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

Famous Short Summer Poems

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

Other Short Poem Pages


Poems are below...


Summer | Short Famous Poems and Poets

 
by Emily Bronte

Love and Friendship

 Love is like the wild rose-briar,
Friendship like the holly-tree --
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms
But which will bloom most contantly?
The wild-rose briar is sweet in the spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again
And who wil call the wild-briar fair?
Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now
And deck thee with the holly's sheen,
That when December blights thy brow
He may still leave thy garland green.


by Robert Louis Stevenson

Autumn Fires

 In the other gardens 
And all up the vale, 
From the autumn bonfires 
See the smoke trail! 

Pleasant summer over 
And all the summer flowers, 
The red fire blazes, 
The grey smoke towers.
Sing a song of seasons! Something bright in all! Flowers in the summer, Fires in the fall!


by Carl Sandburg

Under the Harvest Moon

 Under the harvest moon,
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.
Under the summer roses When the flagrant crimson Lurks in the dusk Of the wild red leaves, Love, with little hands, Comes and touches you With a thousand memories, And asks you Beautiful, unanswerable questions.


by Emily Dickinson

Summer has two Beginnings --

 Summer has two Beginnings --
Beginning once in June --
Beginning in October
Affectingly again --

Without, perhaps, the Riot
But graphicker for Grace --
As finer is a going
Than a remaining Face --

Departing then -- forever --
Forever -- until May --
Forever is deciduous
Except to those who die --


by Yosa Buson

Early summer rain

 Early summer rain--
houses facing the river,
 two of them


by Adrian Green

Luna Lake Haiku

 New moon on the lake.
Your voice and the nightingale serenade springtime.
Full moon on the lake.
Your voice and the waterbirds celebrate summer.
Old moon on the lake.
Owls hunting autumnal food - your voice still singing.


by Raymond Carver

The Best Time Of The Day

 Cool summer nights.
Windows open.
Lamps burning.
Fruit in the bowl.
And your head on my shoulder.
These the happiest moments in the day.
Next to the early morning hours, of course.
And the time just before lunch.
And the afternoon, and early evening hours.
But I do love these summer nights.
Even more, I think, than those other times.
The work finished for the day.
And no one who can reach us now.
Or ever.


by William Butler Yeats

A Man Young And Old: VIII. Summer And Spring

 We sat under an old thorn-tree
And talked away the night,
Told all that had been said or done
Since first we saw the light,
And when we talked of growing up
Knew that we'd halved a soul
And fell the one in t'other's arms
That we might make it whole;
Then peter had a murdering look,
For it seemed that he and she
Had spoken of their childish days
Under that very tree.
O what a bursting out there was, And what a blossoming, When we had all the summer-time And she had all the spring!


by Henry David Thoreau

On Fields Oer Which the Reapers Hand has Passed

 On fields o'er which the reaper's hand has pass'd
Lit by the harvest moon and autumn sun,
My thoughts like stubble floating in the wind
And of such fineness as October airs,
There after harvest could I glean my life
A richer harvest reaping without toil,
And weaving gorgeous fancies at my will
In subtler webs than finest summer haze.


by Hilaire Belloc

September

 Lo! a ripe sheaf of many golden days 
Gleaned by the year in autumn's harvest ways, 
With here and there, blood-tinted as an ember, 
Some crimson poppy of a late delight 
Atoning in its splendor for the flight 
Of summer blooms and joys­
This is September.


by Nikki Giovanni

Knoxville Tennessee

 I always like summer
Best
you can eat fresh corn
From daddy's garden
And okra
And greens
And cabbage
And lots of
Barbeque
And buttermilk
And homemade ice-cream
At the church picnic
And listen to
Gospel music
Outside
At the church
Homecoming
And go to the mountains with
Your grandmother
And go barefooted
And be warm
All the time
Not only when you go to bed
And sleep


by William Shakespeare

Fairy Land iv

 WHERE the bee sucks, there suck I: 
In a cowslip's bell I lie; 
There I couch when owls do cry.
On the bat's back I do fly After summer merrily: Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.


