10 Best Famous Triolet Poems

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

• All Famous Triolet Poems

 Around the house the flakes fly faster, 
And all the berries now are gone 
From holly and cotoneaster 
Around the house. The flakes fly!--faster 
Shutting indoors that crumb-outcaster 
We used to see upon the lawn 
Around the house. The flakes fly faster, 
And all the berries now are gone!

 How great my grief, my joys how few, 
Since first it was my fate to know thee! 
- Have the slow years not brought to view 
How great my grief, my joys how few, 
Nor memory shaped old times anew, 
 Nor loving-kindness helped to show thee 
How great my grief, my joys how few, 
 Since first it was my fate to know thee?

 Of all the sickly forms of verse, 
Commend me to the triolet. 
It makes bad writers somewhat worse: 
Of all the sickly forms of verse, 
That fall beneath a reader's curse, 
It is the feeblest jingle yet. 
Of all the sickly forms of verse, 
Commend me to the triolet.

 Scene.--A wide stretch of fallow ground recently sown with wheat, and 
frozen to iron hardness. Three large birds walking about thereon, 
and wistfully eyeing the surface. Wind keen from north-east: sky a 
dull grey. 

(Triolet) 

Rook.--Throughout the field I find no grain; 
 The cruel frost encrusts the cornland! 
Starling.--Aye: patient pecking now is vain 
 Throughout the field, I find . . . 
Rook.--No grain! 
Pigeon.--Nor will be, comrade, till it rain, 
 Or genial thawings loose the lorn land 
 Throughout the field. 
Rook.--I find no grain: 
 The cruel frost encrusts the cornland!

 If hours be years the twain are blest, 
For now they solace swift desire 
By bonds of every bond the best, 
If hours be years. The twain are blest 
Do eastern stars slope never west, 
Nor pallid ashes follow fire: 
If hours be years the twain are blest, 
For now they solace swift desire.

 I 

For long the cruel wish I knew 
That your free heart should ache for me 
While mine should bear no ache for you; 
For, long--the cruel wish!--I knew 
How men can feel, and craved to view 
My triumph--fated not to be 
For long! . . . The cruel wish I knew 
That your free heart should ache for me! 

II 

At last one pays the penalty - 
The woman--women always do. 
My farce, I found, was tragedy 
At last!--One pays the penalty 
With interest when one, fancy-free, 
Learns love, learns shame . . . Of sinners two 
At last ONE pays the penalty - 
The woman--women always do!

 J'ai cueilli ce brin de bruyère
L'automne est morte souviens-t'en
Nous ne nous verrons plus sur terre
Odeur du temps Brin de bruyère
Et souviens-toi que je t'attends

 When the wind blows her veil
And uncovers her laughter
I cease, I turn pale.
When the wind blows her veil
From the woes I bewail
Of love and hereafter:
When the wind blows her veil
I cease, I turn pale.

 THUS roll I, never taking ease,
My tub, like Saint Diogenes,
Now serious am, now seek to please;
Now love and hate in turn one sees;
The motives now are those, now these;
Now nothings, now realities.
Thus roll I, never taking ease,
My tub, like Saint Diogenes.

 1810.