Short Poetry by Popular Famous Poets

 Poet
1 William Wordsworth
2 William Shakespeare
3 Oscar Wilde
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 William Butler Yeats
16 Rudyard Kipling
17 Tupac Shakur
18 Edward Estlin (E E) Cummings
19 Charles Bukowski
20 Muhammad Ali
21 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
22 Sarojini Naidu
23 Sandra Cisneros
24 Alice Walker
25 Billy Collins
26 Christina Rossetti
27 Carol Ann Duffy
28 Edgar Allan Poe
29 John Donne
30 Ralph Waldo Emerson
31 Nikki Giovanni
32 Raymond Carver
33 John Keats
34 Ogden Nash
35 Lewis Carroll
36 Thomas Hardy
37 Mark Twain
38 Spike Milligan
39 Carl Sandburg
40 Anne Sexton
41 Percy Bysshe Shelley
42 Alexander Pushkin
43 Thunchaththu Ramanujan Ezhuthachan
44 Henry David Thoreau
45 Elizabeth Barrett Browning
46 Roger McGough
47 Sara Teasdale
48 Victor Hugo
49 George (Lord) Byron
50 Gary Soto

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Famous Short Joy Poems

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

Other Short Poem Pages


Poems are below...


Joy | Short Famous Poems and Poets

 
by Sara Teasdale

Longing

 I am not sorry for my soul
That it must go unsatisfied,
For it can live a thousand times,
Eternity is deep and wide.
I am not sorry for my soul, But oh, my body that must go Back to a little drift of dust Without the joy it longed to know.


by Lewis Carroll

Acrostic

 Little maidens, when you look 
On this little story-book, 
Reading with attentive eye 
Its enticing history, 
Never think that hours of play 
Are your only HOLIDAY, 
And that in a HOUSE of joy 
Lessons serve but to annoy: 
If in any HOUSE you find 
Children of a gentle mind, 
Each the others pleasing ever-- 
Each the others vexing never-- 
Daily work and pastime daily 
In their order taking gaily-- 
Then be very sure that they 
Have a life of HOLIDAY.


by Wendell Berry

Like The Water

 Like the water
of a deep stream,
love is always too much.
We did not make it.
Though we drink till we burst, we cannot have it all, or want it all.
In its abundance it survives our thirst.
In the evening we come down to the shore to drink our fill, and sleep, while it flows through the regions of the dark.
It does not hold us, except we keep returning to its rich waters thirsty.
We enter, willing to die, into the commonwealth of its joy.


by Emily Dickinson

A Letter is a joy of Earth --

 A Letter is a joy of Earth --
It is denied the Gods --


by Emily Dickinson

A little Dog that wags his tail

 A little Dog that wags his tail
And knows no other joy
Of such a little Dog am I
Reminded by a Boy

Who gambols all the living Day
Without an earthly cause
Because he is a little Boy
I honestly suppose --

The Cat that in the Corner dwells
Her martial Day forgot
The Mouse but a Tradition now
Of her desireless Lot

Another class remind me
Who neither please nor play
But not to make a "bit of noise"
Beseech each little Boy --


by Ellis Parker Butler

The Rich Boy's Christmas

 And now behold this sulking boy,
His costly presents bring no joy;
Harsh tears of anger fill his eye
Tho’ he has all that wealth can buy.
What profits it that he employs His many gifts to make a noise? His playroom is so placed that he Can cause his folks no agony.
MORAL: Mere worldly wealth does not possess The power of giving happiness.


by Walter de la Mare

How Sleep the Brave

 Nay, nay, sweet England, do not grieve! 
Not one of these poor men who died 
But did within his soul believe 
That death for thee was glorified.
Ever they watched it hovering near That mystery 'yond thought to plumb, Perchance sometimes in loathèd fear They heard cold Danger whisper, Come! -- Heard and obeyed.
O, if thou weep Such courage and honour, beauty, care, Be it for joy that those who sleep Only thy joy could share.


by Sara Teasdale

Buried Love

 I have come to bury Love
 Beneath a tree,
In the forest tall and black
 Where none can see.
I shall put no flowers at his head, Nor stone at his feet, For the mouth I loved so much Was bittersweet.
I shall go no more to his grave, For the woods are cold.
I shall gather as much of joy As my hands can hold.
I shall stay all day in the sun Where the wide winds blow, -- But oh, I shall cry at night When none will know.


by Sarojini Naidu

Autumn Song

 Like a joy on the heart of a sorrow,
 The sunset hangs on a cloud;
A golden storm of glittering sheaves,
Of fair and frail and fluttering leaves,
 The wild wind blows in a cloud.
Hark to a voice that is calling To my heart in the voice of the wind: My heart is weary and sad and alone, For its dreams like the fluttering leaves have gone, And why should I stay behind?


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 Emily Dickinson

Before you thought of spring

Before you thought of spring,
Except as a surmise,
You see, God bless his suddenness,
A fellow in the skies
Of independent hues,
A little weather-worn,
Inspiriting habiliments
Of indigo and brown.
With specimens of song, As if for you to choose, Discretion in the interval, With gay delays he goes To some superior tree Without a single leaf, And shouts for joy to nobody But his seraphic self!


by William Blake

Silent Silent Night

 Silent, silent night,
Quench the holy light
Of thy torches bright;

For possessed of Day
Thousand spirits stray
That sweet joys betray.
Why should joys be sweet Used with deceit, Nor with sorrows meet? But an honest joy Does itself destroy For a harlot coy.


by William Blake

England! awake! awake! awake!

