by Rainer Maria Rilke | The Future The future: time's excuse to frighten us; too vast a project, too large a morsel for the heart's mouth. Future, who won't wait for you? Everyone is going there. It suffices you to deepen the absence that we are.

Written by Barry Tebb | Gauguin In The South Seas They have my own fear of the dark, Tupapau - spirits of the dead they call it; Returning late with oil I found fear of it Had spread my vabine naked on the bed. Manao-Taipapau means ‘she thinks of the spectre’ Or ‘the spectre is thinking of her’, either way She is afraid; I marvel at a tongue so readily ambiguous, Lying across her forked thigh. I buy rum for her ‘many parents’, for her One cheap dress a month suffices; in return She gathers fish and wild-fruit from the blue Mountain groves where no white man walks. Once when I fished from the long canoes A fish caught the hook in its lower jaw, laughing I learnt this meant my vahine was unfaithful : She answered ‘Beat me’ but I lay down by her side. I bathe in ‘the stream of life’, naked to offend The priestly beetles - Cezanne’s ‘red shout’ indeed. Waiting for mail I accumulate bills, pictures and sores Side by side, lying down alone in the dark.

Written by Amy Levy | Ballade of an Omnibus "To see my love suffices me." --Ballades in Blue China. Some men to carriages aspire; On some the costly hansoms wait; Some seek a fly, on job or hire; Some mount the trotting steed, elate. I envy not the rich and great, A wandering minstrel, poor and free, I am contented with my fate -- An omnibus suffices me. In winter days of rain and mire I find within a corner strait; The 'busmen know me and my lyre From Brompton to the Bull-and-Gate. When summer comes, I mount in state The topmost summit, whence I see Crœsus look up, compassionate -- An omnibus suffices me. I mark, untroubled by desire, Lucullus' phaeton and its freight. The scene whereof I cannot tire, The human tale of love and hate, The city pageant, early and late Unfolds itself, rolls by, to be A pleasure deep and delicate. An omnibus suffices me. Princess, your splendour you require, I, my simplicity; agree Neither to rate lower nor higher. An omnibus suffices me.

Written by Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz | My Divine Lysis My Divine Lysis Divina Lysi mía: perdona si me atrevo a llamarte así, cuando aun de ser tuya el nombre no merezco. A esto, no osadía es llamarte así, puesto que a ti te sobran rayos, si en mí pudiera haber atrevimientos. Error es de la lengua, que lo que dice imperio del dueño, en el dominio, parezcan posesiones en el siervo. Mi rey, dice el vasallo; mi cárcel, dice el preso; y el más humilde esclavo, sin agraviarlo, llama suyo al dueño. Así, cuando yo mía te llamo, no pretendo que juzguen que eres mía, sino sólo que yo ser tuya quiero. Yo te vi; pero basta: que a publicar incendios basta apuntar la causa, sin añadir la culpa del efecto. Que mirarte tan alta, no impide a mi denuedo; que no hay deidad segura al altivo volar del pensamiento. Y aunque otras más merezcan, en distancia del cielo lo mismo dista el valle más humilde que el monte más soberbio, En fin, yo de adorarte el delito confieso; si quieres castigarme, este mismo castigo será premio. Top of page My Divine Lysis (English) My divine Lysis: do forgive my daring, if so I address you, unworthy though I am to be known as yours. I cannot think it bold to call you so, well knowing you've ample thunderbolts to shatter any overweening of mine. It's the tongue that misspeaks when what is called dominion-- I mean, the master's rule-- is made to seem possession by the slave. The vassal says: my king; my prison, the convict says; and any humble slave will call the master his without offense. Thus, when I call you mine, it's not that I expect you'll be considered such-- only that I hope I may be yours. I saw you-need more be said? To broadcast a fire, telling the cause suffices-- no need to apportion blame for the effect. Seeing you so exalted does not prevent my daring; no god is ever secure against the lofty flight of human thought. There are women more deserving, yet in distance from heaven the humblest of valleys seems no farther than the highest peak. In sum, I must admit to the crime of adoring you; should you wish to punish me, the very punishment will be reward.

Written by Claude McKay | Flower of Love The perfume of your body dulls my sense. I want nor wine nor weed; your breath alone Suffices. In this moment rare and tense I worship at your breast. The flower is blown, The saffron petals tempt my amorous mouth, The yellow heart is radiant now with dew Soft-scented, redolent of my loved South; O flower of love! I give myself to you. Uncovered on your couch of figured green, Here let us linger indivisible. The portals of your sanctuary unseen Receive my offering, yielding unto me. Oh, with our love the night is warm and deep! The air is sweet, my flower, and sweet the flute Whose music lulls our burning brain to sleep, While we lie loving, passionate and mute.

Written by Constantine P Cavafy | Addition I do not question whether I am happy or unhappy. Yet there is one thing that I keep gladly in mind -- that in the great addition (their addition that I abhor) that has so many numbers, I am not one of the many units there. In the final sum I have not been calculated. And this joy suffices me.

Written by Ahmet Yalcinkaya | Longing For You Suffices I Cannot Say Come I cannot say come to you I cannot call you while I am like you I do not call you from climates far away before fears if you would find me in gardens without nightingales I run away / may be you catch me without roses maybe you wound me / I stand out to sea at that, it is the way I do not look at the deep / may be my ship rushes to you I come to you to climates far away / Ahmet Yalcinkaya © Translated by Richard Mildstone

Written by Victor Hugo | The Poet's Simple Faith You say, "Where goest thou?" I cannot tell, And still go on. If but the way be straight, It cannot go amiss! before me lies Dawn and the Day; the Night behind me; that Suffices me; I break the bounds; I see, And nothing more; believe, and nothing less. My future is not one of my concerns. PROF. E. DOWDEN. I AM CONTENT. ("J'habite l'ombre.") {1855.} True; I dwell lone, Upon sea-beaten cape, Mere raft of stone; Whence all escape Save one who shrinks not from the gloom, And will not take the coward's leap i' the tomb. My bedroom rocks With breezes; quakes in storms, When dangling locks Of seaweed mock the forms Of straggling clouds that trail o'erhead Like tresses from disrupted coffin-lead. Upon the sky Crape palls are often nailed With stars. Mine eye Has scared the gull that sailed To blacker depths with shrillest scream, Still fainter, till like voices in a dream. My days become More plaintive, wan, and pale, While o'er the foam I see, borne by the gale, Infinity! in kindness sent— To find me ever saying: "I'm content!"

Written by Emily Dickinson | How sick -- to wait -- in any place -- but thine How sick -- to wait -- in any place -- but thine -- I knew last night -- when someone tried to twine -- Thinking -- perhaps -- that I looked tired -- or alone -- Or breaking -- almost -- with unspoken pain -- And I turned -- ducal -- That right -- was thine -- One port -- suffices -- for a Brig -- like mine -- Ours be the tossing -- wild though the sea -- Rather than a Mooring -- unshared by thee. Ours be the Cargo -- unladed -- here -- Rather than the "spicy isles --" And thou -- not there --