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
by
Emily Dickinson
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
William Butler Yeats
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
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
Emily Dickinson
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
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
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
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
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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
Rabindranath Tagore
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
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
Sir Thomas Wyatt
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
John Matthew
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 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
Carl Sandburg
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
Delmore Schwartz
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
Robert Herrick
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
Edna St Vincent Millay
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
Emily Dickinson
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
Robert Herrick
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.
by
Ezra Pound
O fan of white silk,
clear as frost on the grass-blade,
You also are laid aside.
by
James Joyce
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
Laurence Binyon
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
Ellis Parker Butler
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
Bliss Carman
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
George William Russell
DOES the earth grow grey with grief
For her hero darling fled?
Though her vales let fall no leaf,
In our hearts her tears are shed.
Still the stars laugh on above:
Not to them her grief is said;
Mourning for her hero love
In our hearts the tears are shed.
We her children mourn for him,
Mourn the elder hero dead;
In the twilight grey and dim
In our hearts the tears are shed.