Best Famous Unchain Poems

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

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• All Famous Unchain Poems

Written by William Cullen Bryant | A Forest Hymn THE GROVES were God's first temples. Ere man learned To hew the shaft and lay the architrave And spread the roof above them¡ªere he framed The lofty vault to gather and roll back The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood 5 Amidst the cool and silence he knelt down And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication. For his simple heart Might not resist the sacred influences Which from the stilly twilight of the place 10 And from the gray old trunks that high in heaven Mingled their mossy boughs and from the sound Of the invisible breath that swayed at once All their green tops stole over him and bowed His spirit with the thought of boundless power 15 And inaccessible majesty. Ah why Should we in the world's riper years neglect God's ancient sanctuaries and adore Only among the crowd and under roofs That our frail hands have raised? Let me at least 20 Here in the shadow of this aged wood Offer one hymn¡ªthrice happy if it find Acceptance in His ear. Father thy hand Hath reared these venerable columns thou 25 Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth and forthwith rose All these fair ranks of trees. They in thy sun Budded and shook their green leaves in thy breeze And shot towards heaven. The century-living crow 30 Whose birth was in their tops grew old and died Among their branches till at last they stood As now they stand massy and tall and dark Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold Communion with his Maker. These dim vaults 35 These winding aisles of human pomp or pride Report not. No fantastic carvings show The boast of our vain race to change the form Of thy fair works. But thou art here¡ªthou fill'st The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds 40 That run along the summit of these trees In music; thou art in the cooler breath That from the inmost darkness of the place Comes scarcely felt; the barky trunks the ground The fresh moist ground are all instinct with thee. 45 Here is continual worship;¡ªNature here In the tranquillity that thou dost love Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly around From perch to perch the solitary bird Passes; and yon clear spring that midst its herbs 50 Wells softly forth and wandering steeps the roots Of half the mighty forest tells no tale Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left Thyself without a witness in these shades Of thy perfections. Grandeur strength and grace 55 Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oak ¡ª By whose immovable stem I stand and seem Almost annihilated¡ªnot a prince In all that proud old world beyond the deep E'er wore his crown as loftily as he 60 Wears the green coronal of leaves with which Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root Is beauty such as blooms not in the glare Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower With scented breath and look so like a smile 65 Seems as it issues from the shapeless mould An emanation of the indwelling Life A visible token of the upholding Love That are the soul of this great universe. My heart is awed within me when I think 70 Of the great miracle that still goes on In silence round me¡ªthe perpetual work Of thy creation finished yet renewed Forever. Written on thy works I read The lesson of thy own eternity. 75 Lo! all grow old and die¡ªbut see again How on the faltering footsteps of decay Youth presses ¡ªever-gay and beautiful youth In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees Wave not less proudly that their ancestors 80 Moulder beneath them. O there is not lost One of earth's charms: upon her bosom yet After the flight of untold centuries The freshness of her far beginning lies And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate 85 Of his arch-enemy Death¡ªyea seats himself Upon the tyrant's throne¡ªthe sepulchre And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth From thine own bosom and shall have no end. 90 There have been holy men who hid themselves Deep in the woody wilderness and gave Their lives to thought and prayer till they outlived The generation born with them nor seemed Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks 95 Around them;¡ªand there have been holy men Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus. But let me often to these solitudes Retire and in thy presence reassure My feeble virtue. Here its enemies 100 The passions at thy plainer footsteps shrink And tremble and are still. O God! when thou Dost scare the world with tempests set on fire The heavens with falling thunderbolts or fill With all the waters of the firmament 105 The swift dark whirlwind that uproots the woods And drowns the villages; when at thy call Uprises the great deep and throws himself Upon the continent and overwhelms Its cities¡ªwho forgets not at the sight 110 Of these tremendous tokens of thy power His pride and lays his strifes and follies by? O from these sterner aspects of thy face Spare me and mine nor let us need the wrath Of the mad unchain¨¨d elements to teach 115 Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate In these calm shades thy milder majesty And to the beautiful order of thy works Learn to conform the order of our lives.

