Exploring the Realm of Beautiful Poems

Poetry holds a unique power to capture the ineffable, to articulate profound emotion, and to craft images that linger in the mind long after the last word is read. Among the vast landscape of verse, certain beautiful poems stand out, not just for their technical mastery or insightful themes, but for an intrinsic quality that resonates deeply within us – the quality of pure, arresting beauty. This beauty might lie in a perfect phrase, a striking metaphor, a poignant observation, or the sheer musicality of language. While defining “beauty” in art is inherently subjective, there are poems that consistently evoke a sense of wonder, sorrow, or transcendence, earning their place among the most cherished works.

What makes a poem beautiful is a personal journey for each reader. For some, it’s the stark simplicity that lays bare a universal truth; for others, it’s the intricate tapestry of language and sound that creates a rich sensory experience. This exploration seeks to present some contenders for the title of “most beautiful,” inviting you to discover or rediscover the transcendent power held within their lines.

We begin our journey through this collection of beautiful poems by turning to one of the earliest known lyric poets. The term “lyric” poetry itself derives from the lyre, the instrument used by ancient poets like Sappho of Lesbos to accompany their verses. Often called the Tenth Muse by her contemporaries, Sappho’s legacy endures through fragments of passionate and personal verse, solidifying her place as a foundational figure in the history of lyric poetry and, by extension, song. Her work, though fragmented, offers glimpses into a sensibility deeply attuned to love and human emotion.

Sappho of Lesbos by Marc-Charles-Gabriel Gleyre

Sing, my sacred tortoiseshell lyre;
come, let my word
accompany your voice.
—Sappho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This brief invocation attributed to Sappho highlights the intimate connection between music and poetry in its earliest forms. It sets a tone for the personal and emotional depth that lyric poetry would come to embody, a quality central to many beautiful poems.

Poignant Reflections on Loss and Memory

Some of the most beautiful poems derive their power from their ability to articulate grief and remembrance. The elegiac form, in particular, offers a space for profound reflection on loss. Oscar Wilde, known for his wit and flamboyant public persona, also possessed a deep capacity for tender emotion, evident in his elegy for his sister, Isola.

Requiescat
by Oscar Wilde

Tread lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.

All her bright golden hair
Tarnished with rust,
She that was young and fair
Fallen to dust.

Lily-like, white as snow,
She hardly knew
She was a woman, so
Sweetly she grew.

Coffin-board, heavy stone,
Lie on her breast,
I vex my heart alone,
She is at rest.

Peace, Peace, she cannot hear
Lyre or sonnet,
All my life’s buried here,
Heap earth upon it.

Oscar Wilde portrait with intense gaze

Wilde’s “Requiescat” is a masterpiece of understated sorrow. The simple, almost childlike language, the gentle rhythm, and the vivid, poignant images (daisies growing, golden hair tarnished) create a tender and heartbreaking portrait of a young life lost. The final stanza, with its declaration “All my life’s buried here,” reveals the depth of the speaker’s grief, making this one of the most beautiful poems of mourning.

William Butler Yeats, Ireland’s most celebrated poet, also explored themes of love, loss, and the passage of time with unparalleled grace. His relationship with Maud Gonne, the revolutionary beauty, profoundly influenced much of his work, shaping some of his most moving and beautiful poems.

When You Are Old
by William Butler Yeats

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

Photograph of Maud Gonne in a formal pose

This sonnet, inspired by a poem by Pierre de Ronsard, is a tender and melancholic meditation on enduring love that sees beyond transient beauty. It speaks directly to the beloved, envisioning her in old age and reminding her of the speaker’s unique appreciation for her “pilgrim soul” and “changing face.” The image of Love fleeing to the mountains overhead adds a touch of mythic sadness.

Yeats’s ability to blend personal emotion with natural imagery is further showcased in another highly regarded poem.

The Wild Swans at Coole
by William Butler Yeats

The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine and fifty swans.

The nineteenth Autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.

I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All’s changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.

Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold,
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.

But now they drift on the still water
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake’s edge or pool
Delight men’s eyes, when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?

This poem beautifully captures the speaker’s sense of aging and change by contrasting it with the timeless, vital energy of the wild swans. The swans, always “lover by lover,” seem immune to the passage of time that weighs upon the speaker. This observation makes his heart “sore,” highlighting the poignant beauty of both the unchanging natural world and the changing human condition. The final question about where the swans will go introduces a note of wistful uncertainty, making it a deeply moving piece.

