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 Sandra Cisneros
23 Sarojini Naidu
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 Alexander Pushkin
42 Percy Bysshe Shelley
43 Henry David Thoreau
44 Thunchaththu Ramanujan Ezhuthachan
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 Song Poems

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

Other Short Poem Pages


Poems are below...


Song | Short Famous Poems and Poets

 
by William Shakespeare

A Fairy Song

 Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire!
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon's sphere;
And I serve the Fairy Queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green;
The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favours;
In those freckles live their savours;
I must go seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.


by Oscar Wilde

IN THE FOREST

 Out of the mid-wood's twilight
Into the meadow's dawn,
Ivory limbed and brown-eyed,
Flashes my Faun!

He skips through the copses singing,
And his shadow dances along,
And I know not which I should follow,
Shadow or song!

O Hunter, snare me his shadow!
O Nightingale, catch me his strain!
Else moonstruck with music and madness
I track him in vain!


by Gwendolyn Brooks

The Crazy Woman

 I shall not sing a May song.
A May song should be gay.
I'll wait until November And sing a song of gray.
I'll wait until November That is the time for me.
I'll go out in the frosty dark And sing most terribly.
And all the little people Will stare at me and say, "That is the Crazy Woman Who would not sing in May.
"


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 Rabindranath Tagore

The Boat

 I must launch out my boat.
The languid hours pass by on the shore---Alas for me! The spring has done its flowering and taken leave.
And now with the burden of faded futile flowers I wait and linger.
The waves have become clamorous, and upon the bank in the shady lane the yellow leaves flutter and fall.
What emptiness do you gaze upon! Do you not feel a thrill passing through the air with the notes of the far-away song floating from the other shore?


by Alexander Pushkin

The Dream

 Not long ago, in a charming dream,
I saw myself -- a king with crown's treasure;
I was in love with you, it seemed,
And heart was beating with a pleasure.
I sang my passion's song by your enchanting knees.
Why, dreams, you didn't prolong my happiness forever? But gods deprived me not of whole their favor: I only lost the kingdom of my dreams.


by Stevie Smith

Happiness

 Happiness is silent, or speaks equivocally for friends,
Grief is explicit and her song never ends,
Happiness is like England, and will not state a case,
Grief, like Guilt, rushes in and talks apace.


by Langston Hughes

Juke Box Love Song

 I could take the Harlem night
and wrap around you,
Take the neon lights and make a crown,
Take the Lenox Avenue busses,
Taxis, subways,
And for your love song tone their rumble down.
Take Harlem's heartbeat, Make a drumbeat, Put it on a record, let it whirl, And while we listen to it play, Dance with you till day-- Dance with you, my sweet brown Harlem girl.


by Mark Twain

Those Annual Bills

 These annual bills! these annual bills!
How many a song their discord trills
Of "truck" consumed, enjoyed, forgot,
Since I was skinned by last year's lot!

Those joyous beans are passed away;
Those onions blithe, O where are they?
Once loved, lost, mourned--now vexing ILLS
Your shades troop back in annual bills!

And so 'twill be when I'm aground
These yearly duns will still go round,
While other bards, with frantic quills,
Shall damn and damn these annual bills!


by Dorothy Parker

Lines On Reading Too Many Poets

 Roses, rooted warm in earth,
Bud in rhyme, another age;
Lilies know a ghostly birth
Strewn along a patterned page;
Golden lad and chimbley sweep
Die; and so their song shall keep.
Wind that in Arcadia starts In and out a couplet plays; And the drums of bitter hearts Beat the measure of a phrase.
Sweets and woes but come to print Quae cum ita sint.


by Langston Hughes

Minstrel Man

 Because my mouth
Is wide with laughter
And my throat
Is deep with song, 
You do not think 
I suffer after
I have held my pain
So long?

