10 Best Famous Suffuse Poems

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

• All Famous Suffuse Poems

Written by George (Lord) Byron | Isles of Greece The The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece! Where burning Sappho loved and sung, Where grew the arts of war and peace, Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set... The mountains look on Marathon-- And Marathon looks on the sea; And musing there an hour alone, I dreamed that Greece might still be free; For standing on the Persians' grave, I could not deem myself a slave. A king sat on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; And ships, by thousands, lay below, And men in nations--all were his! He counted them at break of day-- And when the sun set, where were they? And where are they? And where art thou? My country? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now-- The heroic bosom beats no more! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine? 'Tis something, in the dearth of fame, Though linked among a fettered race, To feel at least a patriot's shame, Even as I sing, suffuse my face; For what is left the poet here? For Greeks a blush--for Greece a tear.... Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! Our virgins dance beneath the shade-- I see their glorious black eyes shine; But gazing on each glowing maid, My own the burning teardrop laves, To think such breasts must suckle slaves. Place me on Sunium's marbled steep, Where nothing, save the waves and I, May hear our mutual murmurs sweep; There, swanlike, let me sing and die: A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine-- Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!

Written by Thomas Hardy | Wives in the Sere I Never a careworn wife but shows, If a joy suffuse her, Something beautiful to those Patient to peruse her, Some one charm the world unknows Precious to a muser, Haply what, ere years were foes, Moved her mate to choose her. II But, be it a hint of rose That an instant hues her, Or some early light or pose Wherewith thought renews her - Seen by him at full, ere woes Practised to abuse her - Sparely comes it, swiftly goes, Time again subdues her.

Written by George (Lord) Byron | The Isles of Greece The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece! Where burning Sappho loved and sung, Where grew the arts of war and peace, Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set... The mountains look on Marathon-- And Marathon looks on the sea; And musing there an hour alone, I dreamed that Greece might still be free; For standing on the Persians' grave, I could not deem myself a slave. A king sat on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; And ships, by thousands, lay below, And men in nations--all were his! He counted them at break of day-- And when the sun set, where were they? And where are they? And where art thou? My country? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now-- The heroic bosom beats no more! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine? 'Tis something, in the dearth of fame, Though linked among a fettered race, To feel at least a patriot's shame, Even as I sing, suffuse my face; For what is left the poet here? For Greeks a blush--for Greece a tear.... Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! Our virgins dance beneath the shade-- I see their glorious black eyes shine; But gazing on each glowing maid, My own the burning teardrop laves, To think such breasts must suckle slaves. Place me on Sunium's marbled steep, Where nothing, save the waves and I, May hear our mutual murmurs sweep; There, swanlike, let me sing and die: A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine-- Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!

Written by Marina Tsvetaeva | Much Like Me Much like me, you make your way forward, Walking with downturned eyes. Well, I too kept mine lowered. Passer-by, stop here, please. Read, when you've picked your nosegay Of henbane and poppy flowers, That I was once called Marina, And discover how old I was. Don't think that there's any grave here, Or that I'll come and throw you out ... I myself was too much given To laughing when one ought not. The blood hurtled to my complexion, My curls wound in flourishes ... I was, passer-by, I existed! Passer-by, stop here, please. And take, pluck a stem of wildness, The fruit that comes with its fall -- It's true that graveyard strawberries Are the biggest and sweetest of all. All I care is that you don't stand there, Dolefully hanging your head. Easily about me remember, Easily about me forget. How rays of pure light suffuse you! A golden dust wraps you round ... And don't let it confuse you, My voice from under the ground.

Written by Thomas Hardy | A Spot In years defaced and lost, Two sat here, transport-tossed, Lit by a living love The wilted world knew nothing of: Scared momently By gaingivings, Then hoping things That could not be. Of love and us no trace Abides upon the place; The sun and shadows wheel, Season and season sereward steal; Foul days and fair Here, too, prevail, And gust and gale As everywhere. But lonely shepherd souls Who bask amid these knolls May catch a faery sound On sleepy noontides from the ground: "O not again Till Earth outwears Shall love like theirs Suffuse this glen!"

Written by Walt Whitman | Halcyon Days Not from successful love alone, Nor wealth, nor honored middle age, nor vic- tories of politics or war. But as life wanes, and all the turbulent passions calm, As gorgeous, vapory, silent hues cover the even- ing sky, As softness, fulness, rest, suffuse the spirit and frame like freshier, balmier air; As the days take on a mellower light, and the apple at last hangs really finished and in- dolent ripe on the tree, Then for the teeming quietest, happiest days of all! The brooding and blissful halcyon days!

Written by Emily Dickinson | Glee -- The great storm is over -- Glee -- The great storm is over -- Four -- have recovered the Land -- Forty -- gone down together -- Into the boiling Sand -- Ring -- for the Scant Salvation -- Toll -- for the bonnie Souls -- Neighbor -- and friend -- and Bridegroom -- Spinning upon the Shoals -- How they will tell the Story -- When Winter shake the Door -- Till the Children urge -- But the Forty -- Did they -- come back no more? Then a softness -- suffuse the Story -- And a silence -- the Teller's eye -- And the Children -- no further question -- And only the Sea -- reply --