Famous She Poems by Famous Poets
These are examples of famous She poems written by some of the greatest and most-well-known modern and classical poets. PoetrySoup is a great educational poetry resource of famous she poems. These examples illustrate what a famous she poem looks like and its form, scheme, or style (where appropriate).
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by
James A Emanuel
He dug what she said:
bright jellies, smooth marmalade
spread on warm brown bread.
"Jazz" from drowsy lips
orchids lift to honeybees
floating on long sips.
"Jazz": quick fingerpops
pancake on a griddle-top
of memories. Stop.
"Jazz": mysterious
as nutmeg, missing fingers,
gold, Less serious.
"Jazz": cool bannister.
Don't need no stair. Ways to climb
when the sax is there....Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
The Day she goes
Or Day she stays
Are equally supreme --
Existence has a stated width
Departed, or at Home --...Read more of this...
by
Thomas Hardy
Perhaps, long hence, when I have passed away,
Some other’s feature, accent, thought like mine,
Will carry you back to what I used to say,
And bring some memory of your love’s decline.
Then you may pause awhile and think, “Poor jade!”
And yield a sigh to me—as gift benign,
Not as the tittle of a debt unpaid
To one...Read more of this...
by
George Meredith
By this he knew she wept with waking eyes:
That, at his hand's light quiver by her head,
The strange low sobs that shook their common bed
Were called into her with a sharp surprise,
And strangled mute, like little gaping snakes,
Dreadfully venomous to him. She lay
Stone-still, and the long darkness flowed away
With muffled pulses. Then, as midnight makes
Her giant heart of Memory...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
She staked her Feathers -- Gained an Arc --
Debated -- Rose again --
This time -- beyond the estimate
Of Envy, or of Men --
And now, among Circumference --
Her steady Boat be seen --
At home -- among the Billows -- As
The Bough where she was born --...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
She laid her docile Crescent down
And this confiding Stone
Still states to Dates that have forgot
The News that she is gone --
So constant to its stolid trust,
The Shaft that never knew --
It shames the Constancy that fled
Before its emblem flew --...Read more of this...
by
Samuel Butler
i
She was too kind, wooed too persistently,
Wrote moving letters to me day by day;
The more she wrote, the more unmoved was I,
The more she gave, the less could I repay.
Therefore I grieve, not that I was not loved,
But that, being loved, I could not love again.
I liked, but like and love are far removed;
Hard though I tried to love I...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
No Notice gave She, but a Change --
No Message, but a Sigh --
For Whom, the Time did not suffice
That She should specify.
She was not warm, though Summer shone
Nor scrupulous of cold
Though Rime by Rime, the steady Frost
Upon Her Bosom piled --
Of shrinking ways -- she did not fright
Though all the Village looked --
But held Her gravity aloft --
And met...Read more of this...
by
Emily Brontë
She dried her tears and they did smile
To see her cheeks' returning glow
How little dreaming all the while
That full heart throbbed to overflow
With that sweet look and lively tone
And bright eye shining all the day
They could not guess at midnight lone
How she would weep the time away...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
She hideth Her the last --
And is the first, to rise --
Her Night doth hardly recompense
The Closing of Her eyes --
She doth Her Purple Work --
And putteth Her away
In low Apartments in the Sod -
As worthily as We.
To imitate her life
As impotent would be
As make of Our imperfect Mints,
The Julep -- of the Bee --...Read more of this...
by
Daisy Fried
Oh, she was sad, oh, she was sad.
She didn't mean to do it.
Certain thrills stay tucked in your limbs,
go no further than your fingers, move your legs through their paces,
but no more. Certain thrills knock you flat
on your sheets on your bed in your room and you fade
and they fade. You falter and they're gone, gone, gone.
Certain thrills puff...Read more of this...
by
Robert Louis Stevenson
AT last she comes, O never more
In this dear patience of my pain
To leave me lonely as before,
Or leave my soul alone again....Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
HAD I the wyte, had I the wyte,
Had I the wyte? she bade me;
She watch’d me by the hie-gate side,
And up the loan she shaw’d me.
