Tls 1522 1A One Involved With Poor...
Crosswords1 min ago
Which Is The Best Poem You Have Ever Read?
138 Answers
Lets share your best poem that you love most
Answers
Best Answer
No best answer has yet been selected by ashishsharma. Once a best answer has been selected, it will be shown here.
For more on marking an answer as the "Best Answer", please visit our FAQ.
The Way of It by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
This is the way of it, wide world over,
One is beloved, and one is the lover,
One gives and the other receives.
One lavishes all in a wild emotion,
One offers a smile for a life’s devotion,
One hopes and the other believes,
One lies awake in the night to weep,
And the other drifts off in a sweet sound sleep.
One soul is aflame with a godlike passion,
One plays with love in an idler’s fashion,
One speaks and the other hears.
One sobs, ‘I love you, ’ and wet eyes to show it,
And one laughs lightly, and says, ‘I know it, ’
With smiles for the other’s tears.
One lives for the other and nothing beside,
And the other remembers the world is wide.
This is the way of it, sad earth over,
The heart that breaks is the heart of the lover,
And the other learns to forget.
‘For what is the use in endless sorrow?
Though the sun goes down, it will rise tomorrow;
And life is not over yet.’
Oh! I know this truth, if I know no other,
That passionate Love is Pain’s own mother.
This is the way of it, wide world over,
One is beloved, and one is the lover,
One gives and the other receives.
One lavishes all in a wild emotion,
One offers a smile for a life’s devotion,
One hopes and the other believes,
One lies awake in the night to weep,
And the other drifts off in a sweet sound sleep.
One soul is aflame with a godlike passion,
One plays with love in an idler’s fashion,
One speaks and the other hears.
One sobs, ‘I love you, ’ and wet eyes to show it,
And one laughs lightly, and says, ‘I know it, ’
With smiles for the other’s tears.
One lives for the other and nothing beside,
And the other remembers the world is wide.
This is the way of it, sad earth over,
The heart that breaks is the heart of the lover,
And the other learns to forget.
‘For what is the use in endless sorrow?
Though the sun goes down, it will rise tomorrow;
And life is not over yet.’
Oh! I know this truth, if I know no other,
That passionate Love is Pain’s own mother.
While i will admit to being quite moved by some poetry, it is the funnier ones i tend to recall. Especially those of Spike Milligan. Here's one of his better efforts, imho;
'Have A Nice Day' by Spike Milligan
"Help, help!" said a man, "I'm drowning."
"Hang on," said a man from the shore.
"Help, help!," said the man, "I'm not clowning."
"Yes i know, i heard you before.
Be patient, dear man who is drowning.
You see, i've got a disease
And i'm waiting for a Doctor J Browning
So do be patient, please."
"How long" said the man who was drowning
"Will it take for the doctor to arrive?"
"Not very long," said the man with the disease
"Till then, try staying alive."
"Very well," said the man who was drowning
"I'll try and stay afloat
By reciting the poems of Browning
And other things he wrote."
"Help, help!" said the man with the disease
"I suddenly feel quite ill."
"Keep calm," said the man who was drowning
"Breathe deeply and lie quite still."
"Oh dear," said the man with the awful disease
"I think i'm going to die."
"Farewell" said the man who was drowning
Said the man with the disease, "Goodbye."
So the man who was drowning, drownded
And the man with the disease passed away
But apart from that, and a fire in my flat
It's been a very nice day
'Have A Nice Day' by Spike Milligan
"Help, help!" said a man, "I'm drowning."
"Hang on," said a man from the shore.
"Help, help!," said the man, "I'm not clowning."
"Yes i know, i heard you before.
Be patient, dear man who is drowning.
You see, i've got a disease
And i'm waiting for a Doctor J Browning
So do be patient, please."
"How long" said the man who was drowning
"Will it take for the doctor to arrive?"
"Not very long," said the man with the disease
"Till then, try staying alive."
"Very well," said the man who was drowning
"I'll try and stay afloat
By reciting the poems of Browning
And other things he wrote."
"Help, help!" said the man with the disease
"I suddenly feel quite ill."
"Keep calm," said the man who was drowning
"Breathe deeply and lie quite still."
"Oh dear," said the man with the awful disease
"I think i'm going to die."
"Farewell" said the man who was drowning
Said the man with the disease, "Goodbye."
