Best Famous Suffusing Poems

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

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• All Famous Suffusing Poems

Written by Walt Whitman | Song of the Universal 1 COME, said the Muse, Sing me a song no poet yet has chanted, Sing me the Universal. In this broad Earth of ours, Amid the measureless grossness and the slag, Enclosed and safe within its central heart, Nestles the seed Perfection. By every life a share, or more or less, None born but it is born—conceal’d or unconceal’d, the seed is waiting. 2 Lo! keen-eyed, towering Science! As from tall peaks the Modern overlooking, Successive, absolute fiats issuing. Yet again, lo! the Soul—above all science; For it, has History gather’d like a husk around the globe; For it, the entire star-myriads roll through the sky. In spiral roads, by long detours, (As a much-tacking ship upon the sea,) For it, the partial to the permanent flowing, For it, the Real to the Ideal tends. For it, the mystic evolution; Not the right only justified—what we call evil also justified. Forth from their masks, no matter what, From the huge, festering trunk—from craft and guile and tears, Health to emerge, and joy—joy universal. Out of the bulk, the morbid and the shallow, Out of the bad majority—the varied, countless frauds of men and States, Electric, antiseptic yet—cleaving, suffusing all, Only the good is universal. 3 Over the mountain growths, disease and sorrow, An uncaught bird is ever hovering, hovering, High in the purer, happier air. From imperfection’s murkiest cloud, Darts always forth one ray of perfect light, One flash of Heaven’s glory. To fashion’s, custom’s discord, To the mad Babel-din, the deafening orgies, Soothing each lull, a strain is heard, just heard, From some far shore, the final chorus sounding. 4 O the blest eyes! the happy hearts! That see—that know the guiding thread so fine, Along the mighty labyrinth! 5 And thou, America! For the Scheme’s culmination—its Thought, and its Reality, For these, (not for thyself,) Thou hast arrived. Thou too surroundest all; Embracing, carrying, welcoming all, Thou too, by pathways broad and new, To the Ideal tendest. The measur’d faiths of other lands—the grandeurs of the past, Are not for Thee—but grandeurs of Thine own; Deific faiths and amplitudes, absorbing, comprehending all, All eligible to all. All, all for Immortality! Love, like the light, silently wrapping all! Nature’s amelioration blessing all! The blossoms, fruits of ages—orchards divine and certain; Forms, objects, growths, humanities, to spiritual Images ripening. 6 Give me, O God, to sing that thought! Give me—give him or her I love, this quenchless faith In Thy ensemble. Whatever else withheld, withhold not from us, Belief in plan of Thee enclosed in Time and Space; Health, peace, salvation universal. Is it a dream? Nay, but the lack of it the dream, And, failing it, life’s lore and wealth a dream, And all the world a dream.

Written by Amy Lowell | Afternoon Rain in State Street Cross-hatchings of rain against grey walls, Slant lines of black rain In front of the up and down, wet stone sides of buildings. Below, Greasy, shiny, black, horizontal, The street. And over it, umbrellas, Black polished dots Struck to white An instant, Stream in two flat lines Slipping past each other with the smoothness of oil. Like a four-sided wedge The Custom House Tower Pokes at the low, flat sky, Pushing it farther and farther up, Lifting it away from the house-tops, Lifting it in one piece as though it were a sheet of tin, With the lever of its apex. The cross-hatchings of rain cut the Tower obliquely, Scratching lines of black wire across it, Mutilating its perpendicular grey surface With the sharp precision of tools. The city is rigid with straight lines and angles, A chequered table of blacks and greys. Oblong blocks of flatness Crawl by with low-geared engines, And pass to short upright squares Shrinking with distance. A steamer in the basin blows its whistle, And the sound shoots across the rain hatchings, A narrow, level bar of steel. Hard cubes of lemon Superimpose themselves upon the fronts of buildings As the windows light up. But the lemon cubes are edged with angles Upon which they cannot impinge. Up, straight, down, straight -- square. Crumpled grey-white papers Blow along the side-walks, Contorted, horrible, Without curves. A horse steps in a puddle, And white, glaring water spurts up In stiff, outflaring lines, Like the rattling stems of reeds. The city is heraldic with angles, A sombre escutcheon of argent and sable And countercoloured bends of rain Hung over a four-square civilization. When a street lamp comes out, I gaze at it for fully thirty seconds To rest my brain with the suffusing, round brilliance of its globe.

Written by Amy Lowell | A Lady You are beautiful and faded Like an old opera tune Played upon a harpsichord; Or like the sun-flooded silks Of an eighteenth-century boudoir. In your eyes Smoulder the fallen roses of out-lived minutes, And the perfume of your soul Is vague and suffusing, With the pungence of sealed spice-jars. Your half-tones delight me, And I grow mad with gazing At your blent colours. My vigour is a new-minted penny, Which I cast at your feet. Gather it up from the dust, That its sparkle may amuse you.

Written by Andrew Barton Paterson | The Lost Drink I had spent the night in the watch-house -- My head was the size of three -- So I went and asked the chemist To fix up a drink for me; And he brewed it from various bottles With soda and plenty of ice, With something that smelt like lemon, And something that seemed like spice. It fell on my parching palate Like the dew on a sunbaked plain, And my system began to flourish Like the grass in the soft spring rain; It wandered throughout my being, Suffusing my soul with rest, And I felt as I "scoffed" that liquid That life had a new-found zest. I have been on the razzle-dazzle Full many a time since then But I never could get the chemist To brew me that drink again. He says he's forgotten the notion -- 'Twas only by chance it came -- He's tried me with various liquids But oh! they are not the same. We have sought, but we sought it vainly, That one lost drink divine; We have sampled his various bottles, But somehow they don't combine: Yet I know when I cross the River And stand on the Golden Shore I shall meet with an angel chemist To brew me that drink once more.