Famous Lame Poems by Famous Poets

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

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Then Was My Neophyte

by Dylan Thomas
 Then was my neophyte,
Child in white blood bent on its knees
Under the bell of rocks,
Ducked in the twelve, disciple seas
The winder of the water-clocks
Calls a green day and night.
My sea hermaphrodite,
Snail of man in His ship of fires
That burn the bitten decks,
Knew all His horrible desires
The climber of the water sex
Calls the green rock of light.

Who in these labyrinths,
This...Read more of this...

In Memoriam A. H. H.

by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Strong Son of God, immortal Love,
   Whom we, that have not seen thy face,
   By faith, and faith alone, embrace,
Believing where we cannot prove;
 
Thine are these orbs of light and shade;
   Thou madest Life in man and brute;
   Thou madest Death; and lo, thy foot
Is on the skull which thou hast...Read more of this...

My Will

by Robert William Service
 I've made my Will. I don't believe
 In luxury and wealth;
And to those loving ones who grieve
 My age and frailing health
I give the meed to soothe their ways
 That they may happy be,
And pass serenely all their days
 In snug security.

That duty done, I leave behind
 The all I have to give
To crippled children and the blind
 Who...Read more of this...

Ephemera

by William Butler Yeats
 'Your eyes that once were never weary of mine
Are bowed in sotrow under pendulous lids,
Because our love is waning.'
 And then She:
'Although our love is waning, let us stand
By the lone border of the lake once more,
Together in that hour of gentleness
When the poor tired child, passion, falls asleep.
How far away the stars seem, and how far
Is our first...Read more of this...

A Lame Beggar

by John Donne
 I am unable, yonder beggar cries,
To stand, or move; if he say true, he lies....Read more of this...

Night

by Ruth Padel


Then spoke the thunder, shattering the looming blackness of our national life. The rumble that breaks a spell of the dry season

 – Saro-Wiwa, "The Storm Breaks"



Does a zebra foal dream? Head lower, lower
under lenticular dark cloud,
he drags harlequin fetlocks, porcelain
quails' egg hooflets through pimpling dust,

slower, slower through the silver
rainbow night, this soot and fester
cellar-lighting, electricity of the blue
and evil...Read more of this...

Double Ballade on the Nothingness of Things

by William Ernest Henley
 The big teetotum twirls,
And epochs wax and wane
As chance subsides or swirls;
But of the loss and gain
The sum is always plain.
Read on the mighty pall,
The weed of funeral
That covers praise and blame,
The -isms and the -anities,
Magnificence and shame:--
"O Vanity of Vanities!"

The Fates are subtle girls!
They give us chaff for grain.
And Time, the Thunderer, hurls,
Like bolted death, disdain
At all that...Read more of this...

School Smell

by Barry Tebb
 Composed of chalk dust,

Pencil shavings and

The sharp odour

Of stale urine;

It meets me now and then

Creeping down a creosoted corridor

Or waiting to be banged

With the dust from piles of books

On top of a cupboard.

The double desks heeled with iron

Having long been replaced;

The steel-nibbed pens and

Ink watered to pale grey

Gone too: the cane’s bamboo bite

Has nothing left to bite on

And David’s...Read more of this...

The Undertakers Horse

by Rudyard Kipling
 The eldest son bestrides him,
And the pretty daughter rides him,
And I meet him oft o' mornings on the Course;
And there kindles in my bosom
An emotion chill and gruesome
As I canter past the Undertaker's Horse.

Neither shies he nor is restive,
But a hideously suggestive
Trot, professional and placid, he affects;
And the cadence of his hoof-beats
To my mind this grim reproof beats: --
"Mend...Read more of this...

Name of Horses

by Donald Hall
 All winter your brute shoulders strained against collars, padding 
and steerhide over the ash hames, to haul 
sledges of cordwood for drying through spring and summer, 
for the Glenwood stove next winter, and for the simmering range.

In April you pulled cartloads of manure to spread on the fields, 
dark manure of Holsteins, and knobs of your own clustered with...Read more of this...

Canzone XI.(R)

by Francesco Petrarch
CANZONE XI.[R] Mai non vo' più cantar, com' io soleva. ENIGMAS.  Never more shall I sing, as I have sung:For still she heeded not; and I was scorn'd:So e'en in loveliest spots is trouble found.Unceasingly to sigh is no relief.Already on the Alp snow gathers round:Already...Read more of this...

Sonnet 37: As a decrepit father takes delight

by William Shakespeare
 As a decrepit father takes delight
To see his active child do deeds of youth,
So I, made lame by Fortune's dearest spite,
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.
For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,
Or any of these all, or all, or more,
Entitled in thy parts, do crownèd sit,
I make my love engrafted to this store.
So then I...Read more of this...

Sonnet XXXV: Some Misbelieving

by Michael Drayton
 To Miracle

Some, misbelieving and profane in love, 
When I do speak of miracles by thee, 
May say, that thou art flattered by me, 
Who only write my skill in verse to prove. 
See miracles, ye unbelieving, see 
A dumb-born Muse made t'express the mind, 
A cripple hand to write, yet lame by kind, 
One by thy name, the other...Read more of this...