And when I wadna venture in,
A coward loon she ca’d me:
Had Kirk an’ State been in the gate,
I’d lighted when she bade me.
Sae craftilie she took me ben,
And bade...Read more of this...
by
Thomas Hardy
THEY bear him to his resting-place--
In slow procession sweeping by;
I follow at a stranger's space;
His kindred they, his sweetheart I.
Unchanged my gown of garish dye,
Though sable-sad is their attire;
But they stand round with griefless eye,
Whilst my regret consumes like fire!...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
SAE flaxen were her ringlets,
Her eyebrows of a darker hue,
Bewitchingly o’er-arching
Twa laughing e’en o’ lovely blue;
Her smiling, sae wyling.
Wad make a wretch forget his woe;
What pleasure, what treasure,
Unto these rosy lips to grow!
Such was my Chloris’ bonie face,
When first that bonie face I saw;
And aye my Chloris’ dearest charm—
She says, she lo’es me...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
The last Night that She lived
It was a Common Night
Except the Dying -- this to Us
Made Nature different
We noticed smallest things --
Things overlooked before
By this great light upon our Minds
Italicized -- as 'twere.
As We went out and in
Between Her final Room
And Rooms where Those to be alive
Tomorrow were, a Blame
That Others could exist
While She must finish quite
A Jealousy for...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
She died at play,
Gambolled away
Her lease of spotted hours,
Then sank as gaily as a Turn
Upon a Couch of flowers.
Her ghost strolled softly o'er the hill
Yesterday, and Today,
Her vestments as the silver fleece --
Her countenance as spray....Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
Most she touched me by her muteness --
Most she won me by the way
She presented her small figure --
Plea itself -- for Charity --
Were a Crumb my whole possession --
Were there famine in the land --
Were it my resource from starving --
Could I such a plea withstand --
Not upon her knee to thank me
Sank this Beggar from the Sky...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
Her Grace is all she has --
And that, so least displays --
One Art to recognize, must be,
Another Art, to praise....Read more of this...
by
Nick Flynn
At the end there were straws
in her glove compartment, I'd split them open
to taste the familiar bitter residue, near the end
I ate all her Percodans, hungry to know
how far they could take me.
A bottle of red wine each night moved her along
as she wrote, I feel too much, again and again.
You asked how and I said, Suicide, and...Read more of this...
by
Thomas Hardy
There was a time in former years--
While my roof-tree was his--
When I should have been distressed by fears
At such a night as this!
I should have murmured anxiously,
'The prickling rain strikes cold;
His road is bare of hedge or tree,
And he is getting old.'
But now the fitful chimney-roar,
The drone of Thorncombe trees,
The Froom...Read more of this...
by
Ogden Nash
Unwillingly Miranda wakes,
Feels the sun with terror,
One unwilling step she takes,
Shuddering to the mirror.
Miranda in Miranda's sight
Is old and gray and dirty;
Twenty-nine she was last night;
This morning she is thirty.
Shining like the morning star,
Like the twilight shining,
Haunted by a calendar,
Miranda is a-pining.
Silly girl, silver girl,
Draw the...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
She slept beneath a tree --
Remembered but by me.
I touched her Cradle mute --
She recognized the foot --
Put on her carmine suit
And see!...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
She rose to His Requirement -- dropt
The Playthings of Her Life
To take the honorable Work
Of Woman, and of Wife --
If ought She missed in Her new Day,
Of Amplitude, or Awe --
Or first Prospective -- Or the Gold
In using, wear away,
It lay unmentioned -- as the Sea
Develop Pearl, and Weed,
But only to Himself -- be known
The Fathoms they abide --...Read more of this...
by
Rabindranath Tagore
When she passed by me with quick
steps, the end of her skirt touched
me.
From the unknown island of a
heart came a sudden warm breath of
spring.
A flutter of a flitting touch brushed
me and vanished in a moment, like a
torn flower petal blown in the breeze.
It fell upon my heart like a sigh of
her body and whisper of her heart....Read more of this...
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