Written by Marianne Moore | The Pangolin Another armored animal--scale lapping scale with spruce-cone regularity until they form the uninterrupted central tail-row! This near artichoke with head and legs and grit-equipped gizzard, the night miniature artist engineer is, yes, Leonardo da Vinci's replica-- impressive animal and toiler of whom we seldom hear. Armor seems extra. But for him, the closing ear-ridge-- or bare ear lacking even this small eminence and similarly safe contracting nose and eye apertures impenetrably closable, are not; a true ant-eater, not cockroach eater, who endures exhausting solitary trips through unfamiliar ground at night, returning before sunrise, stepping in the moonlight, on the moonlight peculiarly, that the outside edges of his hands may bear the weight and save the claws for digging. Serpentined about the tree, he draws away from danger unpugnaciously, with no sound but a harmless hiss; keeping the fragile grace of the Thomas- of-Leighton Buzzard Westminster Abbey wrought-iron vine, or rolls himself into a ball that has power to defy all effort to unroll it; strongly intailed, neat head for core, on neck not breaking off, with curled-in-feet. Nevertheless he has sting-proof scales; and nest of rocks closed with earth from inside, which can thus darken. Sun and moon and day and night and man and beast each with a splendor which man in all his vileness cannot set aside; each with an excellence! "Fearfull yet to be feared," the armored ant-eater met by the driver-ant does not turn back, but engulfs what he can, the flattened sword- edged leafpoints on the tail and artichoke set leg- and body-plates quivering violently when it retaliates and swarms on him. Compact like the furled fringed frill on the hat-brim of Gargallo's hollow iron head of a matador, he will drop and will then walk away unhurt, although if unintruded on, he cautiously works down the tree, helped by his tail. The giant-pangolin- tail, graceful tool, as a prop or hand or broom or ax, tipped like an elephant's trunkwith special skin, is not lost on this ant- and stone-swallowing uninjurable artichoke which simpletons thought a living fable whom the stones had nourished, whereas ants had done so. Pangolins are not aggressive animals; between dusk and day they have not unchain-like machine-like form and frictionless creep of a thing made graceful by adversities, con- versities. To explain grace requires a curious hand. If that which is at all were not forever, why would those who graced the spires with animals and gathered there to rest, on cold luxurious low stone seats--a monk and monk and monk--between the thus ingenious roof supports, have slaved to confuse grace with a kindly manner, time in which to pay a debt, the cure for sins, a graceful use of what are yet approved stone mullions branching out across the perpendiculars? A sailboat was the first machine. Pangolins, made for moving quietly also, are models of exactness, on four legs; on hind feet plantigrade, with certain postures of a man. Beneath sun and moon, man slaving to make his life more sweet, leaves half the flowers worth having, needing to choose wisely how to use his strength; a paper-maker like the wasp; a tractor of foodstuffs, like the ant; spidering a length of web from bluffs above a stream; in fighting, mechanicked like the pangolin; capsizing in disheartenment. Bedizened or stark naked, man, the self, the being we call human, writing- masters to this world, griffons a dark "Like does not like like that is abnoxious"; and writes error with four r's. Among animals, one has sense of humor. Humor saves a few steps, it saves years. Unignorant, modest and unemotional, and all emotion, he has everlasting vigor, power to grow, though there are few creatures who can make one breathe faster and make one erecter. Not afraid of anything is he, and then goes cowering forth, tread paced to meet an obstacle at every step. Consistent with the formula--warm blood, no gills, two pairs of hands and a few hairs-- that is a mammal; there he sits on his own habitat, serge-clad, strong-shod. The prey of fear, he, always curtailed, extinguished, thwarted by the dusk, work partly done, says to the alternating blaze, "Again the sun! anew each day; and new and new and new, that comes into and steadies my soul."