William Dunbar, an early Scottish poet, also crafted verses celebrated for their lyrical beauty. This poem, translated by Michael R. Burch, exemplifies a courtly plea for affection.

Sweet Rose of Virtue
by William Dunbar
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Sweet rose of virtue and of gentleness,
delightful lily of youthful wantonness,
richest in bounty and in beauty clear
and in every virtue men hold most dear
—except only that you are merciless.
Into your garden, today, I followed you;
there I found flowers of freshest hue,
both white and red, delightful to see,
and wholesome herbs, waving resplendently—
yet nowhere one leaf nor petal of rue.

I fear that March with his last arctic blast
has slain my fair flower and left her downcast;
whose piteous death does my heart such pain
that I long to replant love’s root again
—so comforting her bowering leaves have been.

The poem uses rich floral imagery to praise the beloved’s virtues, contrasting her beauty with her perceived lack of pity (“rue”). The final stanzas introduce a dramatic shift, fearing her beauty is gone, and expressing a desire for its return.

The Enduring Power of Love and Memory

The theme of love, in its many facets—romantic, familial, lost, enduring—is central to many beautiful poems. Percy Bysshe Shelley, a key figure of the English Romantic movement, captured the persistence of memory and affection in simple, musical lines.

Music When Soft Voices Die (To —)
by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory—
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heaped for the belovèd’s bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.

Portrait of Percy Bysshe Shelley, a Romantic poet

Shelley’s short poem is a perfect example of how simple, evocative images and a gentle rhythm can create a profound sense of continuity. It suggests that the essence of beautiful things—music, scents, rose leaves, and particularly the thoughts of a beloved person—persists beyond their physical presence. The idea that “Love itself shall slumber on” fueled by memory offers a comforting and beautiful perspective on connection that transcends time and absence, making it a poignant choice among poetry for lovers.

Kevin Nicholas Roberts’ “Rondel” uses the structured form of the rondel to explore the fleeting nature of time and connection.

Rondel
by Kevin N. Roberts

Our time has passed on swift and careless feet,
With sighs and smiles and songs both sad and sweet.
Our perfect hours have grown and gone so fast,
And these are things we never can repeat.
Though we might plead and pray that it would last,
Our time has passed.

Like shreds of mist entangled in a tree,
Like surf and sea foam on a foaming sea,
Like all good things we know can never last,
Too soon we’ll see the end of you and me.
Despite the days and realms that we amassed,
Our time has passed.

The repetition inherent in the rondel form reinforces the central theme: the inevitable passage of time and the ending of shared moments. The use of vivid similes (“Like shreds of mist,” “Like surf and sea foam”) effectively conveys the ephemeral quality of these experiences, lending a beautiful melancholy to the poem.

Louise Bogan, known for her restrained yet deeply emotional verse, contemplates the finality of life and relationships in “Song for the Last Act.”

Song for the Last Act
by Louise Bogan

Now that I have your face by heart, I look
Less at its features than its darkening frame
Where quince and melon, yellow as young flame,
Lie with quilled dahlias and the shepherd’s crook.
Beyond, a garden. There, in insolent ease
The lead and marble figures watch the show
Of yet another summer loath to go
Although the scythes hang in the apple trees.

Now that I have your face by heart, I look.

Now that I have your voice by heart, I read
In the black chords upon a dulling page
Music that is not meant for music’s cage,
Whose emblems mix with words that shake and bleed.
The staves are shuttled over with a stark
Unprinted silence. In a double dream
I must spell out the storm, the running stream.
The beat’s too swift. The notes shift in the dark.

Now that I have your voice by heart, I read.

Now that I have your heart by heart, I see
The wharves with their great ships and architraves;
The rigging and the cargo and the slaves
On a strange beach under a broken sky.
O not departure, but a voyage done!
The bales stand on the stone; the anchor weeps
Its red rust downward, and the long vine creeps
Beside the salt herb, in the lengthening sun.

Now that I have your heart by heart, I see.

