Famous Odor Poems by Famous Poets

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

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Holding On

by Philip Levine
 Green fingers 
holding the hillside, 
mustard whipping in 
the sea winds, one blood-bright 
poppy breathing in 
and out. The odor 
of Spanish earth comes 
up to me, yellowed 
with my own piss. 
 40 miles from Málaga 
half the world away 
from home, I am home and 
nowhere, a man who envies 
grass. 
 Two oxen browse 
yoked together...Read more of this...

In The Deep Museum

by Anne Sexton
 My God, my God, what ***** corner am I in? 
Didn't I die, blood running down the post, 
lungs gagging for air, die there for the sin 
of anyone, my sour mouth giving up the ghost? 
Surely my body is done? Surely I died? 
And yet, I know, I'm here. What place is this? 
Cold and *****, I sting...Read more of this...

Pea Brush

by Robert Frost
 I WALKED down alone Sunday after church
 To the place where John has been cutting trees
To see for myself about the birch
 He said I could have to bush my peas.

The sun in the new-cut narrow gap
 Was hot enough for the first of May,
And stifling hot with the odor of sap
 From stumps still bleeding their life away.

The...Read more of this...

Ordinary Miracles

by Erica Jong
 Spring, rainbows,
ordinary miracles
about which
nothing new can be said.

The stars on a clear night
of a New England winter;
the soft air of the islands
along the old
Spanish Main;
pirate gold shining
in the palm;
the odor of roses
to the lover's nose. . .

There is no more poetry
to be written
of these things.
The rainbow's sudden revelation--
behold!
The cliché is true!
What can one say
but that?

So too
with you, little heart,
little...Read more of this...

From you have I been absent in the spring... (Sonnet 98)

by William Shakespeare
 From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything,
That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him,
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odor and in hue,
Could make me any summer's story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where...Read more of this...

The Haunted Palace

by Edgar Allan Poe
 In the greenest of our valleys
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace-
Radiant palace- reared its head.
In the monarch Thought's dominion-
It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair!

Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow,
(This- all this- was in the olden
Time long ago,)
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts...Read more of this...

American Feuillage

by Walt Whitman
 AMERICA always! 
Always our own feuillage! 
Always Florida’s green peninsula! Always the priceless delta of Louisiana! Always the
 cotton-fields of Alabama and Texas! 
Always California’s golden hills and hollows—and the silver mountains of New
 Mexico!
 Always soft-breath’d Cuba! 
Always the vast slope drain’d by the Southern Sea—inseparable with the slopes
 drain’d
 by the Eastern and Western Seas;
The area the...Read more of this...

There was a Child went Forth

by Walt Whitman
 THERE was a child went forth every day; 
And the first object he look’d upon, that object he became; 
And that object became part of him for the day, or a certain part of the day, or for many
 years, or
 stretching cycles of years. 

The early lilacs became part of this child, 
And grass, and white and red...Read more of this...

On A Dead Violet

by Percy Bysshe Shelley
 The odor from the flower is gone
Which like thy kisses breathed on me;
The color from the flower is flown
Which glowed of thee and only thee!

A shrivelled, lifeless, vacant form,
It lies on my abandoned breast;
And mocks the heart, which yet is warm,
With cold and silent rest.

I weep--my tears revive it not;
I sigh--it breathes no more on me:
Its mute and uncomplaining...Read more of this...

The Three Kings

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
 Three Kings came riding from far away,
Melchior and Gaspar and Baltasar;
Three Wise Men out of the East were they,
And they travelled by night and they slept by day,
For their guide was a beautiful, wonderful star. 

The star was so beautiful, large, and clear,
That all the other stars of the sky
Became a white mist in the atmosphere,
And by this they...Read more of this...

June Dreams In January

by Sidney Lanier
 "So pulse, and pulse, thou rhythmic-hearted Noon
That liest, large-limbed, curved along the hills,
In languid palpitation, half a-swoon
With ardors and sun-loves and subtle thrills;

"Throb, Beautiful! while the fervent hours exhale
As kisses faint-blown from thy finger-tips
Up to the sun, that turn him passion-pale
And then as red as any virgin's lips.

"O tender Darkness, when June-day hath ceased,
-- Faint Odor from the day-flower's...Read more of this...

Briar Rose (Sleeping Beauty)

by Anne Sexton
 Consider
a girl who keeps slipping off,
arms limp as old carrots,
into the hypnotist's trance,
into a spirit world
speaking with the gift of tongues.
She is stuck in the time machine,
suddenly two years old sucking her thumb,
as inward as a snail,
learning to talk again.
She's on a voyage.
She is swimming further and further back,
up like a salmon,
struggling into her mother's pocketbook.
Little doll child,
come here...Read more of this...

from Asphodel That Greeny Flower

by William Carlos (WCW) Williams
 Of asphodel, that greeny flower,
 like a buttercup
 upon its branching stem-
save that it's green and wooden-
 I come, my sweet,
 to sing to you.
We lived long together
 a life filled,
 if you will,
with flowers. So that
 I was cheered
 when I came first to know
that there were flowers also
 in hell.
 Today
I'm filled with the fading memory of...Read more of this...

