Famous Invention Poems by Famous Poets

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

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Sonnet LIX

by William Shakespeare
 If there be nothing new, but that which is
Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled,
Which, labouring for invention, bear amiss
The second burden of a former child!
O, that record could with a backward look,
Even of five hundred courses of the sun,
Show me your image in some antique book,
Since mind at first in character was done!
That I might see what...Read more of this...

Invention

by Billy Collins
 Tonight the moon is a cracker,
with a bite out of it
floating in the night,

and in a week or so
according to the calendar
it will probably look

like a silver football,
and nine, maybe ten days ago
it reminded me of a thin bright claw.

But eventually --
by the end of the month,
I reckon --

it will waste away
to nothing,
nothing but stars in the sky,

and I...Read more of this...

Faith is a fine invention

by Emily Dickinson
 "Faith" is a fine invention
When Gentlemen can see --
But Microscopes are prudent
In an Emergency....Read more of this...

The Unequal Fetters

by Anne Kingsmill Finch
 Cou'd we stop the time that's flying
Or recall itt when 'tis past
Put far off the day of Dying
Or make Youth for ever last
To Love wou'd then be worth our cost. 

But since we must loose those Graces
Which at first your hearts have wonne
And you seek for in new Faces
When our Spring of Life is done
It wou'd but urdge our...Read more of this...

An Elegy upon the Death of the Dean of St. Pauls Dr. John

by Thomas Carew
 Can we not force from widow'd poetry, 
Now thou art dead (great Donne) one elegy 
To crown thy hearse? Why yet dare we not trust, 
Though with unkneaded dough-bak'd prose, thy dust, 
Such as th' unscissor'd churchman from the flower 
Of fading rhetoric, short-liv'd as his hour, 
Dry as the sand that measures it, should lay 
Upon thy ashes,...Read more of this...

Clementes Images

by Robert Creeley
 1)

Sleeping birds, lead me,
soft birds, be me

inside this black room,
back of the white moon.

In the dark night
sight frightens me.


2)

Who is it nuzzles there
with furred, round headed stare?

Who, perched on the skin,
body's float, is holding on?

What other one stares still,
plays still, on and on?


3)

Stand upright, prehensile,
squat, determined,

small guardians of the painful
outside coming in --

in stuck in vials with needles,
bleeding life...Read more of this...

Sonnet XXXVIII: How Can My Muse Want Subject to Invent

by William Shakespeare
 How can my muse want subject to invent,
While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent
For every vulgar paper to rehearse?
O! give thy self the thanks, if aught in me
Worthy perusal stand against thy sight;
For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee,
When thou thy self dost give invention light? 
Be thou the tenth...Read more of this...

Sonnet LXXVI

by William Shakespeare
 Why is my verse so barren of new pride,
So far from variation or quick change?
Why with the time do I not glance aside
To new-found methods and to compounds strange?
Why write I still all one, ever the same,
And keep invention in a noted weed,
That every word doth almost tell my name,
Showing their birth and where they did proceed?
O, know, sweet...Read more of this...

A Pity We Were Such A Good Invention

by Yehuda Amichai
 They amputated
Your thighs off my hips.
As far as I'm concerned
They are all surgeons. All of them.

They dismantled us
Each from the other.
As far as I'm concerned 
They are all engineers. All of them.

A pity. We were such a good
And loving invention.
An aeroplane made from a man and wife.
Wings and everything.
We hovered a little above the earth.

We even flew a little....Read more of this...

City That Does Not Sleep

by Federico García Lorca
 In the sky there is nobody asleep. Nobody, nobody.
Nobody is asleep.
The creatures of the moon sniff and prowl about their cabins.
The living iguanas will come and bite the men who do not dream,
and the man who rushes out with his spirit broken will meet on the street corner
the unbelievable alligator quiet beneath the tender protest of the
stars.

Nobody is asleep...Read more of this...

Ode On A Distant Prospect Of Eton College

by Thomas Gray
 Ye distant spires, ye antique towers,
That crown the watery glade,
Where grateful Science still adores
Her Henry's holy shade;
And ye, that from the stately brow
Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below
Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among
Wanders the hoary Thames along
His silver-winding way.

Ah happy hills, ah pleasing shade,
Ah fields beloved in vain,
Where once my careless childhood...Read more of this...

Sonnet 105: Let not my love be called idolatry

by William Shakespeare
 Let not my love be called idolatry,
Nor my belovèd as an idol show,
Since all alike my songs and praises be
To one, of one, still such, and ever so.
Kind is my love today, tomorrow kind,
Still constant in a wondrous excellence;
Therefore my verse to constancy confined,
One thing expressing, leaves out difference.
"Fair, kind, and true" is all my argument,
"Fair, kind, and true"...Read more of this...