So the man who was drowning, drownded
And the man with the disease passed away
But apart from that, and a fire in my flat
It's been a very nice day
I love Bob Dylan, Paul Simon, Don Maclean and Leonard Cohen, really jealous I wasn't young in the 60's. This is one of my favourite Leonard Cohen poems / songs, it's a thing of beauty.
It's four in the morning, the end of December
I'm writing you now just to see if you're better
New York is cold, but I like where I'm living
There's music on Clinton Street all through the evening
I hear that you're building your little house deep in the desert
You're living for nothing now, I hope you're keeping some kind of record
Yes, and Jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
That night that you planned to go clear
Did you ever go clear?
Ah, the last time we saw you you looked so much older
Your famous blue raincoat was torn at the shoulder
You'd been to the station to meet every train, and
You came home without Lili Marlene
And you treated my woman to a flake of your life
And when she came back she was nobody's wife
Well I see you there with the rose in your teeth
One more thin gypsy thief
Well, I see Jane's awake
She sends her regards
And what can I tell you my brother, my killer
What can I possibly say?
I guess that I miss you, I guess I forgive you
I'm glad you stood in my way
If you ever come by here, for Jane or for me
Well, your enemy is sleeping, and his woman is free
Yes, and thanks, for the trouble you took from her eyes
I thought it was there for good so I never tried
And Jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
That night that you planned to go clear
Sincerely, L Cohen
It's four in the morning, the end of December
I'm writing you now just to see if you're better
New York is cold, but I like where I'm living
There's music on Clinton Street all through the evening
I hear that you're building your little house deep in the desert
You're living for nothing now, I hope you're keeping some kind of record
Yes, and Jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
That night that you planned to go clear
Did you ever go clear?
Ah, the last time we saw you you looked so much older
Your famous blue raincoat was torn at the shoulder
You'd been to the station to meet every train, and
You came home without Lili Marlene
And you treated my woman to a flake of your life
And when she came back she was nobody's wife
Well I see you there with the rose in your teeth
One more thin gypsy thief
Well, I see Jane's awake
She sends her regards
And what can I tell you my brother, my killer
What can I possibly say?
I guess that I miss you, I guess I forgive you
I'm glad you stood in my way
If you ever come by here, for Jane or for me
Well, your enemy is sleeping, and his woman is free
Yes, and thanks, for the trouble you took from her eyes
I thought it was there for good so I never tried
And Jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
That night that you planned to go clear
Sincerely, L Cohen
Must admit to not recalling this one by Spike. But, just to prove he wasn't all fun and frivolity;
'The Soldiers At Lauro' by Spike Milligan
Young are our dead, like babies they lie
The wombs they blest once, not healed dry
And yet - too soon, into each space
A cold earth falls on colder face
Quite still they lie, these fresh cut reeds
Clutched in earth like winter seeds
But they will not bloom when called by spring
To burst with leaf and blossoming
They sleep on in silent dust
As crosses rot and helmets rust
'The Soldiers At Lauro' by Spike Milligan
Young are our dead, like babies they lie
The wombs they blest once, not healed dry
And yet - too soon, into each space
A cold earth falls on colder face
Quite still they lie, these fresh cut reeds
Clutched in earth like winter seeds
But they will not bloom when called by spring
To burst with leaf and blossoming
They sleep on in silent dust
As crosses rot and helmets rust
One of my favourites:-
The Road Not Taken
BY ROBERT FROST
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
The Road Not Taken
BY ROBERT FROST
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Many …. but the one that springs instantly to mind is ‘The Life that I Have’ by Leo Marks, which he gave to Violette Szabo just before she left England for her fatal mission in Nazi-occupied France.
The life that I have
Is all that I have
And the life that I have
Is yours.
The love that I have
Of the life that I have
Is yours and yours and yours.
A sleep I shall have
A rest I shall have
Yet death will be but a pause.
For the peace of my years
In the long green grass
Will be yours and yours and yours.
The life that I have
Is all that I have
And the life that I have
Is yours.
The love that I have
Of the life that I have
Is yours and yours and yours.
A sleep I shall have
A rest I shall have
Yet death will be but a pause.
For the peace of my years
In the long green grass
Will be yours and yours and yours.
Mine is by John Masefield
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over
Related Questions
Sorry, we can't find any related questions. Try using the search bar at the top of the page to search for some keywords, or choose a topic and submit your own question.