Portrait of poet Louise Bogan

Bogan’s “Song for the Last Act” uses repeated refrains to structure its exploration of deeply internalized memory. The poem moves from the visual (“face by heart”) to the auditory (“voice by heart”) and finally to the emotional core (“heart by heart”). Each section presents vivid, sometimes unsettling images—the “darkening frame” of the face, the “stark / Unprinted silence” in music, the final image of a completed, possibly difficult, “voyage.” This structure and the rich, symbolic imagery contribute to its profound and beautiful exploration of intimacy and conclusion.

Bogan’s “Knowledge” offers a stark, minimalist reflection on experience and perspective.

Knowledge
by Louise Bogan

Now that I know
How passion warms little
Of flesh in the mould,
And treasure is brittle,—

I’ll lie here and learn
How, over their ground,
Trees make a long shadow
And a light sound.

This poem’s beauty lies in its brevity and sharp contrast. The first stanza reflects on the limitations and fragility of human pursuits (“passion,” “treasure”). The second turns to the natural world, finding a quiet, enduring wisdom in the simple observations of trees casting shadows and making sound. It suggests a shift in perspective from human striving to natural acceptance, rendered with quiet, elegant precision.

Observing the Natural and Human World

Many beautiful poems find their inspiration in the details of the world around us, whether the vastness of nature or the complexities of human interaction. Elinor Wylie, known for her elegant and sometimes sharp verse, questioned humanity’s self-centered view of sentience.

Cold-Blooded Creatures
by Elinor Wylie

Man, the egregious egoist
(In mystery the twig is bent)
Imagines, by some mental twist,
That he alone is sentient

Of the intolerable load
That on all living creatures lies,
Nor stoops to pity in the toad
The speechless sorrow of his eyes.

He asks no questions of the snake,
Nor plumbs the phosphorescent gloom
Where lidless fishes, broad awake,
Swim staring at a nightmare doom.

Elinor Wylie portrait

Wylie’s poem challenges human exceptionalism by highlighting the perceived “sorrow” and “nightmare doom” of other creatures, suggesting a shared burden of existence. The poem’s beauty lies in its thought-provoking perspective and sharp, precise language that cuts through anthropocentric assumptions.

Pablo Neruda, often hailed as one of the greatest love poets of the 20th century, infused his verses with sensual imagery and expansive emotion.

Every Day You Play
by Pablo Neruda
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Every day you play with Infinity’s rays.
Exquisite visitor, you arrive with the flowers and the water.
You are vastly more than this immaculate head I clasp tightly
like a cornucopia, every day, between my hands …

This excerpt showcases Neruda’s characteristic blend of the sublime and the intimate. The beloved is elevated to a cosmic force (“Infinity’s rays,” “flowers and the water”), yet the poem is grounded in a physical, tender image (“this immaculate head I clasp tightly”). This fusion of vastness and closeness creates a sense of overwhelming admiration and love, a hallmark of Neruda’s beautiful poems.

Moving to ancient Persian poetry, Hafiz offers a vision of happiness as a contagious state.

Infectious!
by Hafiz aka Hafez
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I became infected with happiness tonight
as I wandered idly, singing in the starlight.
Now I’m wonderfully contagious—so kiss me!

This short, joyful poem is beautiful in its simplicity and delightful metaphor. Happiness is treated not just as an internal state but as something tangible and transmissible, culminating in a playful invitation. It’s a burst of pure, lighthearted beauty.

Langston Hughes, a central figure of the Harlem Renaissance, could capture profound emotion with accessible language and powerful imagery.

Island
by Langston Hughes

Wave of sorrow,
Do not drown me now:

I see the island
Still ahead somehow.

I see the island
And its sands are fair:

Wave of sorrow,
Take me there.

This poem is a beautiful expression of hope amidst despair. The “Wave of sorrow” is personified as a threat, but the speaker focuses on the vision of an “island,” a symbol of safety and respite. The simple, song-like structure and repetition emphasize the persistent longing for release from suffering. It’s a powerful and deeply human expression of hope.

Exploring Inner Worlds and Personal Struggles

The confessional poets of the mid-20th century brought a raw, often painful, honesty to their work, transforming personal struggle into powerful art. Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton were pioneers in this movement.

Sylvia Plath’s poems often delve into intense psychological landscapes, marked by vivid, sometimes unsettling, imagery.

