10 Best Famous Unlaced Poems

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

• All Famous Unlaced Poems

 For many, many days together
The wind blew steady from the East;
For many days hot grew the weather,
About the time of our Lady's Feast.

For many days we rode together,
Yet met we neither friend nor foe;
Hotter and clearer grew the weather,
Steadily did the East wind blow.

We saw the trees in the hot, bright weather,
Clear-cut, with shadows very black,
As freely we rode on together
With helms unlaced and bridles slack.

And often, as we rode together,
We, looking down the green-bank'd stream,
Saw flowers in the sunny weather,
And saw the bubble-making bream.

And in the night lay down together,
And hung above our heads the rood,
Or watch'd night-long in the dewy weather,
The while the moon did watch the wood.

Our spears stood bright and thick together,
Straight out the banners stream'd behind,
As we gallop'd on in the sunny weather,
With faces turn'd towards the wind.

Down sank our threescore spears together,
As thick we saw the pagans ride;
His eager face in the clear fresh weather,
Shone out that last time by my side.

Up the sweep of the bridge we dash'd together,
It rock'd to the crash of the meeting spears,
Down rain'd the buds of the dear spring weather,
The elm-tree flowers fell like tears.

There, as we roll'd and writhed together,
I threw my arms above my head,
For close by my side, in the lovely weather,
I saw him reel and fall back dead.

I and the slayer met together,
He waited the death-stroke there in his place,
With thoughts of death, in the lovely weather,
Gapingly mazed at my madden'd face.

Madly I fought as we fought together;
In vain: the little Christian band
The pagans drown'd, as in stormy weather
The river drowns low-lying land.

They bound my blood-stain'd hands together,
They bound his corpse to nod by my side:
Then on we rode, in the bright March weather,
With clash of cymbals did we ride.

We ride no more, no more together;
My prison-bars are thick and strong,
I take no heed of any weather,
The sweet Saints grant I live not long.

 ENOUGH; and leave the rest to Fame! 
'Tis to commend her, but to name. 
Courtship which, living, she declined, 
When dead, to offer were unkind: 
Nor can the truest wit, or friend, 
Without detracting, her commend. 

To say--she lived a virgin chaste 
In this age loose and all unlaced; 
Nor was, when vice is so allowed, 
Of virtue or ashamed or proud; 
That her soul was on Heaven so bent, 
No minute but it came and went; 
That, ready her last debt to pay, 
She summ'd her life up every day; 
Modest as morn, as mid-day bright, 
Gentle as evening, cool as night: 
--'Tis true; but all too weakly said. 
'Twas more significant, she's dead.

 A huge shoe mounts up from the horizon, 
squealing and grinding forward on small wheels, 
even as a man sitting to breakfast on his veranda 
is suddenly engulfed in a great shadow, almost 
the size of the night . . . 
 He looks up and sees a huge shoe 
ponderously mounting out of the earth. 
 Up in the unlaced ankle-part an old woman 
stands at a helm behind the great tongue curled 
forward; the thick laces dragging like ships' rope 
on the ground as the huge thing squeals and 
grinds forward; children everywhere, they look 
from the shoelace holes, they crowd about the 
old woman, even as she pilots this huge shoe 
over the earth . . . 

 Soon the huge shoe is descending the 
opposite horizon, a monstrous snail squealing 
and grinding into the earth . . . 

 The man turns to his breakfast again, but sees 
it's been wounded, the yolk of one of his eggs is 
bleeding . . .