Famous Thing Is Poems by Famous Poets
These are examples of famous Thing Is poems written by some of the greatest and most-well-known modern and classical poets. PoetrySoup is a great educational poetry resource of famous thing is poems. These examples illustrate what a famous thing is poem looks like and its form, scheme, or style (where appropriate).
See also:
by
Philip Larkin
This is the first thing
I have understood:
Time is the echo of an axe
Within a wood....Read more of this...
by
John Berryman
There sat down, once, a thing on Henry's heart
só heavy, if he had a hundred years
& more, & weeping, sleepless, in all them time
Henry could not make good.
Starts again always in Henry's ears
the little cough somewhere, an odour, a chime.
And there is another thing he has in mind
like a grave Sienese face a thousand years
would fail to blur the...Read more of this...
by
George Meredith
How many a thing which we cast to the ground,
When others pick it up becomes a gem!
We grasp at all the wealth it is to them;
And by reflected light its worth is found.
Yet for us still 'tis nothing! and that zeal
Of false appreciation quickly fades.
This truth is little known to human shades,
How...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
Art thou the thing I wanted?
Begone -- my Tooth has grown --
Supply the minor Palate
That has not starved so long --
I tell thee while I waited
The mystery of Food
Increased till I abjured it
And dine without Like God --
--
Art thou the thing I wanted?
Begone -- my Tooth has grown --
Affront a minor palate
Thou could'st not goad so long --
I tell...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
A solemn thing -- it was -- I said --
A woman -- white -- to be --
And wear -- if God should count me fit --
Her blameless mystery --
A hallowed thing -- to drop a life
Into the purple well --
Too plummetless -- that it return --
Eternity -- until --
I pondered how the bliss would look --
And would it feel...Read more of this...
by
Alfred Lord Tennyson
How thought you that this thing could captivate?
What are those graces that could make her dear,
Who is not worth the notice of a sneer,
To rouse the vapid devil of her hate?
A speech conventional, so void of weight,
That after it has buzzed about one's ear,
'Twere rich refreshment for a week to hear
The dentist...Read more of this...
by
Kobayashi Issa
What a strange thing!
to be alive
beneath cherry blossoms....Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
I asked no other thing --
No other -- was denied --
I offered Being -- for it --
The Mighty Merchant sneered --
Brazil? He twirled a Button --
Without a glance my way --
"But -- Madam -- is there nothing else --
That We can show -- Today?"...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
A Solemn thing within the Soul
To feel itself get ripe --
And golden hang -- while farther up --
The Maker's Ladders stop --
And in the Orchard far below --
You hear a Being -- drop --
A Wonderful -- to feel the Sun
Still toiling at the Cheek
You thought was finished --
Cool of eye, and critical of Work --
He shifts the stem --...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
Chorus.—Bonie wee thing, cannie wee thing,
Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine,
I wad wear thee in my bosom,
Lest my jewel it should tine.
WISHFULLY I look and languish
In that bonie face o’ thine,
And my heart it stounds wi’ anguish,
Lest my wee thing be na mine.
Bonie wee thing, &c.
Wit, and Grace, and Love, and Beauty,
In ae...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
Chorus.—She is a winsome wee thing,
She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a lo’esome wee thing,
This dear wee wife o’ mine.
I NEVER saw a fairer,
I never lo’ed a dearer,
And neist my heart I’ll wear her,
For fear my jewel tine,
She is a winsome, &c.
The warld’s wrack we share o’t;
The warstle and the care o’t;
Wi’ her I’ll blythely...Read more of this...
by
Eugene Field
When baby wakes of mornings,
Then it's wake, ye people all!
For another day
Of song and play
Has come at our darling's call!
And, till she gets her dinner,
She makes the welkin ring,
And she won't keep still till she's had her fill -
The cunnin' little thing!
When baby goes a-walking,
Oh, how her paddies fly!
For that's the way
The babies say
To other folk "by-by";
The trees bend...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
Love -- is that later Thing than Death --
More previous -- than Life --
Confirms it at its entrance -- And
Usurps it -- of itself --
Tastes Death -- the first -- to hand the sting
The Second -- to its friend --
Disarms the little interval --
Deposits Him with God --
Then hovers -- an inferior Guard --
Lest this Beloved Charge
Need -- once...Read more of this...
by
William Carlos (WCW) Williams
Each time it rings
I think it is for
me but it is
not for me nor for
anyone it merely
rings and we
serve it bitterly
together, they and I...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
Death sets a thing significant
The eye had hurried by,
Except a perished creature
Entreat us tenderly
To ponder little workmanships
In crayon or in wool,
With "This was last her fingers did,"
Industrious until
The thimble weighed too heavy,
The stitches stopped themselves,
And then 't was put among the dust
Upon the closet shelves.
A book I have, a friend gave,
Whose pencil, here and there,
Had notched the place that pleased...Read more of this...
by
Wallace Stevens
At the earliest ending of winter,
In March, a scrawny cry from outside
Seemed like a sound in his mind.
He knew that he heard it,
A bird's cry, at daylight or before,
In the early March wind.
The sun was rising at six,
No longer a battered panache above snow...
It would have been outside.
It was not from the vast ventriloquism
Of...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
Opinion is a flitting thing,
But Truth, outlasts the Sun --
If then we cannot own them both --
Possess the oldest one --...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
One thing of it we borrow
And promise to return --
The Booty and the Sorrow
Its Sweetness to have known --
One thing of it we covet --
The power to forget --
The Anguish of the Avarice
Defrays the Dross of it --...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
To do a magnanimous thing
And take oneself by surprise
If oneself is not in the habit of him
Is precisely the finest of Joys --
Not to do a magnanimous thing
Notwithstanding it never be known
Notwithstanding it cost us existence once
Is Rapture herself spurn --...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
"Hope" is the thing with feathers --
That perches in the soul --
And sings the tune without the words --
And never stops -- at all --
And sweetest -- in the Gale -- is heard --
And sore must be the storm --
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm --
I've heard it in the chillest land --
And on the...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me....Read more of this...
by
William Shakespeare
When I consider every thing that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment.
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment.
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheerèd and checked even by the self-same sky,
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory;
Then the conceit of this inconstant...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
The most pathetic thing I do
Is play I hear from you --
I make believe until my Heart
Almost believes it too
But when I break it with the news
You knew it was not true
I wish I had not broken it --
Goliah -- so would you --...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
I tried to think a lonelier Thing
Than any I had seen --
Some Polar Expiation -- An Omen in the Bone
Of Death's tremendous nearness --
I probed Retrieverless things
My Duplicate -- to borrow --
A Haggard Comfort springs
From the belief that Somewhere --
Within the Clutch of Thought --
There dwells one other Creature
Of Heavenly Love -- forgot --
I plucked at our Partition
As One...Read more of this...
by
John Keats
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its lovliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of...Read more of this...
Dont forget to view our wonderful member Thing Is poems.