Poppies In October
by Sylvia Plath

Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts.
Nor the woman in the ambulance
Whose red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly —

A gift, a love gift
Utterly unasked for
By a sky

Palely and flamily
Igniting its carbon monoxides, by eyes
Dulled to a halt under bowlers.

O my God, what am I
That these late mouths should cry open
In a forest of frost, in a dawn of cornflowers.

Sylvia Plath portrait

“Poppies In October” is a striking example of Plath’s ability to find intense, almost violent beauty in unexpected places. The vibrant redness of the poppies and the “red heart” of the woman in the ambulance stand in sharp contrast to the dullness and indifference of the world around them. The poem’s fragmented structure and powerful imagery create a sense of raw, overwhelming perception, making it a disturbing yet beautiful poem.

Anne Sexton, who studied alongside Plath, also used poetry to explore the intimate and often difficult aspects of her life and psyche.

The Truth the Dead Know
by Anne Sexton

For my Mother, born March 1902, died March 1959
and my Father, born February 1900, died June 1959
Gone, I say and walk from church,
refusing the stiff procession to the grave,
letting the dead ride alone in the hearse.
It is June. I am tired of being brave.

We drive to the Cape. I cultivate
myself where the sun gutters from the sky,
where the sea swings in like an iron gate
and we touch. In another country people die.

My darling, the wind falls in like stones
from the whitehearted water and when we touch
we enter touch entirely. No one’s alone.
Men kill for this, or for as much.

And what of the dead? They lie without shoes
in the stone boats. They are more like stone
than the sea would be if it stopped. They refuse
to be blessed, throat, eye and knucklebone.

Poet Anne Sexton looking contemplative

Sexton’s poem is a powerful and unflinching confrontation with death and grief. It moves from a rejection of conventional mourning rituals to a seeking of solace in the physical world and human connection. The stark imagery (“sea swings in like an iron gate,” the dead in “stone boats”) emphasizes the finality and coldness of death, contrasted with the intense feeling of being alive and connected. Its honesty and vivid imagery contribute to its raw beauty.

Dylan Thomas’s “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night” is a celebrated villanelle, a form known for its recurring lines and intricate structure.

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
by Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

The power of this poem comes from its passionate, insistent plea to resist death. The repetition of the key lines creates a driving, almost desperate rhythm that underscores the intensity of the message. The various examples of men facing death highlight different ways of confronting mortality, but all converge on the central call to “Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” It’s a fierce and moving testament to the will to live.

Thomas also reflected on the nature of his own artistic creation.

In My Craft Or Sullen Art
by Dylan Thomas

In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
With all their griefs in their arms,
I labour by singing light
Not for ambition or bread
Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages
But for the common wages
Of their most secret heart.

Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art.

This poem provides a beautiful statement about the poet’s motivation. Thomas declares that he writes not for fame or money, but for the deepest, most private emotions of ordinary people – the “lovers, their arms / Round the griefs of the ages.” It’s a humble yet profound assertion of the poet’s purpose, connecting individual sorrow and love to universal human experience.

Moments of Quiet Observation

Sometimes, beauty in poetry is found in the careful observation of seemingly ordinary moments, elevated by the poet’s perspective and language. Edward Thomas, less known than some of his contemporaries but much admired, crafted such a moment in “Adlestrop.”

Adlestrop
by Edward Thomas

Yes. I remember Adlestrop—
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.

The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop—only the name

And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.

And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.

“Adlestrop” is a poem about a brief, unexpected stop that becomes a lasting memory. The beauty lies in the poet’s focus on sensory details – the steam hissing, the cleared throat, the list of plants, the song of a blackbird joined by others. The “nothing” that happens is precisely the point; the poem captures a fleeting moment of quiet observation that resonates with unexpected depth and a sense of serene beauty.

Timeless Themes of Love and Existence

Dante Gabriel Rossetti, a key figure in the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, blended medieval romanticism with intense sensuality in his poetry and art. His poem “Sudden Light” explores the mysterious feeling of déjà vu in the context of eternal love.

Sudden Light
by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

I have been here before,
But when or how I cannot tell:
I know the grass beyond the door,
The sweet keen smell,
The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.

You have been mine before,—
How long ago I may not know:
But just when at that swallow’s soar
Your neck turned so,
Some veil did fall,—I knew it all of yore.

