Famous Short Paradise Poems

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

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by Louise Gluck

 The great man turns his back on the island.

Now he will not die in paradise
nor hear again
the lutes of paradise among the olive trees,
by the clear pools under the cypresses.
 Time

begins now, in which he hears again
that pulse which is the narrative
sea, ar dawn when its pull is stongest.

What has brought us here
will lead us away; our ship
sways in the tined harbor water.


Now the spell is ended.

Giove him back his life,
sea that can only move forward.

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by Emily Dickinson

Heaven is what I cannot reach!
   The apple on the tree,
Provided it do hopeless hang,
   That "heaven" is, to me.


The color on the cruising cloud,
   The interdicted ground
Behind the hill, the house behind, --
   There Paradise is found!

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by Emily Dickinson

 A Coffin -- is a small Domain,
Yet able to contain
A Citizen of Paradise
In it diminished Plane.


A Grave -- is a restricted Breadth --
Yet ampler than the Sun --
And all the Seas He populates
And Lands He looks upon

To Him who on its small Repose
Bestows a single Friend --
Circumference without Relief --
Or Estimate -- or End --

---

by Emily Dickinson

 I dwell in Possibility --
A fairer House than Prose --
More numerous of Windows --
Superior -- for Doors --

Of Chambers as the Cedars --
Impregnable of Eye --
And for an Everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky --

Of Visitors -- the fairest --
For Occupation -- This --
The spreading wide of narrow Hands
To gather Paradise --

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by Paul Laurence Dunbar

 "No, the serpent did not
Seduce Eve to the apple.

All that's simply
Corruption of the facts.


Adam ate the apple.

Eve ate Adam.

The serpent ate Eve.

This is the dark intestine.


The serpent, meanwhile,
Sleeps his meal off in Paradise -
Smiling to hear
God's querulous calling.
"

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by Emily Dickinson

 "Remember me" implored the Thief!
Oh Hospitality!
My Guest "Today in Paradise"
I give thee guaranty.


That Courtesy will fair remain
When the Delight is Dust
With which we cite this mightiest case
Of compensated Trust.


Of all we are allowed to hope
But Affidavit stands
That this was due where most we fear
Be unexpected Friends.

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by Emily Dickinson

 Should you but fail at -- Sea --
In sight of me --
Or doomed lie --
Next Sun -- to die --
Or rap -- at Paradise -- unheard
I'd harass God
Until he let you in!

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by Kathleen Raine

 Where is the seed 
Of the tree felled, 
Of the forest burned, 
Or living root 
Under ash and cinders? 
From woven bud 
What last leaf strives 
Into life, last 
Shrivelled flower?
Is fruit of our harvest,
Our long labour
Dust to the core?
To what far, fair land 
Borne on the wind 
What winged seed 
Or spark of fire 
From holocaust 
To kindle a star?

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by Emily Dickinson

 "Unto Me?" I do not know you --
Where may be your House?

"I am Jesus -- Late of Judea --
Now -- of Paradise" --

Wagons -- have you -- to convey me?
This is far from Thence --

"Arms of Mine -- sufficient Phaeton --
Trust Omnipotence" --

I am spotted -- "I am Pardon" --
I am small -- "The Least
Is esteemed in Heaven the Chiefest --
Occupy my House" --

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by Emily Dickinson

 Superiority to Fate
Is difficult to gain
'Tis not conferred of Any
But possible to earn

A pittance at a time
Until to Her surprise
The Soul with strict economy
Subsist till Paradise.

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by Coventry Patmore

 Ah, wasteful woman, she who may 
On her sweet self set her own price, 
Knowing men cannot choose but pay, 
How she has cheapen'd paradise; 
How given for nought her priceless gift, 
How spoil'd the bread and spill'd the wine, 
Which, spent with due, respective thrift, 
Had made brutes men, and men divine.

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by Charles Bukowski

 "They only burn themselves to reach Paradise"
 - Mne.
 Nhu

original courage is good,
motivation be damned,
and if you say they are trained
to feel no pain,
are they
guarenteed this?
is it still not possible
to die for somebody else?

you sophisticates
who lay back and
make statements of explanation,
I have seen the red rose burning
and this means more.

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by Isaac Watts

 Joy in heaven for a repenting sinner.


Luke 15:7,10.
 

Who can describe the joys that rise
Through all the courts of Paradise,
To see a prodigal return,
To see an heir of glory born?

