Famous Yet Poems by Famous Poets
These are examples of famous Yet poems written by some of the greatest and most-well-known modern and classical poets. PoetrySoup is a great educational poetry resource of famous yet poems. These examples illustrate what a famous yet poem looks like and its form, scheme, or style (where appropriate).
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by
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Oh, yet we trust that somehow good
Will be the final end of ill,
To pangs of nature, sins of will,
Defects of doubt, and taints of blood;
That nothing walks with aimless feet;
That not one life shall be destroy'd,
Or cast as rubbish to the void,
When God hath made the pile complete;
That not a worm is cloven in vain;
That not a moth with...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
I sued the News -- yet feared -- the News
That such a Realm could be --
"The House not made with Hands" it was --
Thrown open wide to me --...Read more of this...
by
Michael Drayton
Yet read at last the story of my woe,
The dreary abstracts of my endless cares,
With my life's sorrow interlined so,
Smok'd with my sighs and blotted with my tears,
The sad memorials of my miseries,
Penn'd in the grief of mine afflicted ghost,
My life's complaint in doleful elegies,
With so pure love as Time could never...Read more of this...
by
Yosa Buson
Not quite dark yet
and the stars shining
above the withered fields....Read more of this...
by
John Berryman
Supreme my holdings, greater yet my need,
thoughtless I go out. Dawn. Have I my cig's,
my flaskie O,
O crystal cock,-”my kneel has gone to seed,-”
and anybody's blessing? (Blast the MIGs
for making funble so
my tardy readying.) Yes, utter' that.
Anybody's blessing? -”Mr Bones,
you makes too much
démand. I might be 'fording you a hat:
it gonna rain. -”I knew a one of groans
& greed...Read more of this...
by
Czeslaw Milosz
And yet the books will be there on the shelves, separate beings,
That appeared once, still wet
As shining chestnuts under a tree in autumn,
And, touched, coddled, began to live
In spite of fires on the horizon, castles blown up,
Tribes on the march, planets in motion.
“We are, ” they said, even as their pages
Were being torn out, or a buzzing flame
Licked away...Read more of this...
by
Omar Khayyam
O Love! while yet you can, with tender art,
Lift sorrow's burden from your lover's heart;
Your wealth of graces will not always last,
But slip from your possession, and depart!...Read more of this...
by
Robert Seymour Bridges
While yet we wait for spring, and from the dry
And blackening east that so embitters March,
Well-housed must watch grey fields and meadows parch,
And driven dust and withering snowflake fly;
Already in glimpses of the tarnish'd sky
The sun is warm and beckons to the larch,
And where the covert hazels interarch
Their tassell'd twigs, fair beds...Read more of this...
by
Robert Burns
MY love, she’s but a lassie yet,
My love, she’s but a lassie yet;
We’ll let her stand a year or twa,
She’ll no be half sae saucy yet;
I rue the day I sought her, O!
I rue the day I sought her, O!
Wha gets her needs na say she’s woo’d,
But he may say he’s bought her, O.
...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
Under the Light, yet under,
Under the Grass and the Dirt,
Under the Beetle's Cellar
Under the Clover's Root,
Further than Arm could stretch
Were it Giant long,
Further than Sunshine could
Were the Day Year long,
Over the Light, yet over,
Over the Arc of the Bird --
Over the Comet's chimney --
Over the Cubit's Head,
Further than Guess can gallop
Further than Riddle ride --
Oh for a Disc to...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
I haven't told my garden yet --
Lest that should conquer me.
I haven't quite the strength now
To break it to the Bee --
I will not name it in the street
For shops would stare at me --
That one so shy -- so ignorant
Should have the face to die.
The hillsides must not know it --
Where I have rambled so --
Nor tell the...Read more of this...
by
Robert Browning
You'll love me yet!—and I can tarry
Your love's protracted growing:
June reared that bunch of flowers you carry
From seeds of April's sowing.
I plant a heartful now: some seed
At least is sure to strike,
And yield—what you'll not pluck indeed,
Not love, but, may be, like!
You'll look at least on love's remains,
A grave's one violet:
Your look?—that pays a thousand pains.