Has this been thus before?
And shall not thus time’s eddying flight
Still with our lives our love restore
In death’s despite,
And day and night yield one delight once more?

Painting of Elizabeth Siddal, muse and wife of Dante Gabriel Rossetti

This poem’s beauty lies in its evocative exploration of a timeless connection. The speaker’s sensation of having experienced the setting and the beloved before leads to a philosophical question about the enduring nature of love, even beyond death. The sensory details of the first stanza contrast with the more abstract revelation of recognition in the second, culminating in a hope for eternal return.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s sister, Christina Rossetti, also a celebrated poet, wrote with a distinct voice often marked by themes of faith, mortality, and renunciation. Her poem “Song” is a moving request regarding remembrance after death.

Song
by Christina Rossetti

When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.

This poem’s beauty comes from its quiet acceptance of death and its generous permission for the mourner to remember or forget. The simple imagery of nature – green grass, showers, dewdrops – is comforting, contrasting with the absence of sensory experience for the deceased. The final lines, contemplating the possibility of remembering or forgetting in the afterlife’s “twilight,” add a layer of serene mystery.

Conrad Aiken, an American poet influenced by Modernism, captured the profound impact of a beloved presence on perception in “Bread and Music.”

Bread and Music
by Conrad Aiken

Music I heard with you was more than music,
And bread I broke with you was more than bread;
Now that I am without you, all is desolate;
All that was once so beautiful is dead.

Your hands once touched this table and this silver,
And I have seen your fingers hold this glass.
These things do not remember you, belovèd,
And yet your touch upon them will not pass.

For it was in my heart you moved among them,
And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes;
And in my heart they will remember always,—
They knew you once, O beautiful and wise.

Aiken’s poem is a testament to the transformative power of shared experience. The simple acts of hearing music and breaking bread were elevated by the beloved’s presence. Her absence renders the world desolate, yet the memory of her touch endures, not in the objects themselves, but in the speaker’s heart. This focus on the heart as the true locus of memory and blessing makes it a deeply touching and beautiful poem about love and loss. For more adorable poems for her or i love you girlfriend poem, you might find inspiration in poets who capture such tender sentiment.

D. H. Lawrence, widely known for his novels, also wrote poetry exploring themes of memory, sensuality, and the natural world. “Piano” delves into the pull of childhood nostalgia.

Piano
by D. H. Lawrence

Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings.
In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song
Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong
To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside
And hymns in the cozy parlor, the tinkling piano our guide.
So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamor
With the great black piano appassionato. The glamour
Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast
Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.

Lawrence’s poem beautifully captures the overwhelming sensation of being transported back to childhood by music. The vivid image of the child under the piano, feeling the vibrations and seeing the mother’s feet, is incredibly sensory and specific. The contrast between the present moment and the powerful pull of memory highlights the bittersweet nature of nostalgia. The poem ends with the speaker weeping “like a child for the past,” acknowledging the enduring hold of these tender memories.

Edna St. Vincent Millay was a prominent voice in American poetry, celebrated for her lyrical skill and explorations of female independence and sexuality.

I, Being Born a Woman, and Distressed
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

I, being born a woman, and distressed
By all the needs and notions of my kind,
Am urged by your propinquity to find
Your person fair, and feel a certain zest
To bear your body’s weight upon my breast:
So subtly is the fume of life designed,
To clarify the pulse and cloud the mind,
And leave me once again undone, possessed.
Think not for this, however, this poor treason
Of my stout blood against my staggering brain,
I shall remember you with love, or season
My scorn with pity — let me make it plain:
I find this frenzy insufficient reason
For conversation when we meet again.

Edna St. Vincent Millay portrait

Millay’s sonnet is a bold assertion of emotional autonomy. It acknowledges physical attraction (“frenzy,” “treason / Of my stout blood”) but firmly distinguishes it from deeper feelings like love or respect. The speaker makes it clear that physical intimacy alone is not sufficient ground for a meaningful connection. The poem’s beauty lies in its directness, its confident voice, and its exploration of female desire and independence. For more on dickinsons poems and other early American voices, explore our collection.

Anna Akhmatova and Marina Tsvetaeva, two giants of Russian poetry, exchanged powerful poetic tributes. Akhmatova’s brief poem invokes the Muse, connecting to the ancient tradition mentioned earlier with Sappho.

