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Famous Novel Poems by Famous Poets

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

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by Lehman, David
...gift for codes and ciphers, he joined the counter-
 terrorism unit of army intelligence.
Contrary to what the spook novels say, he found it possible to
 avoid betraying either his country or his lover.
This was the life: strange bedrooms, the perfume of other men's
 wives.
As a spy he has a unique mission: to get his name on the front 
 page of the nation's newspaper of record. Only by doing that 
 would he get the message through to his immediate superior.Read more of this...



by Browning, Robert
...e calls convenient: so they are! 
An India screen is pretty furniture, 
A piano-forte is a fine resource, 
All Balzac's novels occupy one shelf, 
The new edition fifty volumes long; 
And little Greek books, with the funny type 
They get up well at Leipsic, fill the next: 
Go on! slabbed marble, what a bath it makes! 
And Parma's pride, the Jerome, let us add! 
'T were pleasant could Correggio's fleeting glow 
Hang full in face of one where'er one roams, 
Since he more than th...Read more of this...

by Bidart, Frank
...m, because he refuses to eat
because he thinks that he cannot write if he eats
because he wills to write, to finish his novel

--his novel which recaptures the past, and
with a kind of joy, because
in the debris
of the past, he has found the sources of the necessities

which have led him to this room, writing

--in this strange harmony, does he will
for it to have been different?

 And I can't not think of the remorse of Oedipus,

who tries to escape, to expiate the past
by b...Read more of this...

by Cisneros, Sandra
...he
waxy leaves of a magnolia tree. A lock of straw-colored hair
wedged between the mottled pages of a Victor Hugo novel. A
crescent of soap. A spider the color of a fingernail. The black nets
beneath the sea of olive trees. A skein of blue wool. A tea saucer
wrapped in newspaper. An empty cracker tin. A bowl of blueber-
ries in heavy cream. White wine in a green-stemmed glass.


And when you opened your wings to wind, across th...Read more of this...

by Keats, John
...top,
There hangs by unseen film, an orbed drop
Of light, and that is love: its influence,
Thrown in our eyes, genders a novel sense,
At which we start and fret; till in the end,
Melting into its radiance, we blend,
Mingle, and so become a part of it,--
Nor with aught else can our souls interknit
So wingedly: when we combine therewith,
Life's self is nourish'd by its proper pith,
And we are nurtured like a pelican brood.
Aye, so delicious is the unsating food,
That men, wh...Read more of this...



by Collins, Billy
...e of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

Long ago you kissed the names of the nine Muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even ...Read more of this...

by Hikmet, Nazim
...ight... Midnight...
Who knows at this very moment...
I know very well that in every novel
 this is the darkest hour.

Midnight
 strikes fear into the heart of every reader...
But what could I do?
When my monoplane landed
 on the roof of the Louvre,
the clock of Notre Dame
 struck midnight.
And, strangely enough, I wasn't afraid
as I patted the aluminum rump of my plane
 and stepped down on the roof...
Uncoili...Read more of this...

by Frost, Robert
...out of it."
Samoa, Russia, Ireland I complain of,
No less than England, France, and Italy. 
Because I wrote my novels in New Hampshire
Is no proof that I aimed them at New Hampshire.
When I left Massachusetts years ago
Between two days, the reason why I sought
New Hampshire, not Connecticut,
Rhode Island, New York, or Vermont was this:
Where I was living then, New Hampshire offered
The nearest boundary to escape across.
I hadn't an illusion in my handbag
Abou...Read more of this...

by Wilde, Oscar
...ze poem recited in the Sheldonian Theatre Oxford 
June
26th, 1878.

To my friend George Fleming author of 'The Nile Novel' and
'Mirage')


I.


A year ago I breathed the Italian air, -
And yet, methinks this northern Spring is fair,-
These fields made golden with the flower of March,
The throstle singing on the feathered larch,
The cawing rooks, the wood-doves fluttering by,
The little clouds that race across the sky;
And fair the violet's gentle drooping head,
The pr...Read more of this...

by Ashbery, John
...as not to examine the subtleties of art
In a detached, scientific spirit: he wished through them
To impart the sense of novelty and amazement to the spectator"
(Freedberg). Later portraits such as the Uffizi
"Gentleman," the Borghese "Young Prelate" and
The Naples "Antea" issue from Mannerist
Tensions, but here, as Freedberg points out,
The surprise, the tension are in the concept
Rather than its realization.
The consonance of the High Renaissance
Is present, though d...Read more of this...

by Whittier, John Greenleaf
...
The Almanac we studied o'er, 
Read and reread our little store 
Of books and pamphlets, scarce a score; 
One harmless novel, mostly hid 
From younger eyes, a book forbid, 
And poetry (or good or bad, 
A single book was all we had), 
Where Ellwood's meek, drab-skirted Muse, 
A stranger to the heathen Nine, 
Sang, with a somewhat nasal whine, 
The wars of David and the Jews. 
At last the flourndering carrier bore 
The village paper to our door. 
Lo! broadening outward...Read more of this...

by Whitman, Walt
...h. 