What's death?—You'll love me...Read more of this...
by
Sir Thomas Wyatt
Forget not yet the tried intent
Of such a truth as I have meant
My great travail so gladly spent
Forget not yet.
Forget not yet when first began
The weary life ye knew, since whan
The suit, the service, none tell can,
Forget not yet.
Forget not yet the great assays,
The cruel wrongs, the scornful ways,
The painful patience...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
Struck, was I, not yet by Lightning --
Lightning -- lets away
Power to perceive His Process
With Vitality.
Maimed -- was I -- yet not by Venture --
Stone of stolid Boy --
Nor a Sportsman's Peradventure --
Who mine Enemy?
Robbed -- was I -- intact to Bandit --
All my Mansion torn --
Sun -- withdrawn to Recognition --
Furthest shining -- done --
Yet was not the...Read more of this...
by
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore—
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart...Read more of this...
by
Omar Khayyam
I wasted life in hope, yet gathered not
In all my life of happiness one jot;
Now my fear is that life may not endure.
Till I have taken vengeance on my lot!...Read more of this...
by
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Say over again, and yet once over again,
That thou dost love me. Though the word repeated
Should seem 'a cuckoo-song,' as thou dost treat it,
Remember, never to the hill or plain,
Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain
Comes the fresh Spring in all her green completed.
Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted
By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt's pain
Cry, 'Speak once more—thou lovest!...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
Those not live yet
Who doubt to live again --
"Again" is of a twice
But this -- is one --
The Ship beneath the Draw
Aground -- is he?
Death -- so -- the Hyphen of the Sea --
Deep is the Schedule
Of the Disk to be --
Costumeless Consciousness --
That is he --...Read more of this...
by
John Wilmot
By all love's soft, yet mighty powers,
It is a thing unfit,
That men should **** in time of flowers,
Or when the smock's beshit.
Fair nasty nymph, be clean and kind,
And all my joys restore;
By using paper still behind,
And sponges for before.
My spotless flames can ne'er decay,
If after every close,
My smoking prick escape the fray,
Without a bloody nose.
If thou would have me...Read more of this...
by
Vachel Lindsay
(What Grandpa told the Children)
The moon? It is a griffin's egg,
Hatching to-morrow night.
And how the little boys will watch
With shouting and delight
To see him break the shell and stretch
And creep across the sky.
The boys will laugh. The little girls,
I fear, may hide and cry.
Yet gentle will the griffin be,
Most decorous and fat,
And walk up to the milky way
And lap...Read more of this...
by
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
And yet, because thou overcomest so,
Because thou art more noble and like a king,
Thou canst prevail against my fears and fling
Thy purple round me, till my heart shall grow
Too close against thine heart henceforth to know
How it shook when alone. Why, conquering
May prove as lordly and complete a thing
In lifting upward, as in crushing low!
And as a vanquished soldier...Read more of this...
by
Lew Welch
Not yet 40, my beard is already white.
Not yet awake, my eyes are puffy and red,
like a child who has cried too much.
What is more disagreeable
than last night's wine?
I'll shave.
I'll stick my head in the cold spring and
look around at the pebbles.
Maybe I can eat a can of peaches.
Then I can finish the rest of the wine,
write poems 'til...Read more of this...
by
Arthur Hugh Clough
"Old things need not be therefore true,"
O brother men, nor yet the new;
Ah! still awhile the old thought retain,
And yet consider it again!
The souls of now two thousand years
Have laid up here their toils and tears,
And all the earnings of their pain,--
Ah, yet consider it again!
We! what do we see? each a space
Of some few yards before his face;
Does...Read more of this...
by
Omar Khayyam
At this moment, when my heart is not yet deprived of
life, it seems to me that there are few problems that I
have not solved. However, when I call intelligence to
my aid, when I examine myself with care, I perceive
that my existence has slipped away and that I have still
defined nothing....Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
It was a Grave, yet bore no Stone
Enclosed 'twas not of Rail
A Consciousness its Acre, and
It held a Human Soul.
Entombed by whom, for what offence
If Home or Foreign born --
Had I the curiosity
'Twere not appeased of men
Till Resurrection, I must guess
Denied the small desire
A Rose upon its Ridge to sow
Or take away a Briar....Read more of this...
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