THE MUSE
by Anna Akhmatova
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My being hangs by a thread tonight
as I await a Muse no human pen can command.
The desires of my heart — youth, liberty, glory —
now depend on the Maid with the flute in her hand.

Look! Now she arrives; she flings back her veil;
I meet her grave eyes — calm, implacable, pitiless.
“Temptress, confess!
Are you the one who gave Dante hell?”

She answers, “Yes.”

This intense poem personifies the Muse as a powerful, even fearsome, figure upon whom the poet’s creative life depends. The final exchange, linking the Muse to Dante’s suffering, suggests that artistic inspiration can be both a source of glory and immense pain. Its dramatic tension and evocative portrayal of the creative force contribute to its arresting beauty.

Tsvetaeva’s excerpt dedicated to Akhmatova is a poem of profound admiration and reverence.

Excerpt from “Poems for Akhmatova”
by Marina Tsvetaeva
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

You outshine everything, even the sun at its zenith. The stars are yours!
If only I could sweep like the wind through some unbarred door,
gratefully, to where you are … to hesitantly stammer, suddenly shy,
lowering my eyes before you, my lovely mistress, petulant, chastened, overcome by tears,
as a child sobs to receive forgiveness …

This poem’s beauty lies in its hyperbolic expression of awe and devotion. The speaker elevates Akhmatova to a cosmic status (“outshine everything,” “The stars are yours”) and imagines approaching her with the humility and vulnerability of a child seeking forgiveness. It’s a powerful depiction of the impact one artist can have on another.

Emily Dickinson, known for her unique style and reclusive life, also explored themes of nature, consciousness, and the sacred with profound beauty.

Come Slowly, Eden
by Emily Dickinson

Come slowly—Eden—
Lips unused to thee—
Bashful—sip thy jasmines—
As the fainting bee—

Reaching late his flower,
Round her chamber hums—
Counts his nectars—alights—
And is lost in balms!

This poem, typical of Dickinson’s style with its dashes and slant rhyme, describes the cautious approach to a state of paradise or intense pleasure. The imagery of the bee approaching a flower serves as a beautiful metaphor for hesitant entry into a state of bliss. The senses are heightened – sipping jasmines, humming, counting nectars, being lost in balms. The poem captures the delicate, overwhelming nature of encountering profound delight. To delve deeper into the unique world of dickinsons poems, explore our dedicated resources.

The Fleeting Nature of Beauty and Life

Many beautiful poems contemplate the transient nature of beauty, youth, and life itself, often finding a poignant beauty in this very transience. Edmund Waller’s “Go, Lovely Rose” uses the rose as a metaphor for the beloved’s beauty and the need to seize the day.

Go, Lovely Rose
by Edmund Waller

Go, lovely Rose,—
Tell her that wastes her time and me,
That now she knows,
When I resemble her to thee,
How sweet and fair she seems to be.

Tell her that’s young,
And shuns to have her graces spied,
That hadst thou sprung
In deserts where no men abide,
Thou must have uncommended died.

Small is the worth
Of beauty from the light retir’d:
Bid her come forth,
Suffer herself to be desir’d,
And not blush so to be admir’d.

Then die, that she
The common fate of all things rare
May read in thee;
How small a part of time they share,
That are so wondrous sweet and fair.

The poem’s persuasive charm lies in its elegant comparison of the beloved to a rose, urging her to display her beauty before it fades, just as the rose must bloom and then die. The final stanza’s stark image of the dying rose serves as a powerful memento mori, lending a serious, reflective layer to the poem’s seemingly lighthearted plea.

Wallace Stevens, known for his philosophical and abstract poetry, could also ground his ideas in evocative sensory experience, as seen in an excerpt from “Sunday Morning.”

VIII — from “Sunday Morning”
by Wallace Stevens

She hears, upon that water without sound,
A voice that cries, “The tomb in Palestine
Is not the porch of spirits lingering.
It is the grave of Jesus, where he lay.”
We live in an old chaos of the sun,
Or old despondency of day and night,
Or island solitude, unsponsored, free,
Of that wide water, inescapable.
Deer walk upon our mountains, and the quail
Whistle about us their spontaneous cries;
Sweet berries ripen in the wilderness;
And, in the isolation of the sky,
At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make
Ambiguous undulations as they sink,
Downward to darkness, on extended wings.

