Short Poetry by Popular Famous Poets

 Poet
1 William Wordsworth
2 William Shakespeare
3 Oscar Wilde
4 Emily Dickinson
5 Rabindranath Tagore
6 Maya Angelou
7 Robert Frost
8 Langston Hughes
9 Walt Whitman
10 Shel Silverstein
11 William Blake
12 Pablo Neruda
13 Rudyard Kipling
14 Sylvia Plath
15 Alfred Lord Tennyson
16 William Butler Yeats
17 Tupac Shakur
18 Edward Estlin (E E) Cummings
19 Charles Bukowski
20 Sarojini Naidu
21 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
22 Muhammad Ali
23 Christina Rossetti
24 Billy Collins
25 Alice Walker
26 Sandra Cisneros
27 Ogden Nash
28 Carol Ann Duffy
29 John Donne
30 Edgar Allan Poe
31 Ralph Waldo Emerson
32 Raymond Carver
33 Nikki Giovanni
34 John Keats
35 Lewis Carroll
36 Spike Milligan
37 Thunchaththu Ramanujan Ezhuthachan
38 Thomas Hardy
39 Mark Twain
40 Carl Sandburg
41 Percy Bysshe Shelley
42 Anne Sexton
43 Alexander Pushkin
44 Roger McGough
45 Henry David Thoreau
46 Wendell Berry
47 Sara Teasdale
48 Victor Hugo
49 Elizabeth Barrett Browning
50 George (Lord) Byron

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Famous Short For Her Poems

Famous Short For Her Poems. Short For Her Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best For Her short poems

Other Short Poem Pages


Poems are below...


For Her | Short Famous Poems and Poets

 
by Emily Dickinson

A Bee his burnished Carriage

 A Bee his burnished Carriage
Drove boldly to a Rose --
Combinedly alighting --
Himself -- his Carriage was --
The Rose received his visit
With frank tranquillity
Withholding not a Crescent
To his Cupidity --
Their Moment consummated --
Remained for him -- to flee --
Remained for her -- of rapture
But the humility.


by Emily Dickinson

The earth has many keys

 The earth has many keys,
Where melody is not
Is the unknown peninsula.
Beauty is nature's fact.
But witness for her land, And witness for her sea, The cricket is her utmost Of elegy to me.


by William Butler Yeats

A Man Young And Old: III. The Mermaid

 A mermaid found a swimming lad,
Picked him for her own,
Pressed her body to his body,
Laughed; and plunging down
Forgot in cruel happiness
That even lovers drown.


by Emily Dickinson

Apology for Her

 Apology for Her
Be rendered by the Bee --
Herself, without a Parliament
Apology for Me.


by Percy Bysshe Shelley

A widow bird sate mourning for her Love

A WIDOW bird sate mourning for her Love 
Upon a wintry bough; 
The frozen wind crept on above  
The freezing stream below.
There was no leaf upon the forest bare.
5 No flower upon the ground And little motion in the air Except the mill-wheel's sound.


by Rabindranath Tagore

Lovers Gifts IV: She Is Near to My Heart

 She is near to my heart as the meadow-flower to the earth; she is
sweet to me as sleep is to tired limbs.
My love for her is my life flowing in its fullness, like a river in autumn flood, running with serene abandonment.
My songs are one with my love, like the murmur of a stream, that sings with all its waves and current.


by Carl Sandburg

Baby Face

 WHITE MOON comes in on a baby face.
The shafts across her bed are flimmering.
Out on the land White Moon shines, Shines and glimmers against gnarled shadows, All silver to slow twisted shadows Falling across the long road that runs from the house.
Keep a little of your beauty And some of your flimmering silver For her by the window to-night Where you come in, White Moon.


by Sir Thomas Wyatt

With Serving Still

 With serving still 
This I have won, 
For my goodwill 
To be undone.
And for redress Of all my pain, Disdainfulness I have again.
And for reward Of all my smart, Lo, thus unheard, I must depart.
Wherefore all ye That after shall By fortune be, As I am, thrall, Example take What I have won, Thus for her sake To be undone.


by Rabindranath Tagore

Lovers Gifts XLVII: The Road Is

 The road is my wedded companion.
She speaks to me under my feet all day, she sings to my dreams all night.
My meeting with her had no beginning, it begins endlessly at each daybreak, renewing its summer in fresh flowers and songs, and her every new kiss is the first kiss to me.
The road and I are lovers.
I change my dress for her night after night, leaving the tattered cumber of the old in the wayside inns when the day dawns.


by Elinor Wylie

Phases of the Moon

 Once upon a time I heard 
That the flying moon was a Phoenix bird; 
Thus she sails through windy skies, 
Thus in the willow's arms she lies; 
Turn to the East or turn to the West 
In many trees she makes her nest.
When she's but a pearly thread Look among birch leaves overhead; When she dies in yellow smoke Look in a thunder-smitten oak; But in May when the moon is full, Bright as water and white as wool, Look for her where she loves to be, Asleep in a high magnolia tree.


by Carl Sandburg

Helga

 THE WISHES on this child’s mouth
Came like snow on marsh cranberries;
The tamarack kept something for her;
The wind is ready to help her shoes.
The north has loved her; she will be A grandmother feeding geese on frosty Mornings; she will understand Early snow on the cranberries Better and better then.