A Prodigal

by Elizabeth Bishop
 The brown enormous odor he lived by
was too close, with its breathing and thick hair,
for him to judge. The floor was rotten; the sty
was plastered halfway up with glass-smooth dung.
Light-lashed, self-righteous, above moving snouts,
the pigs' eyes followed him, a cheerful stare--
even to the sow that always ate her young--
till, sickening, he leaned to scratch her head.
But sometimes mornings after...Read more of this...

They have a little Odor -- that to me

by Emily Dickinson
 They have a little Odor -- that to me
Is metre -- nay -- 'tis melody --
And spiciest at fading -- indicate --
A Habit -- of a Laureate --...Read more of this...

A March in the Ranks Hard-prest

by Walt Whitman
 A MARCH in the ranks hard-prest, and the road unknown; 
A route through a heavy wood, with muffled steps in the darkness; 
Our army foil’d with loss severe, and the sullen remnant retreating; 
Till after midnight glimmer upon us, the lights of a dim-lighted building; 
We come to an open space in the woods, and halt by the dim-lighted...Read more of this...

Cascade

by Robert Desnos
 What sort of arrow split the sky and this rock?
It's quivering, spreading like a peacock's fan
Like the mist around the shaft and knot less feathers
Of a comet come to nest at midnight.

How blood surges from the gaping wound,
Lips already silencing murmur and cry.
One solemn finger holds back time, confusing
The witness of the eyes where the deed is written.

Silence? We...Read more of this...

For Johnny Pole On The Forgotten Beach

by Anne Sexton
 In his tenth July some instinct
taught him to arm the waiting wave,
a giant where its mouth hung open.
He rode on the lip that buoyed him there
and buckled him under. The beach was strung
with children paddling their ages in,
under the glare od noon chipping
its light out. He stood up, anonymous
and straight among them, between
their sand pails and nursery crafts.
The breakers...Read more of this...

The Fury Of Beautiful Bones

by Anne Sexton
 Sing me a thrush, bone. 
Sing me a nest of cup and pestle. 
Sing me a sweetbread fr an old grandfather. 
Sing me a foot and a doorknob, for you are my love. 
Oh sing, bone bag man, sing. 
Your head is what I remember that Augusty 
you were in love with another woman but 
taht didn't matter. I...Read more of this...

In The New Sun

by Philip Levine
 Filaments of light 
slant like windswept rain. 
The orange seller hawks 
into the sky, a man with a hat 
stops below my window 
and shakes his tassels. 
 Awake 
in Tetuan, the room filling 
with the first colors, and water running 
in a tub. 

* 

A row of sparkling carp 
iced in the new sun, odor 
of first love,...Read more of this...

In a Vale

by Robert Frost
 WHEN I was young, we dwelt in a vale
 By a misty fen that rang all night,
And thus it was the maidens pale
I knew so well, whose garments trail
 Across the reeds to a window light.

The fen had every kind of bloom,
 And for every kind there was a face,
And a voice that has sounded in my room
Across the...Read more of this...

Lion And Lioness

by Edwin Markham
 ONE night we were together, you and I, 
And had unsown Assyria for a lair, 
Before the walls of Babylon rose in air. 
How languid hills were heaped along the sky, 
And white bones marked the wells of alkali, 
When suddenly down the lion-path a sound . . . 
The wild man-odor . . . then a crouch, a...Read more of this...

A Woman Waking

by Philip Levine
 She wakens early remembering 
her father rising in the dark 
lighting the stove with a match 
scraped on the floor. Then measuring 
water for coffee, and later the smell 
coming through. She would hear 
him drying spoons, dropping 
them one by one in the drawer. 
Then he was on the stairs 
going for the milk. So soon 
he would...Read more of this...

I would drink so much wine that the odor should come

by Omar Khayyam
I would drink so much wine that the odor should come
out of the earth when I have been returned to it, and
that drinkers who wish to visit my tomb may fall
senseless from the sole effect of this odor....Read more of this...

The Far Field

by Theodore Roethke
 I

I dream of journeys repeatedly:
Of flying like a bat deep into a narrowing tunnel
Of driving alone, without luggage, out a long peninsula,
The road lined with snow-laden second growth,
A fine dry snow ticking the windshield,
Alternate snow and sleet, no on-coming traffic,
And no lights behind, in the blurred side-mirror,
The road changing from glazed tarface to a rubble of stone,
Ending at last...Read more of this...

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