 England! awake! awake! awake! 
Jerusalem thy Sister calls! 
Why wilt thou sleep the sleep of death 
And close her from thy ancient walls? 

Thy hills and valleys felt her feet 
Gently upon their bosoms move: 
Thy gates beheld sweet Zion's ways: 
Then was a time of joy and love.
And now the time returns again: Our souls exult, and London's towers Receive the Lamb of God to dwell In England's green and pleasant bowers.


by William Blake

Infant Joy

 I have no name
I am but two days old.
-- What shall I call thee? I happy am Joy is my name.
-- Sweet joy befall thee! Pretty joy! Sweet joy but two days old.
Sweet joy I call thee; Thou dost smile, I sing the while Sweet joy befall thee.


by Edgar Allan Poe

Hymn

 At morn- at noon- at twilight dim-
Maria! thou hast heard my hymn!
In joy and woe- in good and ill-
Mother of God, be with me still!
When the hours flew brightly by,
And not a cloud obscured the sky,
My soul, lest it should truant be,
Thy grace did guide to thine and thee;
Now, when storms of Fate o'ercast
Darkly my Present and my Past,
Let my Future radiant shine
With sweet hopes of thee and thine!


by Walt Whitman

Bathed in War's Perfume

 BATHED in war’s perfume—delicate flag! 
(Should the days needing armies, needing fleets, come again,) 
O to hear you call the sailors and the soldiers! flag like a beautiful woman! 
O to hear the tramp, tramp, of a million answering men! O the ships they arm with joy! 
O to see you leap and beckon from the tall masts of ships!
O to see you peering down on the sailors on the decks! 
Flag like the eyes of women.


by Spike Milligan

Halved

 The essence of true beauty
Lingers in all-encompassing rainbows
Of your joy and laughter

You hold my hand and smile
As we ensconce ourselves in our world of fire
Our love is all there is

I touch your face
Your gentleness astounds me
I'm held in the honour of your love

Then overnight, the wrold truns suor
61 mInnIts past the ELevenTHH HouRR
I'M A L 0 N E


by William Henry Davies

The Best Friend

  Now shall I walk 
Or shall I ride? 
"Ride", Pleasure said; 
"Walk", Joy replied.
Now what shall I -- Stay home or roam? "Roam", Pleasure said; And Joy -- "stay home.
" Now shall I dance, Or sit for dreams? "Sit," answers Joy; "Dance," Pleasure screams.
Which of ye two Will kindest be? Pleasure laughed sweet, But Joy kissed me.


by Christina Rossetti

De Profundis

 Oh why is heaven built so far,
 Oh why is earth set so remote?
I cannot reach the nearest star
 That hangs afloat.
I would not care to reach the moon, One round monotonous of change; Yet even she repeats her tune Beyond my range.
I never watch the scatter'd fire Of stars, or sun's far-trailing train, But all my heart is one desire, And all in vain: For I am bound with fleshly bands, Joy, beauty, lie beyond my scope; I strain my heart, I stretch my hands, And catch at hope.


by Oscar Wilde

Les Silhouettes

 The sea is flecked with bars of grey,
The dull dead wind is out of tune,
And like a withered leaf the moon
Is blown across the stormy bay.
Etched clear upon the pallid sand Lies the black boat: a sailor boy Clambers aboard in careless joy With laughing face and gleaming hand.
And overhead the curlews cry, Where through the dusky upland grass The young brown-throated reapers pass, Like silhouettes against the sky.


by Louise Gluck

Snowdrops

 Do you know what I was, how I lived? You know
what despair is; then
winter should have meaning for you.
I did not expect to survive, earth suppressing me.
I didn't expect to waken again, to feel in damp earth my body able to respond again, remembering after so long how to open again in the cold light of earliest spring-- afraid, yes, but among you again crying yes risk joy in the raw wind of the new world.


by Allen Ginsberg

Refrain

 The air is dark, the night is sad,
I lie sleepless and I groan.
Nobody cares when a man goes mad: He is sorry, God is glad.
Shadow changes into bone.
Every shadow has a name; When I think of mine I moan, I hear rumors of such fame.
Not for pride, but only shame, Shadow changes into bone.
When I blush I weep for joy, And laughter drops from me like a stone: The aging laughter of the boy To see the ageless dead so coy.
Shadow changes into bone.


by Emily Dickinson

A Drunkard cannot meet a Cork

 A Drunkard cannot meet a Cork
Without a Revery --
And so encountering a Fly
This January Day
Jamaicas of Remembrance stir
That send me reeling in --
The moderate drinker of Delight
Does not deserve the spring --
Of juleps, part are the Jug
And more are in the joy --
Your connoisseur in Liquours
Consults the Bumble Bee --


by Countee Cullen

The Wise

 Dead men are wisest, for they know
How far the roots of flowers go,
How long a seed must rot to grow.
Dead men alone bear frost and rain On throbless heart and heatless brain, And feel no stir of joy or pain.
Dead men alone are satiate; They sleep and dream and have no weight, To curb their rest, of love or hate.
Strange, men should flee their company, Or think me strange who long to be Wrapped in their cool immunity.


by William Henry Davies

The Villain

 While joy gave clouds the light of stars, 
That beamed wher'er they looked; 
And calves and lambs had tottering knees, 
Excited, while they sucked; 
While every bird enjoyed his song, 
Without one thought of harm or wrong-- 
I turned my head and saw the wind, 
Not far from where I stood, 
Dragging the corn by her golden hair, 
Into a dark and lonely wood.