Fear not, O Muse! truly new ways and days receive, surround you, 
(I candidly confess, a *****, ***** race, of novel fashion,) 
And yet the same old human race—the same within, without,
Faces and hearts the same—feelings the same—yearnings the same, 
The same old love—beauty and use the same. 

5
We do not blame thee, Elder World—nor separate ourselves from thee: 
(Would the Son separate himself from the Father?) 
Looking back on thee—seeing thee to thy duties, g...Read more of this...

by Carver, Raymond
...y, two cubits long and one wide.
The darkness in the room teems with insight.
Could be he'll write an adventure novel. Or else 
a children's story. A play for two female characters,
one of whom is blind. Cutthroat should be coming
into the river. One thing he'll do is learn
to tie his own flies. Maybe he should give
more money to each of his surviving
family members. The ones who already expect a little
something in the mail first of each month...Read more of this...

by Turner Smith, Charlotte
...close--even such a Man
Becomes an exile; staying not to try
By temperate zeal to check his madd'ning flock,
Who, at the novel sound of Liberty
(Ah! most intoxicating sound to slaves!),
Start into licence--Lo! dejected now,
The wandering Pastor mourns, with bleeding heart,
His erring people, weeps and prays for them,
And trembles for the account that he must give
To Heaven for souls entrusted to his care.--
Where the cliff, hollow'd by the wintry storm,
Affords a seat with...Read more of this...

by Browning, Robert
...hful beauty.
No sooner had she named his lady,
Than a shine lit up the face so shady,
And its smirk returned with a novel meaning---
For it struck him, the babe just wanted weaning;
If one gave her a taste of what life was and sorrow,
She, foolish to-day, would be wiser tomorrow;
And who so fit a teacher of trouble
As this sordid crone bent well-nigh double?
So, glancing at her wolf-skin vesture,
(If such it was, for they grow so hirsute
That their own fleece serves for n...Read more of this...

by Carroll, Lewis
...ases, in which making laces
 Had been proved an infringement of right.

The maker of Bonnets ferociously planned
 A novel arrangement of bows:
While the Billiard-marker with quivering hand
 Was chalking the tip of his nose.

But the Butcher turned nervous, and dressed himself fine,
 With yellow kid gloves and a ruff--
Said he felt it exactly like going to dine,
 Which the Bellman declared was all "stuff."

"Introduce me, now there's a good fellow," he said,
 "If w...Read more of this...

by Tennyson, Alfred Lord
...at home, 
And on the roof she went, 
And down the way you use to come, 
She look'd with discontent. 

"She left the novel half-uncut 
Upon the rosewood shelf; 
She left the new piano shut: 
She could not please herseif 

"Then ran she, gamesome as the colt, 
And livelier than a lark 
She sent her voice thro' all the holt 
Before her, and the park. 

"A light wind chased her on the wing, 
And in the chase grew wild, 
As close as might be would he cling 
About the darli...Read more of this...

by Miller, Alice Duer
...r> 
Some one was giving a ball in Belgrave Square.
At Belgrave Square, that most Victorian spot.—
Lives there a novel-reader who has not 
At some time wept for those delightful girls, 
Daughters of dukes, prime ministers and earls, 
In bonnets, berthas, bustles, buttoned basques, 
Hiding behind their pure Victorian masks 
Hearts just as hot - hotter perhaps than those 
Whose owners now abandon hats and hose? 
Who has not wept for Lady Joan or Jill 
Loving against her ...Read more of this...

by Brautigan, Richard
...a novel by Richard Brautigan


 THE COVER FOR

 TROUT FISHING IN AMERICA



The cover for Trout Fishing in America is a photograph taken

late in the afternoon, a photograph of the Benjamin Franklin

statue in San Francisco's Washington Square.

Born 1706--Died 1790, Benjamin Franklin stands on a

 pedestal that looks like a house containing stone furnitur...Read more of this...

by Padel, Ruth
...ered love? Aren't you
My guardian angel? Or is this arrant
Seeming, hallucination, thrown 
Up by that fly engineering a novel does
So beguilingly, or poems? Is this mad? 
Are there ways of dreaming I don't know?
Too bad. My soul has made its home
In you. I'm here and bare before you: shy,
In tears. But if I didn't heft my whole self up and hold it there - 
A crack-free mirror - loving you, or if I couldn't share
It, set it out in words, I'd die.
*
"I'll wait t...Read more of this...

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