Famous Short Torch Poems

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

To Eva  

O FAIR and stately maid whose eyes 
Were kindled in the upper skies 
At the same torch that lighted mine; 
For so I must interpret still 
Thy sweet dominion o'er my will 5 
A sympathy divine. 

Ah! let me blameless gaze upon 
Features that seem at heart my own; 
Nor fear those watchful sentinels  
Who charm the more their glance forbids 10 
Chaste-glowing underneath their lids  
With fire that draws while it repels. 

To The Survivors  

 NOW they sing the hero loud; -- 
But they sing him in his shroud. 

Torch he kindled for his land; 
On his brow ye set its brand. 

Taught by him to wield a glaive; 
Through his heart the steel ye drave. 

Trolls he smote in hard-fought fields; 
Ye bore him down 'twixt traitor shields. 

But the shining spoils he won, 
These ye treasure as your own.-- 

Dim them not, that so the dead 
Rest appeased his thorn-crowned head.

The Genius With The Inverted Torch  

 Lovely he looks, 'tis true, with the light of his torch now extinguished;
But remember that death is not aesthetic, my friends!

Torch The  

 ON my northwest coast in the midst of the night, a fishermen’s group stands watching;

Out on the lake, that expands before them, others are spearing salmon; 
The canoe, a dim shadowy thing, moves across the black water, 
Bearing a Torch a-blaze at the prow.

O you who tremble not at fires of hell,  

O you who tremble not at fires of hell,
Nor wash in water of remorse's well,
When winds of death shall quench your vital torch,
Beware lest earth your guilty dust expel.

Man the Man-Hunter  

 I SAW Man, the man-hunter,
Hunting with a torch in one hand
And a kerosene can in the other,
Hunting with guns, ropes, shackles.

 I listened
 And the high cry rang,
The high cry of Man, the man-hunter:
We’ll get you yet, you sbxyzch!

 I listened later.
 The high cry rang:
Kill him! kill him! the sbxyzch!

In the morning the sun saw
Two butts of something, a smoking rump,
And a warning in charred wood:

 Well, we got him,
 the sbxyzch.

See! from the world what profit have I gained?  

See! from the world what profit have I gained?
What fruitage of my life in hand retained?
What use is Jamshid's goblet, once 'tis crushed?
What pleasure's torch, when once its light has waned?

Tell me, friend, have I acquired riches in this world?  

Tell me, friend, have I acquired riches in this world?
No. Have I given myself up to time as it was slipping
away? No. I am the torch of joy; but that torch once
extinguished, I am nothing. I am the cup of Djem [the
royal cup], but that cup once broken, I am no longer
anything.