84. Address to the Deil

by Robert Burns
 O THOU! whatever title suit thee—
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie,
Wha in yon cavern grim an’ sootie,
 Clos’d under hatches,
Spairges about the brunstane cootie,
 To scaud poor wretches!


Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee,
An’ let poor damned bodies be;
I’m sure sma’ pleasure it can gie,
 Ev’n to a deil,
To skelp an’ scaud poor dogs like me,
 An’ hear us...Read more of this...

Auguries Of Innocence

by William Blake
 To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.
A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.
A dove-house filled with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell through all its regions.
A dog starved at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.
A horse...Read more of this...

Troll Sat Alone on His Seat of Stone

by J R R Tolkien
 Troll sat alone on his seat of stone,
And munched and mumbled a bare old bone;
For many a year he had gnawed it near,
For meat was hard to come by.
Done by! Gum by!
In a cave in the hills he dwelt alone,
And meat was hard to come by.

Up came Tom with his big boots on.
Said he to Troll: 'Pray, what is...Read more of this...

Deaf Martha

by Ann Taylor
 Poor Martha is old, and her hair is turn'd grey, 
And her hearing has left her for many a year; 
Ten to one if she knows what it is that you say, 
Though she puts her poor wither'd hand close to her ear. 

I've seen naughty children run after her fast, 
And cry, "Martha, run, there's a bullock so...Read more of this...

Her Epitaph

by William Strode
 Happy Grave, thou dost enshrine
That which makes thee a rich mine:
Remember yet, 'tis but a loane;
And wee must have it back, Her owne,
The very same; Marke mee, the same:
Thou canst not cheat us with a lame
Deformed Carcase; Shee was fayre,
Fresh as Morning, sweete as Ayre:
Purer than other flesh as farre
As other Soules than Bodies are:
And that thou mayst the...Read more of this...

Providence

by George Herbert
 O Sacred Providence, who from end to end
Strongly and sweetly movest! shall I write,
And not of thee, through whom my fingers bend
To hold my quill? shall they not do thee right?

Of all the creatures both in sea and land
Onely to Man thou hast made known thy wayes,
And put the penne alone into his hand, 
And made him Secretarie of...Read more of this...

The Alchemist in the City

by Gerard Manley Hopkins
 My window shews the travelling clouds, 
Leaves spent, new seasons, alter'd sky, 
The making and the melting crowds: 
The whole world passes; I stand by.

They do not waste their meted hours, 
But men and masters plan and build: 
I see the crowning of their towers, 
And happy promises fulfill'd.

And I - perhaps if my intent
Could count on prediluvian age,...Read more of this...

Death Wants More Death

by Charles Bukowski
 death wants more death, and its webs are full:
I remember my father's garage, how child-like
I would brush the corpses of flies
from the windows they thought were escape-
their sticky, ugly, vibrant bodies
shouting like dumb crazy dogs against the glass
only to spin and flit
in that second larger than hell or heaven
onto the edge of the ledge,
and then the spider from his...Read more of this...

Music In The Bush

by Robert William Service
 O'er the dark pines she sees the silver moon,
 And in the west, all tremulous, a star;
And soothing sweet she hears the mellow tune
 Of cow-bells jangled in the fields afar.

Quite listless, for her daily stent is done,
 She stands, sad exile, at her rose-wreathed door,
And sends her love eternal with the sun
 That goes to gild the land...Read more of this...

The Wee Shop

by Robert William Service
 She risked her all, they told me, bravely sinking
The pinched economies of thirty years;
And there the little shop was, meek and shrinking,
The sum of all her dreams and hopes and fears.
Ere it was opened I would see them in it,
The gray-haired dame, the daughter with her crutch;
So fond, so happy, hoarding every minute,
Like artists, for the final tender touch.

The...Read more of this...

His Age:dedicated To His Peculiar Friendmr John Wickes Under The Name Ofpostumus

by Robert Herrick
 Ah, Posthumus! our years hence fly
And leave no sound: nor piety,
Or prayers, or vow
Can keep the wrinkle from the brow;
But we must on,
As fate does lead or draw us; none,
None, Posthumus, could e'er decline
The doom of cruel Proserpine.

The pleasing wife, the house, the ground
Must all be left, no one plant found
To follow thee,
Save only the curst cypress-tree!
--A merry mind
Looks...Read more of this...

The Beggars Valentine

by Vachel Lindsay
 Kiss me and comfort my heart 
Maiden honest and fine. 
I am the pilgrim boy 
Lame, but hunting the shrine; 

Fleeing away from the sweets, 
Seeking the dust and rain, 
Sworn to the staff and road, 
Scorning pleasure and pain; 

Nevertheless my mouth 
Would rest like a bird an hour 
And find in your curls a nest 
And find...Read more of this...

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