Short Poetry by Popular Famous Poets

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

Famous Short Society Poems

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

Other Short Poem Pages

Society | Short Famous Poems and Poets

 
by Emily Dickinson

Society for me my misery

 Society for me my misery
Since Gift of Thee --


by Omar Khayyam

Each time you can procure two mens of wine, drink

Each time you can procure two mens of wine, drink
them, in every circumstance, in all society wherever you
may be; for he who does is freed from scornful looks
or gestures of disdain.


by Ben Jonson

To Sir Cod


L.
 ? TO SIR COD.
  
Leave, COD, tobacco-like, burnt gums to take,
Or fumy clysters, thy moist lungs to bake :
Arsenic would thee fit for society make.



by Emily Dickinson

There is a solitude of space

 There is a solitude of space
A solitude of sea
A solitude of death, but these
Society shall be
Compared with that profounder site
That polar privacy
A soul admitted to itself --
Finite infinity.


by Emily Dickinson

Pain has but one Acquaintance

 Pain has but one Acquaintance
And that is Death --
Each one unto the other
Society enough.
Pain is the Junior Party By just a Second's right -- Death tenderly assists Him And then absconds from Sight.


by Emily Dickinson

The grave my little cottage is

 The grave my little cottage is,
Where "Keeping house" for thee
I make my parlor orderly
And lay the marble tea.
For two divided, briefly, A cycle, it may be, Till everlasting life unite In strong society.


by Emily Dickinson

We miss Her not because We see --

 We miss Her, not because We see --
The Absence of an Eye --
Except its Mind accompany
Abridge Society

As slightly as the Routes of Stars --
Ourselves -- asleep below --
We know that their superior Eyes
Include Us -- as they go --


by Omar Khayyam

What belongs to youth is wine, the limpid juice of the

What belongs to youth is wine, the limpid juice of the
vine and the society of beauty; and since water once
brought ruin to this world by annihilating it, it is our
part to drown ourselves in wine, to pass our life in
drunkenness complete.


by Omar Khayyam

In truth, wine is a limpid spirit in the cup; in the body

In truth, wine is a limpid spirit in the cup; in the body
of the flask, it is a transparent soul. No annoying person
is worthy of my society. It is only the cup of wine
which can figure there, for that is at once a solid and a
diaphanous body.


by Omar Khayyam

We have constantly heads overcome with wine; the

We have constantly heads overcome with wine; the
presence of wine alone animates our society. Then
leave off thy counsel, O ignorant penitent! [you see
that] we are the adorers of wine, and that the lips of
the object of our love are turned to our desires.


by Emily Dickinson

Never for Society

 Never for Society
He shall seek in vain --
Who His own acquaintance
Cultivate -- Of Men
Wiser Men may weary --
But the Man within

Never knew Satiety --
Better entertain
Than could Border Ballad --
Or Biscayan Hymn --
Neither introduction
Need You -- unto Him --


by Omar Khayyam

O my King! how can such a man as I, finding himself

O my King! how can such a man as I, finding himself
in the season of roses, in the midst of joyous society,
surrounded by wine, by dancers, remain a passive spectator?
Oh! to find oneself in a garden with a flask of
wine and a lute are things preferable to Paradise with
its houris and its Koocer.


by Walt Whitman

Prairie States The

 A NEWER garden of creation, no primal solitude, 
Dense, joyous, modern, populous millions, cities and farms, 
With iron interlaced, composite, tied, many in one, 
By all the world contributed—freedom’s and law’s and thrift’s society,

The crown and teeming paradise, so far, of time’s accumulations,
To justify the past.


by Victor Hugo

THE BEGGAR'S QUATRAIN

 ("Aveugle comme Homère.") 
 
 {Improvised at the Café de Paris.} 


 Blind, as was Homer; as Belisarius, blind, 
 But one weak child to guide his vision dim. 
 The hand which dealt him bread, in pity kind— 
 He'll never see; God sees it, though, for him. 
 
 H.L.C., "London Society." 


 





by Emily Dickinson

The Soul selects her own Society

 The Soul selects her own Society --
Then -- shuts the Door --
To her divine Majority --
Present no more --

Unmoved -- she notes the Chariots -- pausing --
At her low Gate --
Unmoved -- an Emperor be kneeling
Upon her Mat --

I've known her -- from an ample nation --
Choose One --
Then -- close the Valves of her attention --
Like Stone --


by Emily Dickinson

I went to Heaven

 I went to Heaven --
'Twas a small Town --
Lit -- with a Ruby --
Lathed -- with Down --

Stiller -- than the fields
At the full Dew --
Beautiful -- as Pictures --
No Man drew.
People -- like the Moth -- Of Mechlin -- frames -- Duties -- of Gossamer -- And Eider -- names -- Almost -- contented -- I -- could be -- 'Mong such unique Society --


by Godfrey Mutiso Gorry

PUBLISHERS

 And then they pretend like owls
With marble eyes and wizened stupidity
I do not know why they cannot perceive
True art
But I will write
Until sand evaporates
And the moon consumes the sun
I will write
Even for the sake of art
For myself and for those who feel
Reading could lift them
Into other spheres of fancy
Where thoughts are much clearer
And deeds best described
As a vintage of the self
And society.