by Kobayashi Issa

Summer night

 Summer night--
even the stars
are whispering to each other.


by Emily Dickinson

A little Snow was here and there

 A little Snow was here and there
Disseminated in her Hair --
Since she and I had met and played
Decade had gathered to Decade --

But Time had added not obtained
Impregnable the Rose
For summer too indelible
Too obdurate for Snows --


by Emily Dickinson

To see the Summer Sky

 To see the Summer Sky
Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie --
True Poems flee --


by Percy Bysshe Shelley

A Lament

O WORLD! O Life! O Time! 
On whose last steps I climb  
Trembling at that where I had stood before; 
When will return the glory of your prime? 
No more¡ªoh never more! 5 

Out of the day and night 
A joy has taken flight: 
Fresh spring and summer and winter hoar 
Move my faint heart with grief but with delight 
No more¡ªoh never more! 10 


by Ogden Nash

Oh To Be Odd!

 Hypochondriacs
Spend the winter at the bottom of Florida and the summer on top of
the Adirondriacs.
You go to Paris and live on champagne wine and cognac If you're dipsomognac.
If you're a manic-depressive You don't go anywhere where you won't be cheered up, and people say "There, there!" if your bills are excessive.
But you stick around and work day and night and night and day with your nose to the sawmill.
If you're nawmill.
Note: Dipsomaniac -- alcoholic


by Emily Dickinson

Did We abolish Frost

 Did We abolish Frost
The Summer would not cease --
If Seasons perish or prevail
Is optional with Us --


by Emily Dickinson

Revolution is the Pod

 Revolution is the Pod
Systems rattle from
When the Winds of Will are stirred
Excellent is Bloom

But except its Russet Base
Every Summer be
The Entomber of itself,
So of Liberty --

Left inactive on the Stalk
All its Purple fled
Revolution shakes it for
Test if it be dead.


by Spike Milligan

Summer Dawn

 My sleeping children are still flying dreams 
in their goose-down heads.
The lush of the river singing morning songs Fish watch their ceilings turn sun-white.
The grey-green pike lances upstream Kale, like mermaid's hair points the water's drift.
All is morning hush and bird beautiful.
I only, I didn't have flu.


by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Aftermath

 When the summer fields are mown, 
When the birds are fledged and flown, 
And the dry leaves strew the path; 
With the falling of the snow, 
With the cawing of the crow, 
Once again the fields we mow 
And gather in the aftermath.
Not the sweet, new grass with flowers Is this harvesting of ours; Not the upland clover bloom; But the rowen mixed with weeds, Tangled tufts from marsh and meads, Where the poppy drops its seeds In the silence and the gloom.


by Ogden Nash

I Didnt Go To Church Today

 I didn't go to church today,
I trust the Lord to understand.
The surf was swirling blue and white, The children swirling on the sand.
He knows, He knows how brief my stay, How brief this spell of summer weather, He knows when I am said and done We'll have plenty of time together.


by Sylvia Plath

Frog Autumn

 Summer grows old, cold-blooded mother.
The insects are scant, skinny.
In these palustral homes we only Croak and wither.
Mornings dissipate in somnolence.
The sun brightens tardily Among the pithless reeds.
Flies fail us.
he fen sickens.
Frost drops even the spider.
Clearly The genius of plenitude Houses himself elsewhwere.
Our folk thin Lamentably.


by Emily Dickinson

After all Birds have been investigated and laid aside --

 After all Birds have been investigated and laid aside --
Nature imparts the little Blue-Bird -- assured
Her conscientious Voice will soar unmoved
Above ostensible Vicissitude.
First at the March -- competing with the Wind -- Her panting note exalts us -- like a friend -- Last to adhere when Summer cleaves away -- Elegy of Integrity.


by Emily Dickinson

A lane of Yellow led the eye

 A lane of Yellow led the eye
Unto a Purple Wood
Whose soft inhabitants to be
Surpasses solitude
If Bird the silence contradict
Or flower presume to show
In that low summer of the West
Impossible to know --