Best Famous Wilding Poems

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

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• All Famous Wilding Poems

Written by Robert Browning | Any Wife To Any Husband I My love, this is the bitterest, that thou Who art all truth and who dost love me now As thine eyes say, as thy voice breaks to say— Shouldst love so truly and couldst love me still A whole long life through, had but love its will, Would death that leads me from thee brook delay! II I have but to be by thee, and thy hand Would never let mine go, thy heart withstand The beating of my heart to reach its place. When should I look for thee and feel thee gone? When cry for the old comfort and find none? Never, I know! Thy soul is in thy face. III Oh, I should fade—'tis willed so! might I save, Galdly I would, whatever beauty gave Joy to thy sense, for that was precious too. It is not to be granted. But the soul Whence the love comes, all ravage leaves that whole; Vainly the flesh fades—soul makes all things new. IV And 'twould not be because my eye grew dim Thou couldst not find the love there, thanks to Him Who never is dishonoured in the spark He gave us from his fire of fires, and bade Remember whence it sprang nor be afraid While that burns on, though all the rest grow dark. V So, how thou wouldst be perfect, white and clean Outside as inside, soul and soul's demesne Alike, this body given to show it by! Oh, three-parts through the worst of life's abyss, What plaudits from the next world after this, Couldst thou repeat a stroke and gain the sky! VI And is it not the bitterer to think That, disengage our hands and thou wilt sink Although thy love was love in very deed? I know that nature! Pass a festive day Thou dost not throw its relic-flower away Nor bid its music's loitering echo speed. VII Thou let'st the stranger's glove lie where it fell; If old things remain old things all is well, For thou art grateful as becomes man best: And hadst thou only heard me play one tune, Or viewed me from a window, not so soon With thee would such things fade as with the rest. VIII I seem to see! we meet and part: 'tis brief: The book I opened keeps a folded leaf, The very chair I sat on, breaks the rank; That is a portrait of me on the wall— Three lines, my face comes at so slight a call; And for all this, one little hour's to thank. IX But now, because the hour through years was fixed, Because our inmost beings met amd mixed, Because thou once hast loved me—wilt thou dare Say to thy soul and Who may list beside, "Therefore she is immortally my bride, Chance cannot change that love, nor time impair. X "So, what if in the dusk of life that's left, I, a tired traveller, of my sun bereft, Look from my path when, mimicking the same, The fire-fly glimpses past me, come and gone? - Where was it till the sunset? where anon It will be at the sunrise! what's to blame?" XI Is it so helpful to thee? canst thou take The mimic up, nor, for the true thing's sake, Put gently by such efforts at at beam? Is the remainder of the way so long Thou need'st the little solace, thou the strong? Watch out thy watch, let weak ones doze and dream! XII "—Ah, but the fresher faces! Is it true," Thou'lt ask, "some eyes are beautiful and new? Some hair,—how can one choose but grasp such wealth? And if a man would press his lips to lips Fresh as the wilding hedge-rose-cup there slips The dew-drop out of, must it be by stealth? XIII "It cannot change the love kept still for Her, Much more than, such a picture to prefer Passing a day with, to a room's bare side. The painted form takes nothing she possessed, Yet while the Titian's Venus lies at rest A man looks. Once more, what is there to chide?" XIV So must I see, from where I sit and watch, My own self sell myself, my hand attach Its warrant to the very thefts from me— Thy singleness of soul that made me proud, Thy purity of heart I loved aloud, Thy man's truth I was bold to bid God see! XV Love so, then, if thou wilt! Give all thou canst Away to the new faces—disentranced— (Say it and think it) obdurate no more, Re-issue looks and words from the old mint— Pass them afresh, no matter whose the print Image and superscription once they bore! XVI Re-coin thyself and give it them to spend,— It all comes to the same thing at the end, Since mine thou wast, mine art, and mine shalt be, Faithful or faithless, sealing up the sum Or lavish of my treasure, thou must come Back to the heart's place here I keep for thee! XVII Only, why should it be with stain at all? Why must I, 'twixt the leaves of coronal, Put any kiss of pardon on thy brow? Why need the other women know so much And talk together, "Such the look and such The smile he used to love with, then as now!" XVIII Might I die last and shew thee! Should I find Such hardship in the few years left behind, If free to take and light my lamp, and go Into thy tomb, and shut the door and sit Seeing thy face on those four sides of it The better that they are so blank, I know! XIX Why, time was what I wanted, to turn o'er Within my mind each look, get more and more By heart each word, too much to learn at first, And join thee all the fitter for the pause 'Neath the low door-way's lintel. That were cause For lingering, though thou called'st, If I durst! XX And yet thou art the nobler of us two. What dare I dream of, that thou canst not do, Outstripping my ten small steps with one stride? I'll say then, here's a trial and a task— Is it to bear?—if easy, I'll not ask— Though love fail, I can trust on in thy pride. XXI Pride?—when those eyes forestall the life behind The death I have to go through!—when I find, Now that I want thy help most, all of thee! What did I fear? Thy love shall hold me fast Until the little minute's sleep is past And I wake saved.—And yet, it will not be!