Sonnet CIII

by William Shakespeare
 Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth,
That having such a scope to show her pride,
The argument all bare is of more worth
Than when it hath my added praise beside!
O, blame me not, if I no more can write!
Look in your glass, and there appears a face
That over-goes my blunt invention quite,
Dulling my lines and doing me disgrace.
Were it not...Read more of this...

Old Scout

by Robert William Service
 Is it because I'm bent and grey,
 Though wearing rather well,
That I can slickly get away
 With all the yarns I tell?
Is it because my bleary eye
 No longer beams with youth
That I can plant a whopping lie,
 And flout the truth?

I wonder why folks hark to me
 Where once they would have laughed?
They treat my yarns respectfully,
 No...Read more of this...

Sonnet 38: How can my Muse want subject to invent

by William Shakespeare
 How can my Muse want subject to invent
While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent
For every vulgar paper to rehearse?
O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me
Worthy perusal stand against thy sight,
For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee,
When thou thyself dost give invention light?
Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times...Read more of this...

The First Dream

by Billy Collins
 The Wind is ghosting around the house tonight
and as I lean against the door of sleep
I begin to think about the first person to dream,
how quiet he must have seemed the next morning

as the others stood around the fire
draped in the skins of animals
talking to each other only in vowels,
for this was long before the invention of consonants.

He might...Read more of this...

Sonnet (II)

by George Herbert
 Sure Lord, there is enough in thee to dry 
Oceans of Ink ; for, as the Deluge did 
Cover the Earth, so doth thy Majesty : 
Each Cloud distills thy praise, and doth forbid 
Poets to turn it to another use. 
Roses and Lillies speak thee ; and to make 
A pair of Cheeks of them, is thy abuse....Read more of this...

Sonnet 103: Alack what poverty my Muse brings forth

by William Shakespeare
 Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth,
That having such a scope to show her pride,
The argument all bare is of more worth
Than when it hath my added praise beside.
O, blame me not if I no more can write!
Look in your glass, and there appears a face
That overgoes my blunt invention quite,
Dulling my lines, and doing me disgrace.
Were it not...Read more of this...

Sonnet 59: If there be nothing new but that which is

by William Shakespeare
 If there be nothing new, but that which is
Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled,
Which, labouring for invention bear amis
The second burthen of a former child!
O, that record could with a backward look,
Even of five hundred courses of the sun,
Show me your image in some antique book,
Since mind at first in character was done.
That I might see what...Read more of this...

Sonnet 76: Why is my verse so barren of new pride?

by William Shakespeare
 Why is my verse so barren of new pride?
So far from variation or quick change?
Why with the time do I not glance aside
To new-found methods, and to compounds strange?
Why write I still all one, ever the same,
And keep invention in a noted weed,
That every word doth almost tell my name,
Showing their birth and where they did proceed?
O, know, sweet...Read more of this...

Sadness and Joy

by William Henry Davies
 I pray you, Sadness, leave me soon, 
In sweet invention thou art poor! 
Thy sister, Joy can make ten songs 
While thou art making four.

One hour with thee is sweet enough; 
But when we find the whole day gone 
And no created thing is left -- 
We mourn the evil done.

Thou art too slow to shape thy thoughts 
In...Read more of this...

Sonnet XXI: A Witless Galant

by Michael Drayton
 A witless gallant a young wench that woo'd 
(Yet his dull spirit her not one jot could move), 
Entreated me, as e'er I wish'd his good, 
To write him but one sonnet to his love; 
When I, as fast as e'er my pen could trot, 
Pour'd out what first from quick invention came, 
Nor never stood one word thereof...Read more of this...

Hope is a strange invention --

by Emily Dickinson
 Hope is a strange invention --
A Patent of the Heart --
In unremitting action
Yet never wearing out --

Of this electric Adjunct
Not anything is known
But its unique momentum
Embellish all we own --...Read more of this...

Sonnet XXXVIII

by William Shakespeare
 How can my Muse want subject to invent,
While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent
For every vulgar paper to rehearse?
O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me
Worthy perusal stand against thy sight;
For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee,
When thou thyself dost give invention light?
Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times...Read more of this...

Sonnet XXXI: Methinks I See

by Michael Drayton
 To the Critic

Methinks I see some crooked mimic jeer, 
And tax my Muse with this fantastic grace, 
Turning my papers asks, "What have we here?" 
Making withal some filthy antic face. 
I fear no censure, nor what thou canst say, 
Nor shall my spirit one jot of vigor lose; 
Think'st thou my wit shall keep the pack-horse way 
That...Read more of this...

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