Written by Thomas Hardy | The Mother Mourns When mid-autumn's moan shook the night-time, And sedges were horny, And summer's green wonderwork faltered On leaze and in lane, I fared Yell'ham-Firs way, where dimly Came wheeling around me Those phantoms obscure and insistent That shadows unchain. Till airs from the needle-thicks brought me A low lamentation, As 'twere of a tree-god disheartened, Perplexed, or in pain. And, heeding, it awed me to gather That Nature herself there Was breathing in aerie accents, With dirgeful refrain, Weary plaint that Mankind, in these late days, Had grieved her by holding Her ancient high fame of perfection In doubt and disdain . . . - "I had not proposed me a Creature (She soughed) so excelling All else of my kingdom in compass And brightness of brain "As to read my defects with a god-glance, Uncover each vestige Of old inadvertence, annunciate Each flaw and each stain! "My purpose went not to develop Such insight in Earthland; Such potent appraisements affront me, And sadden my reign! "Why loosened I olden control here To mechanize skywards, Undeeming great scope could outshape in A globe of such grain? "Man's mountings of mind-sight I checked not, Till range of his vision Has topped my intent, and found blemish Throughout my domain. "He holds as inept his own soul-shell - My deftest achievement - Contemns me for fitful inventions Ill-timed and inane: "No more sees my sun as a Sanct-shape, My moon as the Night-queen, My stars as august and sublime ones That influences rain: "Reckons gross and ignoble my teaching, Immoral my story, My love-lights a lure, that my species May gather and gain. "'Give me,' he has said, 'but the matter And means the gods lot her, My brain could evolve a creation More seemly, more sane.' - "If ever a naughtiness seized me To woo adulation From creatures more keen than those crude ones That first formed my train - "If inly a moment I murmured, 'The simple praise sweetly, But sweetlier the sage'--and did rashly Man's vision unrein, "I rue it! . . . His guileless forerunners, Whose brains I could blandish, To measure the deeps of my mysteries Applied them in vain. "From them my waste aimings and futile I subtly could cover; 'Every best thing,' said they, 'to best purpose Her powers preordain.' - "No more such! . . . My species are dwindling, My forests grow barren, My popinjays fail from their tappings, My larks from their strain. "My leopardine beauties are rarer, My tusky ones vanish, My children have aped mine own slaughters To quicken my wane. "Let me grow, then, but mildews and mandrakes, And slimy distortions, Let nevermore things good and lovely To me appertain; "For Reason is rank in my temples, And Vision unruly, And chivalrous laud of my cunning Is heard not again!"

Written by Francesco Petrarch | Sonnet CIV SONNET CIV. Pace non trovo, e non ho da far guerra. LOVE'S INCONSISTENCY. I fynde no peace and all my warre is done,I feare and hope, I bourne and freese lyke yse;I flye above the wynde, yet cannot ryse;And nought I have, yet all the worlde I season,That looseth, nor lacketh, holdes me in pryson,And holdes me not, yet can I escape no wyse.Nor lets me leeve, nor die at my devyce,And yet of death it giveth none occasion.Without eye I see, and without tongue I playne;I desyre to perishe, yet aske I health;I love another, and yet I hate my self;I feede in sorrow and laughe in all my payne,Lykewyse pleaseth me both death and lyf,And my delight is cawser of my greif. Wyatt.[S] Warfare I cannot wage, yet know not peace;I fear, I hope, I burn, I freeze again;Mount to the skies, then bow to earth my face;Grasp the whole world, yet nothing can obtain.His prisoner Love nor frees, nor will detain;In toils he holds me not, nor will release;He slays me not, nor yet will he unchain;Nor joy allows, nor lets my sorrow cease.Sightless I see my fair; though mute, I mourn;I scorn existence, and yet court its stay;Detest myself, and for another burn;By grief I'm nurtured; and, though tearful, gay;[Pg 133]Death I despise, and life alike I hate:Such, lady, dost thou make my wayward state! Nott.