by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Archys Song from Charles the First

 Heigho! the lark and the owl! 
One flies the morning, and one lulls the night:
Only the nightingale, poor fond soul,
Sings like the fool through darkness and light.
"A widow bird sate mourning for her love Upon a wintry bough; The frozen wind crept on above, The freezing stream below.
"There was no leaf upon the forest bare, No flower upon the ground, And little motion in the air Except the mill-wheel's sound.
"


by Robert Herrick

An Epitaph Upon A Virgin

 Here a solemn fast we keep,
While all beauty lies asleep;
Hushed be all things, no noise here,
But the toning of a tear,
Or the sigh of such as bring
Cowslips for her covering.


by Emily Dickinson

All that I do

 All that I do
Is in review
To his enamored mind
I know his eye
Where e'er I ply
Is pushing close behind
Not any Port
Nor any flight
But he doth there preside
What omnipresence lies in wait
For her to be a Bride


by John Matthew

Sonnet for Mother

 Decked in blooms,
Swaddled in gold filigreed shrouds, 
Smeared with perfumes,
She traveled into the clouds.
A life of love lived, A life of more giving than taking, Living a life of tears shed, Turnings, and missed crossings.
She lies still beside father, In an earthen grave dug for her, On ere visits she knew this sepulcher, And, with her man, she would rest there.
There is a time when we all connect And then we all must self-destruct.


by Hilda Doolittle

From Citron-Bower

 From citron-bower be her bed, 
cut from branch of tree a-flower, 
fashioned for her maidenhead.
From Lydian apples, sweet of hue, cut the width of board and lathe, carve the feet from myrtle-wood.
Let the palings of her bed be quince and box-wood overlaid with the scented bark of yew.
That all the wood in blossoming, may calm her heart and cool her blood, for losing of her maidenhood.


by Delmore Schwartz

O Love Sweet Animal

 O Love, dark animal,
With your strangeness go
Like any freak or clown:
Appease tee child in her
Because she is alone
Many years ago
Terrified by a look
Which was not meant for her.
Brush your heavy fur Against her, long and slow Stare at her like a book, Her interests being such No one can look too much.
Tell her how you know Nothing can be taken Which has not been given: For you time is forgiven: Informed by hell and heaven You are not mistaken


by Ellis Parker Butler

Ridden Down

 When I taught Ida how to ride a
 Bicycle that night,
I ran beside her, just to guide her
 Erring wheel aright;
And many times there in the street
She rode upon my weary feet.
But now can Ida mount and ride a Wheel with graceful ease, And I, untiring in admiring, Fall upon my knees To worship her,—and, for her part, She rides upon my proffered heart!


by Laurence Binyon

O World be Nobler

 O WORLD, be nobler, for her sake! 
 If she but knew thee what thou art, 
What wrongs are borne, what deeds are done 
In thee, beneath thy daily sun, 
 Know'st thou not that her tender heart 
For pain and very shame would break? 
O World, be nobler, for her sake!


by William Browne

Song

 FOR her gait, if she be walking;
Be she sitting, I desire her
For her state's sake; and admire her
For her wit if she be talking;
Gait and state and wit approve her;
For which all and each I love her.
Be she sullen, I commend her For a modest.
Be she merry, For a kind one her prefer I.
Briefly, everything doth lend her So much grace, and so approve her, That for everything I love her.


by Edna St Vincent Millay

Chorus

 Give away her gowns,
Give away her shoes;
She has no more use
For her fragrant gowns;
Take them all down,
Blue, green, blue,
Lilac, pink, blue,
From their padded hangers;
She will dance no more
In her narrow shoes;
Sweep her narrow shoes
From the closet floor.


by Bliss Carman

Why

 FOR a name unknown,
Whose fame unblown
Sleeps in the hills
For ever and aye;

For her who hears
The stir of the years
Go by on the wind
By night and day;

And heeds no thing
Of the needs of spring,
Of autumn's wonder
Or winter's chill;

For one who sees
The great sun freeze,
As he wanders a-cold
From hill to hill;

And all her heart
Is a woven part
Of the flurry and drift
Of whirling snow;

For the sake of two
Sad eyes and true,
And the old, old love
So long ago.


by James Joyce

Simples

 O bella bionda,
Sei come l'onda!


Of cool sweet dew and radiance mild
The moon a web of silence weaves
In the still garden where a child
Gathers the simple salad leaves.
A moondew stars her hanging hair And moonlight kisses her young brow And, gathering, she sings an air: Fair as the wave is, fair, art thou! Be mine, I pray, a waxen ear To shield me from her childish croon And mine a shielded heart for her Who gathers simples of the moon.


by Ezra Pound

Fan-Piece For Her Imperial Lord

 O fan of white silk,
clear as frost on the grass-blade,

You also are laid aside.


by Robert Herrick

UPON THE LOSS OF HIS MISTRESSES

 I have lost, and lately, these
Many dainty mistresses:--
Stately Julia, prime of all;
Sapho next, a principal:
Smooth Anthea, for a skin
White, and heaven-like crystalline:
Sweet Electra, and the choice
Myrha, for the lute and voice.
Next, Corinna, for her wit, And the graceful use of it; With Perilla:--All are gone; Only Herrick's left alone, For to number sorrow by Their departures hence, and die.