Written by Robert Frost | A Line-Storm Song The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift. The road is forlorn all day, Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift, And the hoof-prints vanish away. The roadside flowers, too wet for the bee, Expend their bloom in vain. Come over the hills and far with me, And be my love in the rain. The birds have less to say for themselves In the wood-world's torn despair Than now these numberless years the elves, Although they are no less there: All song of the woods is crushed like some Wild, earily shattered rose. Come, be my love in the wet woods, come, Where the boughs rain when it blows. There is the gale to urge behind And bruit our singing down, And the shallow waters aflutter with wind From which to gather your gown. What matter if we go clear to the west, And come not through dry-shod? For wilding brooch shall wet your breast The rain-fresh goldenrod. Oh, never this whelming east wind swells But it seems like the sea's return To the ancient lands where it left the shells Before the age of the fern; And it seems like the time when after doubt Our love came back amain. Oh, come forth into the storm and rout And be my love in the rain.

Written by William Cullen Bryant | The Gladness of Nature Is this a time to be cloudy and sad, When our mother Nature laughs around; When even the deep blue heavens look glad, And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground? There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren, And the gossip of swallows through all the sky; The ground-squirrel gaily chirps by his den, And the wilding bee hums merrily by. The clouds are at play in the azure space, And their shadows at play on the bright green vale, And here they stretch to the frolic chase, And there they roll on the easy gale. There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower, There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree, There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower, And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea. And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray, On the leaping waters and gay young isles; Ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away.

Written by Claude McKay | Song of the Moon The moonlight breaks upon the city's domes, And falls along cemented steel and stone, Upon the grayness of a million homes, Lugubrious in unchanging monotone. Upon the clothes behind the tenement, That hang like ghosts suspended from the lines, Linking each flat to each indifferent, Incongruous and strange the moonlight shines. There is no magic from your presence here, Ho, moon, sad moon, tuck up your trailing robe, Whose silver seems antique and so severe Against the glow of one electric globe. Go spill your beauty on the laughing faces Of happy flowers that bloom a thousand hues, Waiting on tiptoe in the wilding spaces, To drink your wine mixed with sweet drafts of dews.

Written by Lucy Maud Montgomery | With Tears They Buried You Today With tears they buried you to-day, But well I knew no turf could hold Your gladness long beneath the mould, Or cramp your laughter in the clay; I smiled while others wept for you Because I knew. And now you sit with me to-night Here in our old, accustomed place; Tender and mirthful is your face, Your eyes with starry joy are bright­ Oh, you are merry as a song For love is strong! They think of you as lying there Down in the churchyard grim and old; They think of you as mute and cold, A wan, white thing that once was fair, With dim, sealed eyes that never may Look on the day. But love cannot be coffined so In clod and darkness; it must rise And seek its own in radiant guise, With immortality aglow, Making of death's triumphant sting A little thing. Ay, we shall laugh at those who deem Our hearts are sundered! Listen, sweet, The tripping of the wind's swift feet Along the by-ways of our dream, And hark the whisper of the rose Wilding that blows. Oh, still you love those simple things, And still you love them more with me; The grave has won no victory; It could not clasp your shining wings, It could not keep you from my side, Dear and my bride!