This section contrasts the decline of religious belief with the vibrant, tangible reality of the natural world. The beauty here is found in the precise, sensory descriptions of deer, quail, ripening berries, and pigeons descending. These images affirm the richness and immediacy of life on Earth, offering a sense of wonder independent of metaphysical certainties.

Ernest Dowson, a poet associated with the Decadent movement, is known for his melancholic and often Latin-infused verse. His poem “Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae” takes its title from Horace and explores the theme of haunting, unshakeable memory.

Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae
by Ernest Dowson

“I am not as I was under the reign of the good Cynara”—Horace

Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,
Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay;
Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
When I awoke and found the dawn was gray:
I have been faithful to you, Cynara! in my fashion.

I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind,
Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,
Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, all the time, because the dance was long;
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;
And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

This poem is a powerful depiction of obsessive memory. Despite physical intimacy with another, the speaker is constantly haunted by the memory of Cynara. The refrain, “I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion,” is ironic and deeply sad, highlighting the inescapable nature of the speaker’s past passion. The blend of sensory details (kisses, wine, beating heart) with the pervasive shadow of memory creates a unique, melancholic beauty.

T. S. Eliot, a pivotal figure in 20th-century poetry, could also write poems of striking, almost narrative beauty, even when depicting psychological states. “La Figlia Che Piange” (The Weeping Girl) is a notable example.

La Figlia Che Piange (The Weeping Girl)
by T. S. Eliot

Stand on the highest pavement of the stair —
Lean on a garden urn —
Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair —
Clasp your flowers to you with a pained surprise —
Fling them to the ground and turn
With a fugitive resentment in your eyes:
But weave, weave the sunlight in your hair.

So I would have had him leave,
So I would have had her stand and grieve,
So he would have left
As the soul leaves the body torn and bruised,
As the mind deserts the body it has used.
I should find
Some way incomparably light and deft,
Some way we both should understand,
Simple and faithless as a smile and a shake of the hand.

She turned away, but with the autumn weather
Compelled my imagination many days,
Many days and many hours:
Her hair over her arms and her arms full of flowers.
And I wonder how they should have been together!
I should have lost a gesture and a pose.
Sometimes these cogitations still amaze
The troubled midnight, and the noon’s repose.

Eliot’s poem presents a vivid, almost cinematic scene of a girl weeping, possibly at a departure. The first stanza is a set of instructions or observations, focusing on visual details. The poem then shifts to the speaker’s reflection on the scene, considering different possibilities and their emotional weight. The beauty lies in the powerful imagery, the melancholic atmosphere, and the speaker’s complex relationship with the imagined moment.

Ezra Pound, another foundational modernist, could render sharp, observational portraits in verse. His poem “The Garden” offers a glimpse into social stratification and emotional emptiness.

The Garden
by Ezra Pound

Like a skein of loose silk blown against a wall
She walks by the railing of a path in Kensington Gardens,
And she is dying piece-meal of a sort of emotional anemia.

And round about there is a rabble
Of the filthy, sturdy, unkillable infants of the very poor.
They shall inherit the earth.

In her is the end of breeding.
Her boredom is exquisite and excessive.

She would like some one to speak to her,
And is almost afraid that I will commit that indiscretion.

Pound’s poem is beautiful in its stark, unflinching observation and economy of language. The striking simile of the woman as a “skein of loose silk” immediately establishes her fragility and listlessness. The contrast between her “exquisite” boredom and the “sturdy, unkillable infants” of the poor is sharp and ironic, hinting at social critique. The poem’s beauty lies in its precise, somewhat cold, portrayal of a particular emotional state and social reality.

W. H. Auden, a prolific and versatile poet, explored themes of love, time, and human imperfection with intellectual depth and lyrical grace. “Lullaby” is a tender yet complex love poem.

Lullaby
by W. H. Auden
Lay your sleeping head, my love,
Human on my faithless arm:
Time and fevers burn away
Individual beauty from
Thoughtful children, and the grave
Proves the child ephemeral:
But in my arms till break of day
Let the living creature lie,
Mortal, guilty, but to me
The entirely beautiful.

