Famous Gorgeous Poems by Famous Poets

These are examples of famous Gorgeous poems written by some of the greatest and most-well-known modern and classical poets. PoetrySoup is a great educational poetry resource of famous gorgeous poems. These examples illustrate what a famous gorgeous poem looks like and its form, scheme, or style (where appropriate).

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The Lost Battle

by Victor Hugo
 ("Allah! qui me rendra-") 
 
 {XVI., May, 1828.} 


 Oh, Allah! who will give me back my terrible array? 
 My emirs and my cavalry that shook the earth to-day; 
 My tent, my wide-extending camp, all dazzling to the sight, 
 Whose watchfires, kindled numberless beneath the brow of night, 
 Seemed oft unto the sentinel that...Read more of this...

Fire-Caught

by Langston Hughes
 The gold moth did not love him
So, gorgeous, she flew away.
But the gray moth circled the flame
 Until the break of day.
And then, with wings like a dead desire,
She fell, fire-caught, into the flame....Read more of this...

Plebeian Plutocrat

by Robert William Service
 I own a gorgeous Cadillac,
 A chauffeur garbed in blue;
And as I sit behind his back
 His beefy neck I view.
Yet let me whisper, though you may
 Think me a ***** old cuss,
From Claude I often sneak away
 To board a bus.

A democrat, I love the crowd,
 The bustle and the din;
The market wives who gab aloud
 As they...Read more of this...

Sonnet XLIV

by Francesco Petrarch
SONNET XLIV. Nè per sereno cielo ir vaghe stelle. NOTHING THAT NATURE OFFERS CAN AFFORD HIM CONSOLATION.  Not skies serene, with glittering stars inlaid,Nor gallant ships o'er tranquil ocean dancing,Nor gay careering knights in arms advancing,Nor wild herds bounding through the forest glade,Nor tidings new of happiness delay'd,Nor poesie, Love's...Read more of this...

Of the Four Ages of Man

by Anne Bradstreet
 Lo, now four other act upon the stage,
Childhood and Youth, the Many and Old age:
The first son unto phlegm, grandchild to water,
Unstable, supple, cold and moist's his nature
The second, frolic, claims his pedigree
From blood and air, for hot and moist is he.
The third of fire and choler is compos'd,
Vindicative and quarrelsome dispos'd.
The last of earth and heavy melancholy,
Solid, hating...Read more of this...

The River of Leith

by William Topaz McGonagall
 As I stood upon the Dean Bridge and viewed the beautiful scenery,
I felt fascinated and my heart was full of glee,
And I exclaimed in an ecstasy of delight,
In all my travels I never saw such a sight. 

The scenery is so enchanting to look upon
That all tourists will say, "Dull care, be gone."
'Tis certainly a most lovely spot,
And once...Read more of this...

A Carol of Harvest for 1867

by Walt Whitman
 1
A SONG of the good green grass! 
A song no more of the city streets; 
A song of farms—a song of the soil of fields. 

A song with the smell of sun-dried hay, where the nimble pitchers handle the pitch-fork; 
A song tasting of new wheat, and of fresh-husk’d maize.

2
For the lands, and for these passionate days, and for...Read more of this...

The House Of Dust: Part 03: 07: Porcelain

by Conrad Aiken
 You see that porcelain ranged there in the window—
Platters and soup-plates done with pale pink rosebuds,
And tiny violets, and wreaths of ivy?
See how the pattern clings to the gleaming edges!
They're works of art—minutely seen and felt,
Each petal done devoutly. Is it failure
To spend your blood like this?

Study them . . . you will see there, in the porcelain,
If you...Read more of this...

A Poem Sacred to the Memory of Sir Isaac Newton

by James Thomson
 Shall the great soul of Newton quit this earth, 
To mingle with his stars; and every muse,
Astonish'd into silence, shun the weight
Of honours due to his illustrious name?
But what can man?--Even now the sons of light,
In strains high-warbled to seraphic lyre,
Hail his arrival on the coast of bliss.
Yet am not I deterr'd, though high the theme,
And sung to harps...Read more of this...

Song of the Future

by Andrew Barton Paterson
 'Tis strange that in a land so strong 
So strong and bold in mighty youth, 
We have no poet's voice of truth 
To sing for us a wondrous song. 
Our chiefest singer yet has sung 
In wild, sweet notes a passing strain, 
All carelessly and sadly flung 
To that dull world he thought so vain. 

"I care for nothing,...Read more of this...

1777

by Amy Lowell
 I
The Trumpet-Vine Arbour
The throats of the little red trumpet-flowers are 
wide open,
And the clangour of brass beats against the hot sunlight.
They bray and blare at the burning sky.
Red! Red! Coarse notes of red,
Trumpeted at the blue sky.
In long streaks of sound, molten metal,
The vine declares itself.
Clang! -- from its red and yellow trumpets.
Clang! -- from its long, nasal trumpets,
Splitting...Read more of this...

Gorgeous Surfaces

by Thomas Lux
 They are, the surfaces, gorgeous: a master
pastry chef at work here, the dips and whorls,
the wrist-twist
squeezes of cream from the tube
to the tart, sweet bleak sugarwork, needlework
toward the perfect lace doily
where sit the bone-china teacups, a little maze
of meaning maybe in their arrangement
sneaky obliques, shadow
allusives all piling
atop one another. Textures succulent but famished,
banal, bereft. These surfaces,
these flickering patinas,
through which,
if...Read more of this...

