Famous Itself Poems by Famous Poets
These are examples of famous Itself poems written by some of the greatest and most-well-known modern and classical poets. PoetrySoup is a great educational poetry resource of famous itself poems. These examples illustrate what a famous itself poem looks like and its form, scheme, or style (where appropriate).
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by
Thomas Hardy
We walked where Victor Jove was shrined awhile,
And passed to Livia's rich red mural show,
Whence, thridding cave and Criptoportico,
We gained Caligula's dissolving pile.
And each ranked ruin tended to beguile
The outer sense, and shape itself as though
It wore its marble hues, its pristine glow
Of scenic frieze and pompous peristyle.
When lo, swift hands,...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
Light is sufficient to itself --
If Others want to see
It can be had on Window Panes
Some Hours in the Day.
But not for Compensation --
It holds as large a Glow
To Squirrel in the Himmaleh
Precisely, as to you....Read more of this...
by
Friedrich von Schiller
Forever fair, forever calm and bright,
Life flies on plumage, zephyr-light,
For those who on the Olympian hill rejoice--
Moons wane, and races wither to the tomb,
And 'mid the universal ruin, bloom
The rosy days of Gods--With man, the choice,
Timid and anxious, hesitates between
The sense's pleasure and the soul's content;
While on celestial brows, aloft and sheen,
The beams of both are blent.
Seekest thou on...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
Too happy Time dissolves itself
And leaves no remnant by --
'Tis Anguish not a Feather hath
Or too much weight to fly --...Read more of this...
by
Omar Khayyam
Do you wish the universe to submit itself to your will?
Occupy yourself without ceasing in fortifying your soul.
Share my mood, which consists in drinking wine and
never taking to myself the cares of things here below....Read more of this...
by
Wallace Stevens
At the earliest ending of winter,
In March, a scrawny cry from outside
Seemed like a sound in his mind.
He knew that he heard it,
A bird's cry, at daylight or before,
In the early March wind.
The sun was rising at six,
No longer a battered panache above snow...
It would have been outside.
It was not from the vast ventriloquism
Of...Read more of this...
by
Omar Khayyam
From time to time my heart finds itself much straitened
in its cage. Shameful is it to be mixed with water
and clay. I have often thought of destroying this prison,
but my foot would come in contact with a stone and slip
on the stirrup of the Koran's law....Read more of this...
by
Emile Verhaeren
Our bright garden is health itself.
It is squandered in its brightness from the thousand hands of the branches and leaves as they wave to and fro.
And the pleasant shade that welcomes our feet after the long roads pours into our tired limbs a quickening strength, gentle as the garden's mosses.
When the pond plays with the wind and the sun, a...Read more of this...
by
Omar Khayyam
When the azure of dawn shows itself, have the sparkling
cup in thine hand. They say that truth is bitter in the
mouth of mortals. That is a plausible reason for wine
being truth itself....Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
The Soul unto itself
Is an imperial friend --
Or the most agonizing Spy --
An Enemy -- could send --
Secure against its own --
No treason it can fear --
Itself -- its Sovereign -- of itself
The Soul should stand in Awe --...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
Its Hour with itself
The Spirit never shows.
What Terror would enthrall the Street
Could Countenance disclose
The Subterranean Freight
The Cellars of the Soul --
Thank God the loudest Place he made
Is license to be still....Read more of this...
by
Rainer Maria Rilke
The First Elegy
Who if I cried out would hear me among the angels'
hierarchies? and even if one of them pressed me
suddenly against his heart: I would be consumed
I that overwhelming existence. For beauty is nothing
but the beginning of terror which we still are just able to endure
and we are so awed because it serenely disdains
to annihilate us. Every angel...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
Love reckons by itself -- alone --
"As large as I" -- relate the Sun
To One who never felt it blaze --
Itself is all the like it has --...Read more of this...
by
Hilaire Belloc
The Chief Defect of Henry King
Was chewing little bits of String.
