10 Best Famous Tristich Poems

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

• All Famous Tristich Poems

 A cuckoo sings
to me, to the mountain,
 to me, to the mountain.

 His death poem:

 A bath when you're born,
 a bath when you die,
 how stupid.

 A Dimple in the Tomb
Makes that ferocious Room
A Home --

 To see the Summer Sky
Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie --
True Poems flee --

 Little sister, come away, 
And let us in the garden play,
For it is a pleasant day. 

On the grass-plat let us sit, 
Or, if you please, we'll play a bit, 
And run about all over it. 

But the fruit we will not pick,
For that would be a naughty trick,
And very likely make us sick. 

Nor will we pluck the pretty flowers
That grow about the beds and bowers,
Because you know they are not ours. 

We'll take the daisies, white and red,
Because mamma has often said
That we may gather then instead. 

And much I hope we always may
Our very dear mamma obey, 
And mind whatever she may say.

 A Rat surrendered here
A brief career of Cheer
And Fraud and Fear.

Of Ignominy's due
Let all addicted to
Beware.

The most obliging Trap
Its tendency to snap
Cannot resist --

Temptation is the Friend
Repugnantly resigned
At last.

 Of Life to own --
From Life to draw --
But never tough the reservoir --

 In moving-slow he has no Peer.
You ask him something in his Ear,
He thinks about it for a Year;

And, then, before he says a Word
There, upside down (unlike a Bird),
He will assume that you have Heard--

A most Ex-as-per-at-ing Lug.
But should you call his manner Smug,
He'll sigh and give his Branch a Hug;

Then off again to Sleep he goes,
Still swaying gently by his Toes,
And you just know he knows he knows.

 For every Bird a Nest --
Wherefore in timid quest
Some little Wren goes seeking round --

Wherefore when boughs are free --
Households in every tree --
Pilgrim be found?

Perhaps a home too high --
Ah Aristocracy!
The little Wren desires --

Perhaps of twig so fine --
Of twine e'en superfine,
Her pride aspires --

The Lark is not ashamed
To build upon the ground
Her modest house --

Yet who of all the throng
Dancing around the sun
Does so rejoice?

 You that in vain would front the coming order 
With eyes that meet forlornly what they must, 
And only with a furtive recognition 
See dust where there is dust,— 
Be sure you like it always in your faces,
Obscuring your best graces, 
Blinding your speech and sight, 
Before you seek again your dusty places 
Where the old wrong seems right. 

Longer ago than cave-men had their changes
Our fathers may have slain a son o two, 
Discouraging a further dialectic 
Regarding what was new; 
And after their unstudied admonition 
Occasional contrition
For their old-fashioned ways 
May have reduced their doubts, and in addition 
Softened their final days. 

Farther away than feet shall ever travel. 
Are the vague towers of our unbuilded State;
But there are mightier things than we to lead us, 
That will not let us wait. 
And we go on with none to tell us whether 
Or not we’ve each a tether 
Determining how fast or how far we go;
And it is well, since we must go together, 
That we are not to know. 

If the old wrong and all its injured glamour 
Haunts you by day and gives your night no peace, 
You may as well, agreeably and serenely,
Give the new wrong its lease; 
For should you nourish a too fervid yearning 
For what is not returning, 
The vicious and unfused ingredient 
May give you qualms—and one or two concerning
The last of your content.