Because my mouth 
Is wide with laughter, 
You do not hear
My inner cry? 
Because my feet
Are gay with dancing, 
You do not know 
I die?


by William Carlos (WCW) Williams

A Sort Of A Song

 Let the snake wait under
his weed
and the writing
be of words, slow and quick, sharp
to strike, quiet to wait,
sleepless.
—through metaphor to reconcile the people and the stones.
Compose.
(No ideas but in things) Invent! Saxifrage is my flower that splits the rocks.


by George Herbert

Easter Song

 I Got me flowers to straw Thy way, 
I got me boughs off many a tree; 
But Thou wast up by break of day, 
And brought’st Thy sweets along with Thee.
The sunne arising in the East, Though he give light, and th’ East perfume, If they should offer to contest With Thy arising, they presume.
Can there be any day but this, Though many sunnes to shine endeavour? We count three hundred, but we misse: There is but one, and that one ever.


by Robert Frost

A Minor Bird

 I have wished a bird would fly away,
And not sing by my house all day;

Have clapped my hands at him from the door
When it seemed as if I could bear no more.
The fault must partly have been in me.
The bird was not to blame for his key.
And of course there must be something wrong In wanting to silence any song.


by Anne Waldman

Number Song

 I've multiplied, I'm 2.
He was part of me he came out of me, he took a part of me He took me apart.
I'm 2, he's my art, no, he's separate.
He art one.
I'm not done & I'm still one.
I sing of my son.
I've multiplied.
My heart's in 2, half to him & half to you, who are also a part of him, & you & he & I make trio of kind congruity.


by Spike Milligan

Teeth

 English Teeth, English Teeth! 
Shining in the sun 
A part of British heritage 
Aye, each and every one.
English Teeth, Happy Teeth! Always having fun Clamping down on bits of fish And sausages half done.
English Teeth! HEROES' Teeth! Hear them click! and clack! Let's sing a song of praise to them - Three Cheers for the Brown Grey and Black.


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 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 Anna Akhmatova

And As Its Going..

An as it's going often at love's breaking,
The ghost of first days came again to us,
The silver willow through window then stretched in,
The silver beauty of her gentle branches.
The bird began to sing the song of light and pleasure To us, who fears to lift looks from the earth, Who are so lofty, bitter and intense, About days when we were saved together.


by Sara Teasdale

My Heart Is Heavy

 My heart is heavy with many a song
Like ripe fruit bearing down the tree, 
But I can never give you one --
My songs do not belong to me.
Yet in the evening, in the dusk When moths go to and fro, In the gray hour if the fruit has fallen, Take it, no one will know.


by Christina Rossetti

Song (She Sat And Sang Alway)

 She sat and sang alway
By the green margin of a stream,
Watching the fishes leap and play
Beneath the glad sunbeam.
I sat and wept alway Beneath the moon's most shadowy beam, Watching the blossoms of the May Weep leaves into the stream.
I wept for memory; She sang for hope that is so fair: My tears were swallowed by the sea; Her songs died on the air.


by Sara Teasdale

Houses Of Dreams

 You took my empty dreams
 And filled them every one
With tenderness and nobleness,
 April and the sun.
The old empty dreams Where my thoughts would throng Are far too full of happiness To even hold a song.
Oh, the empty dreams were dim And the empty dreams were wide, They were sweet and shadowy houses Where my thoughts could hide.
But you took my dreams away And you made them all come true -- My thoughts have no place now to play, And nothing now to do.


by Ezra Pound

Ancient Music

 Winter is icummen in, 
Lhude sing Goddamm.
Raineth drop and staineth slop, And how the wind doth ramm! Sing: Goddamm.
Skiddeth bus and sloppeth us, An ague hath my ham.
Freezeth river, turneth liver, Damn you, sing: Goddamm.
Goddamm, Goddamm, 'tis why I am, Goddamm, So 'gainst the winter's balm.
Sing goddamm, damm, sing Goddamm.
Sing goddamm, sing goddamm, DAMM.
A parody of the Anglo-Saxon poem, Cuckoo Song


by Barry Tebb

UPON BEING ASKED WHY I AM NOT WRITING

 Too much gone wrong – 

No Muse, no song.


by Wang Wei

A FARM-HOUSE ON THE WEI RIVER

In the slant of the sun on the country-side, 
Cattle and sheep trail home along the lane; 
And a rugged old man in a thatch door 
Leans on a staff and thinks of his son, the herdboy.
There are whirring pheasants? full wheat-ears, Silk-worms asleep, pared mulberry-leaves.
And the farmers, returning with hoes on their shoulders, Hail one another familiarly.
.
.
.
No wonder I long for the simple life And am sighing the old song, Oh, to go Back Again!







...