At last he swallowed some which tied
Itself in ugly Knots inside.
Physicians of the Utmost Fame
Were called at once; but when they came
They answered, as they took their Fees,
"There is no Cure for this Disease.
"Henry will very soon be dead.''
His Parents stood about his Bed
Lamenting his Untimely Death,
When Henry, with...Read more of this...
by
Kathleen Raine
Wearing worry about money like a hair shirt
I lie down in my bed and wrestle with my angel.
My bank-manager could not sanction my continuance for another day
But life itself wakes me each morning, and love
Urges me to give although I have no money
In the bank at this moment, and ought properly
To cease to exist in a world where poverty
Is...Read more of this...
by
Edna St. Vincent Millay
And do you think that love itself,
Living in such an ugly house,
Can prosper long?
We meet and part;
Our talk is all of heres and nows,
Our conduct likewise; in no act
Is any future, any past;
Under our sly, unspoken pact,
I KNOW with whom I saw you last,
But I say nothing; and you know
At six-fifteen to whom I go—
Can even...Read more of this...
by
Marianne Moore
you've seen a strawberry
that's had a struggle; yet
was, where the fragments met,
a hedgehog or a star-
fish for the multitude
of seeds. What better food
than apple seeds - the fruit
within the fruit - locked in
like counter-curved twin
hazelnuts? Frost that kills
the little rubber-plant -
leaves of kok-sagyyz-stalks, can't
harm the roots; they still grow
in frozen ground. Once where
there was a prickley-pear -
leaf...Read more of this...
by
George (Lord) Byron
So we'll go no more a-roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart still be as loving,
And the moon still be as bright.
For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul outwears the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.
Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a-roving
By the...Read more of this...
by
Robert Herrick
Shut not so soon; the dull-eyed night
Has not as yet begun
To make a seizure on the light,
Or to seal up the sun.
No marigolds yet closed are;
No shadows great appear;
Nor doth the early shepherds' star
Shine like a spangle here.
Stay but till my Julia close
Her life-begetting eye,
And let the whole world then dispose
Itself to live or die....Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
You cannot take itself
From any Human soul --
That indestructible estate
Enable him to dwell --
Impregnable as Light
That every man behold
But take away as difficult
As undiscovered Gold --...Read more of this...
by
Omar Khayyam
To please the righteous life itself I sell,
And, though they tread me down, never rebel;
Men say, «Inform us what and where is hell?»
Ill company will make this earth a hell....Read more of this...
by
Omar Khayyam
A heart which does not contain in itself complete abstinence
[from things here below] is to be pitied, for it is
at all times the prey of regret. It is only the heart free
from care that can be joyous; all that exists beyond this
is but a subject of torment....Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
A Dew sufficed itself --
And satisfied a Leaf
And felt "how vast a destiny" --
"How trivial is Life!"
The Sun went out to work --
The Day went out to play
And not again that Dew be seen
By Physiognomy
Whether by Day Abducted
Or emptied by the Sun
Into the Sea in passing
Eternally unknown
Attested to this Day
That awful Tragedy
By Transport's instability
And Doom's celerity....Read more of this...
by
Sylvia Plath
The engine is killing the track, the track is silver,
It stretches into the distance. It will be eaten nevertheless.
Its running is useless.
At nightfall there is the beauty of drowned fields,
Dawn gilds the farmers like pigs,
Swaying slightly in their thick suits,
White towers of Smithfield ahead,
Fat haunches and blood on their minds.
There is no mercy in the glitter of cleavers,
The butcher's...Read more of this...
by
Yehuda Amichai
I don't Know if history repeats itself
But I do know that you don't.
I remember that city was didvided
Not only between Jews and Arabs,
But Between me and you,
When we were there together.
We made ourselves a womb of dangers
We built ourselves a house of deadening wars
Like men of far north
Who build themselves a safe warm house of deadening ice.
The...Read more of this...
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