Nero's Incendiary Song

by Victor Hugo
 ("Amis! ennui nous tue.") 
 
 {Bk. IV. xv., March, 1825.} 


 Aweary unto death, my friends, a mood by wise abhorred, 
 Come to the novel feast I spread, thrice-consul, Nero, lord, 
 The Caesar, master of the world, and eke of harmony, 
 Who plays the harp of many strings, a chief of minstrelsy. 
 
 My...Read more of this...

Panthea

by Oscar Wilde
 Nay, let us walk from fire unto fire,
From passionate pain to deadlier delight, -
I am too young to live without desire,
Too young art thou to waste this summer night
Asking those idle questions which of old
Man sought of seer and oracle, and no reply was told.

For, sweet, to feel is better than to know,
And wisdom is a childless heritage,
One pulse...Read more of this...

The Battle of Corunna

by William Topaz McGonagall
 'Twas in the year of 1808, and in the autumn of the year,
Napoleon resolved to crush Spain and Portugal without fear;
So with a mighty army three hundred thousand strong
Through the passes of the Pyrenees into spain he passed along. 

But Sir John Moore concentrated his troops in the north,
And into the west corner of Spain he boldly marched forth;
To...Read more of this...

Athabaska Dick

by Robert William Service
 When the boys come out from Lac Labiche in the lure of the early Spring,
To take the pay of the "Hudson's Bay", as their fathers did before,
They are all a-glee for the jamboree, and they make the Landing ring
With a whoop and a whirl, and a "Grab your girl", and a rip and a skip and a roar.
For the...Read more of this...

The Yellow Violet

by William Cullen Bryant
 When beechen buds begin to swell, 
And woods the blue-bird's warble know, 
The yellow violet's modest bell 
Peeps from last-year's leaves below.

Ere russet fields their green resume, 
Sweet flower, I love, in forest bare, 
To meet thee, when thy faint perfume 
Alone is in the virgin air.

Of all her train, the hands of Spring 
First plant thee in the...Read more of this...

Il Penseroso

by John Milton
 Hence, vain deluding Joys,
............The brood of Folly without father bred!
How little you bested
............Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys!
Dwell in some idle brain,
............And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess,
As thick and numberless
............As the gay motes that people the sun-beams,
Or likest hovering dreams,
............The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train.
But, hail! thou Goddess sage and holy!
Hail, divinest Melancholy!
Whose saintly visage...Read more of this...

Verses on Sir Joshua Reynolds Painted Window at New College Oxford

by Thomas Warton
 Ah, stay thy treacherous hand, forbear to trace
Those faultless forms of elegance and grace!
Ah, cease to spread the bright transparent mass,
With Titian's pencil, o'er the speaking glass!
Nor steal, by strokes of art with truth combin'd,
The fond illusions of my wayward mind!
For long, enamour'd of a barbarous age,
A faithless truant to the classic page;
Long have I lov'd to catch the...Read more of this...

I Prefer the Gorgeous Freedom

by Aleksandr Blok
 I prefer the gorgeous freedom,
And I fly to lands of grace,
Where in wide and clear meadows
All is good, as dreams, and blest.
Here they rice: the clover clear,
And corn-flower's gentle lace,
And the rustle is always here:
"Ears are leaning... Take your ways!"
In this immense sea of fair,
Only one of blades reclines.
You don't see in misty air,
I'd seen it!It will be mine!...Read more of this...

XII. Written at a Convent

by William Lisle Bowles
 IF chance some pensive stranger, hither led, 
His bosom glowing from majestic views, 
The gorgeous dome, or the proud landscape's hues, 
Should ask who sleeps beneath this lowly bed -- 
'Tis poor Matilda! To the cloister'd scene, 
A mourner, beauteous and unknown, she came, 
To shed her tears unseen; and quench the flame 
Of fruitless love: yet was her...Read more of this...

The House Of Dust: Part 01: 01: The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light

by Conrad Aiken
 The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.

And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in...Read more of this...

Flowers

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
 Spake full well, in language quaint and olden,
One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine,
When he called the flowers, so blue and golden,
Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine.

Stars they are, wherein we read our history,
As astrologers and seers of eld;
Yet not wrapped about with awful mystery,
Like the burning stars, which they beheld.

Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous,
God hath written...Read more of this...

The Funeral of the Late Prince Henry of Battenberg

by William Topaz McGonagall
 Alas! Prince Henry of Battenberg is dead!
And, I hope, has gone to heaven, its streets to tread,
And to sing with God's saints above,
Where all is joy and peace and love. 

'Twas in the year of 1896, and on the 5th of February,
Prince Henry was buried at Whippingham- a solemn sight to see.
As the funeral moved off, it was a...Read more of this...

Hiawathas Photographing

by Lewis Carroll
 From his shoulder Hiawatha
Took the camera of rosewood,
Made of sliding, folding rosewood;
Neatly put it all together.
In its case it lay compactly,
Folded into nearly nothing; 

But he opened out the hinges,
Pushed and pulled the joints and hinges,
Till it looked all squares and oblongs,
Like a complicated figure
In the Second Book of Euclid. 

This he perched upon a tripod -
Crouched beneath its...Read more of this...

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