With joy the Father doth approve
The fruit of his eternal love;
The Son with joy looks down and sees
The purchase of his agonies.


The Spirit takes delight to view
The holy soul he formed anew;
And saints and angels join to sing,
The growing empire of their King.

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by Robert Louis Stevenson

 FAIR Isle at Sea - thy lovely name
Soft in my ear like music came.

That sea I loved, and once or twice
I touched at isles of Paradise.

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by Emily Dickinson

 It knew no Medicine --
It was not Sickness -- then --
Nor any need of Surgery --
And therefore -- 'twas not Pain --

It moved away the Cheeks --
A Dimple at a time --
And left the Profile -- plainer --
And in the place of Bloom

It left the little Tint
That never had a Name --
You've seen it on a Cast's face --
Was Paradise -- to blame --

If momently ajar --
Temerity -- drew near --
And sickened -- ever afterward
For Somewhat that it saw?

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by Ruth Stone

Here is not exactly here
because it passed by there
two seconds ago;
where it will not come back.

Although you adjust to this- 
it's nothing, you say,
just the way it is.

How poor we are,
with all this running
through our fingers.

"Here," says the Devil,
"Eat.
 It's Paradise.
" 

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by Emily Dickinson

Me! Come! My dazzled face
In such a shining place!

Me! Hear! My foreign ear
The sounds of welcome near!

The saints shall meet
Our bashful feet.


My holiday shall be
That they remember me;

My paradise, the fame
That they pronounce my name.

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by Ezra Pound

 I have tried to write Paradise

Do not move
Let the wind speak
that is paradise.


Let the Gods forgive what I
have made
Let those I love try to forgive
what I have made.

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by Emily Dickinson

 "Heaven" -- is what I cannot reach!
The Apple on the Tree --
Provided it do hopeless -- hang --
That -- "Heaven" is -- to Me!

The Color, on the Cruising Cloud --
The interdicted Land --
Behind the Hill -- the House behind --
There -- Paradise -- is found!

Her teasing Purples -- Afternoons --
The credulous -- decoy --
Enamored -- of the Conjuror --
That spurned us -- Yesterday!

---

by Emily Dickinson

Me! Come! My dazzled face
In such a shining place!

Me! Hear! My foreign ear
The sounds of welcome near!

The saints shall meet
Our bashful feet.


My holiday shall be
That they remember me;

My paradise, the fame
That they pronounce my name.

---

by Emily Dickinson

 I never felt at Home -- Below --
And in the Handsome Skies
I shall not feel at Home -- I know --
I don't like Paradise --

Because it's Sunday -- all the time --
And Recess -- never comes --
And Eden'll be so lonesome
Bright Wednesday Afternoons --

If God could make a visit --
Or ever took a Nap --
So not to see us -- but they say
Himself -- a Telescope

Perennial beholds us --
Myself would run away
From Him -- and Holy Ghost -- and All --
But there's the "Judgement Day"!

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by Osip Mandelstam

 A flame is in my blood
burning dry life, to the bone.

I do not sing of stone,
now, I sing of wood.


It is light and coarse:
made of a single spar,
the oak’s deep heart,
and the fisherman’s oar.


Drive them deep, the piles:
hammer them in tight,
around wooden Paradise,
where everything is light.

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by Anne Kingsmill Finch

 The Tree of Knowledge we in Eden prov'd; 
The Tree of Life was thence to Heav'n remov'd: 
Hope is the growth of Earth, the only Plant, 
Which either Heav'n, or Paradise cou'd want.
 


Hell knows it not, to Us alone confin'd, 
And Cordial only to the Human Mind.
 
Receive it then, t'expel these mortal Cares, 
Nor wave a Med'cine, which thy God prepares.

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by Omar Khayyam

In the mosque, in the medresseh [school annexed to
the mosque], in the church, and in the synagogue, they
have a horror of Hell and seek for Paradise, but the seed
of such disquiet never germinates in the hearts of those
who penetrate the secrets of the All-Powerful.

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by Emily Dickinson

A shady friend for torrid days
Is easier to find
Than one of higher temperature
For frigid hour of mind.


The vane a little to the east
Scares muslin souls away;
If broadcloth breasts are firmer
Than those of organdy,

Who is to blame? The weaver?
Ah! the bewildering thread!
The tapestries of paradise!
So notelessly are made!

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