10 Best Famous Themself Poems

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

• All Famous Themself Poems

 Without this -- there is nought --
All other Riches be
As is the Twitter of a Bird --
Heard opposite the Sea --

I could not care -- to gain
A lesser than the Whole --
For did not this include themself --
As Seams -- include the Ball?

I wished a way might be
My Heart to subdivide --
'Twould magnify -- the Gratitude --
And not reduce -- the Gold --

 'Twas just this time, last year, I died.
I know I heard the Corn,
When I was carried by the Farms --
It had the Tassels on --

I thought how yellow it would look --
When Richard went to mill --
And then, I wanted to get out,
But something held my will.

I thought just how Red -- Apples wedged
The Stubble's joints between --
And the Carts stooping round the fields
To take the Pumpkins in --

I wondered which would miss me, least,
And when Thanksgiving, came,
If Father'd multiply the plates --
To make an even Sum --

And would it blur the Christmas glee
My Stocking hang too high
For any Santa Claus to reach
The Altitude of me --

But this sort, grieved myself,
And so, I thought the other way,
How just this time, some perfect year --
Themself, should come to me --

 I THAT in heill was and gladness 
Am trublit now with great sickness 
And feblit with infirmitie:-- 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 

Our plesance here is all vain glory, 
This fals world is but transitory, 
The flesh is bruckle, the Feynd is slee:-- 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 

The state of man does change and vary, 
Now sound, now sick, now blyth, now sary, 
Now dansand mirry, now like to die:-- 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 

No state in Erd here standis sicker; 
As with the wynd wavis the wicker 
So wannis this world's vanitie:-- 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 

Unto the Death gois all Estatis, 
Princis, Prelatis, and Potestatis, 
Baith rich and poor of all degree:-- 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 

He takis the knichtis in to the field 
Enarmit under helm and scheild; 
Victor he is at all mellie:-- 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 

That strong unmerciful tyrand 
Takis, on the motheris breast sowkand, 
The babe full of benignitie:-- 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 

He takis the campion in the stour, 
The captain closit in the tour, 
The lady in bour full of bewtie:-- 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 

He spairis no lord for his piscence, 
Na clerk for his intelligence; 
His awful straik may no man flee:-- 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 

Art-magicianis and astrologgis, 
Rethoris, logicianis, and theologgis, 
Them helpis no conclusionis slee:-- 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 

In medecine the most practicianis, 
Leechis, surrigianis, and physicianis, 
Themself from Death may not supplee:-- 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 

I see that makaris amang the lave 
Playis here their padyanis, syne gois to grave; 
Sparit is nocht their facultie:-- 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 

He has done petuously devour 
The noble Chaucer, of makaris flour, 
The Monk of Bury, and Gower, all three:-- 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 

The good Sir Hew of Eglintoun, 
Ettrick, Heriot, and Wintoun, 
He has tane out of this cuntrie:-- 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 

That scorpion fell has done infeck 
Maister John Clerk, and James Afflek, 
Fra ballat-making and tragedie:-- 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 

Holland and Barbour he has berevit; 
Alas! that he not with us levit 
Sir Mungo Lockart of the Lee:-- 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 

Clerk of Tranent eke he has tane, 
That made the anteris of Gawaine; 
Sir Gilbert Hay endit has he:-- 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 

He has Blind Harry and Sandy Traill 
Slain with his schour of mortal hail, 
Quhilk Patrick Johnstoun might nought flee:-- 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 

He has reft Merseir his endite, 
That did in luve so lively write, 
So short, so quick, of sentence hie:-- 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 

He has tane Rowll of Aberdene, 
And gentill Rowll of Corstorphine; 
Two better fallowis did no man see:-- 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 

In Dunfermline he has tane Broun 
With Maister Robert Henrysoun; 
Sir John the Ross enbrast has he:-- 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 

And he has now tane, last of a, 
Good gentil Stobo and Quintin Shaw, 
Of quhom all wichtis hes pitie:-- 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 

Good Maister Walter Kennedy 
In point of Death lies verily; 
Great ruth it were that so suld be:-- 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 

Sen he has all my brether tane, 
He will naught let me live alane; 
Of force I man his next prey be:-- 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 

Since for the Death remeid is none, 
Best is that we for Death dispone, 
After our death that live may we:-- 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me.

 Those fair -- fictitious People --
The Women -- plucked away
From our familiar Lifetime --
The Men of Ivory --

Those Boys and Girls, in Canvas --
Who stay upon the Wall
In Everlasting Keepsake --
Can Anybody tell?

We trust -- in places perfecter --
Inheriting Delight
Beyond our faint Conjecture --
Our dizzy Estimate --

Remembering ourselves, we trust --
Yet Blesseder -- than We --
Through Knowing -- where We only hope --
Receiving -- where we -- pray --

Of Expectation -- also --
Anticipating us
With transport, that would be a pain
Except for Holiness --

Esteeming us -- as Exile --
Themself -- admitted Home --
Through easy Miracle of Death --
The Way ourself, must come --

 They shut me up in Prose --
As when a little Girl
They put me in the Closet --
Because they liked me "still" --

Still! Could themself have peeped --
And seen my Brain -- go round --
They might as wise have lodged a Bird
For Treason -- in the Pound --

Himself has but to will
And easy as a Star
Abolish his Captivity --
And laugh -- No more have I --

 Of nearness to her sundered Things
The Soul has special times --
When Dimness -- looks the Oddity --
Distinctness -- easy -- seems --

The Shapes we buried, dwell about,
Familiar, in the Rooms --
Untarnished by the Sepulchre,
The Mouldering Playmate comes --

In just the Jacket that he wore --
Long buttoned in the Mold
Since we -- old mornings, Children -- played --
Divided -- by a world --

The Grave yields back her Robberies --
The Years, our pilfered Things --
Bright Knots of Apparitions
Salute us, with their wings --

As we -- it were -- that perished --
Themself -- had just remained till we rejoin them --
And 'twas they, and not ourself
That mourned.

 I died for Beauty -- but was scarce
Adjusted in the Tomb
When One who died for Truth, was lain
In an adjoining room --

He questioned softly "Why I failed"?
"For Beauty", I replied --
"And I -- for Truth -- Themself are One --
We Brethren, are", He said --

And so, as Kinsmen, met a Night --
We talked between the Rooms --
Until the Moss had reached our lips --
And covered up -- our names --

 The Months have ends -- the Years -- a knot --
No Power can untie
To stretch a little further
A Skein of Misery --

The Earth lays back these tired lives
In her mysterious Drawers --
Too tenderly, that any doubt
An ultimate Repose --

The manner of the Children --
Who weary of the Day --
Themself -- the noisy Plaything
They cannot put away --

 Is it dead -- Find it --
Out of sound -- Out of sight --
"Happy"? Which is wiser --
You, or the Wind?
"Conscious"? Won't you ask that --
Of the low Ground?

"Homesick"? Many met it --
Even through them -- This
Cannot testify --
Themself -- as dumb --

 Themself are all I have --
Myself a freckled -- be --
I thought you'd choose a Velvet Cheek
Or one of Ivory --
Would you -- instead of Me?