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Best Famous Tongue Tied Poems

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

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Written by Seamus Heaney | Create an image from this poem

The Harvest Bow

 As you plaited the harvest bow
You implicated the mellowed silence in you
In wheat that does not rust
But brightens as it tightens twist by twist
Into a knowable corona,
A throwaway love-knot of straw.
Hands that aged round ashplants and cane sticks And lapped the spurs on a lifetime of game cocks Harked to their gift and worked with fine intent Until your fingers moved somnambulant: I tell and finger it like braille, Gleaning the unsaid off the palpable, And if I spy into its golden loops I see us walk between the railway slopes Into an evening of long grass and midges, Blue smoke straight up, old beds and ploughs in hedges, An auction notice on an outhouse wall-- You with a harvest bow in your lapel, Me with the fishing rod, already homesick For the big lift of these evenings, as your stick Whacking the tips off weeds and bushes Beats out of time, and beats, but flushes Nothing: that original townland Still tongue-tied in the straw tied by your hand.
The end of art is peace Could be the motto of this frail device That I have pinned up on our deal dresser-- Like a drawn snare Slipped lately by the spirit of the corn Yet burnished by its passage, and still warm.


Written by Matthew Arnold | Create an image from this poem

West London

 Crouch'd on the pavement close by Belgrave Square
A tramp I saw, ill, moody, and tongue-tied;
A babe was in her arms, and at her side
A girl; their clothes were rags, their feet were bare.
Some labouring men, whose work lay somewhere there, Pass'd opposite; she touch'd her girl, who hied Across, and begg'd and came back satisfied.
The rich she had let pass with frozen stare.
Thought I: Above her state this spirit towers; She will not ask of aliens, but of friends, Of sharers in a common human fate.
She turns from that cold succour, which attneds The unknown little from the unknowing great, And points us to a better time than ours.
Written by William Shakespeare | Create an image from this poem

Sonnet 140: Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press

 Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press
My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain,
Lest sorrow lend me words and words express
The manner of my pity-wanting pain.
If I might teach thee wit, better it were, Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so, As testy sick men, when their deaths be near, No news but health from their physicians know.
For if I should despair, I should grow mad, And in my madness might speak ill of thee, Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad, Mad slanderers by mad ears believèd be.
That I may not be so, nor thou belied, Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide.
Written by William Shakespeare | Create an image from this poem

Sonnet LXVI

 Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As, to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And guilded honour shamefully misplaced,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disabled,
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly doctor-like controlling skill,
And simple truth miscall'd simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill:
Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.
Written by William Shakespeare | Create an image from this poem

Sonnet CXL

 Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press
My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain;
Lest sorrow lend me words and words express
The manner of my pity-wanting pain.
If I might teach thee wit, better it were, Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so; As testy sick men, when their deaths be near, No news but health from their physicians know; For if I should despair, I should grow mad, And in my madness might speak ill of thee: Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad, Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be, That I may not be so, nor thou belied, Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide.


Written by William Shakespeare | Create an image from this poem

Sonnet 66: Tired with all these for restful death I cry

 Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimmed in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And gilded honour shamefully misplaced,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disablèd
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly doctor-like controlling skill,
And simple truth miscalled simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill.
Tired with all these, from these would I be gone, Save that to die, I leave my love alone.
Written by William Shakespeare | Create an image from this poem

Sonnet LXXXV

 My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still,
While comments of your praise, richly compiled,
Reserve their character with golden quill
And precious phrase by all the Muses filed.
I think good thoughts whilst other write good words, And like unletter'd clerk still cry 'Amen' To every hymn that able spirit affords In polish'd form of well-refined pen.
Hearing you praised, I say ''Tis so, 'tis true,' And to the most of praise add something more; But that is in my thought, whose love to you, Though words come hindmost, holds his rank before.
Then others for the breath of words respect, Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect.
Written by William Shakespeare | Create an image from this poem

Sonnet 85: My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still

 My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still,
While comments of your praise, richly compiled,
Reserve their character with golden quill,
And precious phrase by all the Muses filed.
I think good thoughts, whilst other write good words, And like unlettered clerk still cry "Amen" To every hymn that able spirit affords In polished form of well-refinèd pen.
Hearing you praised, I say "'Tis so, 'tis true," And to the most of praise add something more; But that is in my thought, whose love to you, Though words come hindmost, holds his rank before.
Then others for the breath of words respect, Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect.
Written by William Shakespeare | Create an image from this poem

Sonnet 80: O how I faint when I of you do write

 O, how I faint when I of you do write,
Knowing a better spirit doth use your name,
And in the praise thereof spends all his might
To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame.
But since your worth, wide as the ocean is, The humble as the proudest sail doth bear, My saucy bark, inferior far to his, On your broad main doth wilfully appear.
Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat, Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride; Or, being wrecked, I am a worthless boat, He of tall building, and of goodly pride.
Then if he thrive and I be cast away, The worst was this: my love was my decay.
Written by William Shakespeare | Create an image from this poem

Sonnet LXXX

 O, how I faint when I of you do write,
Knowing a better spirit doth use your name,
And in the praise thereof spends all his might,
To make me tongue-tied, speaking of your fame!
But since your worth, wide as the ocean is,
The humble as the proudest sail doth bear,
My saucy bark inferior far to his
On your broad main doth wilfully appear.
Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat, Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride; Or being wreck'd, I am a worthless boat, He of tall building and of goodly pride: Then if he thrive and I be cast away, The worst was this; my love was my decay.
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