Soul and body have no bounds:
To lovers as they lie upon
Her tolerant enchanted slope
In their ordinary swoon,
Grave the vision Venus sends
Of supernatural sympathy,
Universal love and hope;
While an abstract insight wakes
Among the glaciers and the rocks
The hermit’s carnal ecstacy.

Certainty, fidelity
On the stroke of midnight pass
Like vibrations of a bell
And fashionable madmen raise
Their pedantic boring cry:
Every farthing of the cost.
All the dreaded cards foretell.
Shall be paid, but from this night
Not a whisper, not a thought.
Not a kiss nor look be lost.

Beauty, midnight, vision dies:
Let the winds of dawn that blow
Softly round your dreaming head
Such a day of welcome show
Eye and knocking heart may bless,
Find our mortal world enough;
Noons of dryness find you fed
By the involuntary powers,
Nights of insult let you pass
Watched by every human love.

Auden’s “Lullaby” is a meditation on love, mortality, and the fleeting nature of perfection. It contrasts the inevitable decay wrought by time with the temporary, perfect beauty found in the beloved’s sleeping form. The poem moves from the personal to the universal, exploring the boundaries of soul and body, the nature of fidelity, and the acceptance of the “mortal world.” Its complex structure, rich vocabulary, and oscillation between tender observation and philosophical reflection make it a profound and beautiful work. For more great poems, including best robert frost poems, visit our curated selections.

The story of Thomas Chatterton, a child prodigy whose medieval-style poems were dismissed as forgeries, adds a layer of tragic beauty to his work. His “Song from Ælla” contains lines of poignant sorrow.

Song from Ælla: Under the Willow Tree, or, Minstrel’s Roundelay
by Thomas Chatterton

…

See! the white moon shines on high;
Whiter is my true-love’s shroud:
Whiter than the morning sky,
Whiter than the evening cloud:
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed
All under the willow-tree.

…

This fragment’s beauty lies in its simple, stark imagery and repetition. The comparison of the shroud’s whiteness to the moon, sky, and cloud emphasizes the unnatural paleness of death. The repeated phrase “under the willow-tree” anchors the sorrow in a specific, mournful setting, creating a haunting and beautiful lament.

Sir Thomas Wyatt is credited with introducing the Petrarchan sonnet to English literature. His poems often dealt with themes of unrequited or forbidden love, sometimes reflecting his rumored feelings for Anne Boleyn.

Whoso List to Hunt
by Sir Thomas Wyatt

Whoso list to hunt, I know where is a hind,
But as for me, alas, I may no more.
The vain travail hath wearied me so sore,
I am of them that farthest cometh behind.
Yet may I by no means my wearied mind
Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore
Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore,
Since in a net I seek to hold the wind.
Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,
As well as I may spend his time in vain.
And graven with diamonds in letters plain
There is written, her fair neck round about:
Noli me tangere, for Caesar’s I am,
And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.

This sonnet uses the extended metaphor of a deer hunt to describe a difficult and forbidden pursuit of love. The speaker is weary but cannot stop desiring the “hind,” which is ultimately unattainable because she belongs to “Caesar” (presumably the King). The inscription Noli me tangere (“Touch me not”) is powerful and poignant. The poem’s beauty lies in its clever allegory, its expression of frustrated desire, and the resonant final image of the untouchable beloved.

Mary Elizabeth Frye’s “Do not stand at my grave and weep” is a modern elegy that gained widespread popularity for its comforting message. Its simple, direct language speaks powerfully to the grieving heart.

Do not stand at my grave and weep
by Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weep:
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starshine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry:
I am not there; I did not die.

The poem’s beauty lies in its transformative message. Instead of focusing on absence and decay, it asserts the continued presence of the deceased within the natural world. The simple, elemental images – wind, snow, sun, rain, birds, starshine – are comforting and universal. The repetition of “I am” creates a powerful affirmation of enduring spirit.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning was a celebrated Victorian poet and an early advocate for social justice. Her love for Robert Browning inspired one of the most famous sonnets in the English language.

How Do I Love Thee?
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

This sonnet is an iconic declaration of profound and multifaceted love. Its beauty stems from the speaker’s attempt to quantify an immeasurable feeling, using both abstract concepts (depth, breadth, height of the soul) and concrete examples (every day’s need, sun and candlelight, breath, smiles, tears). It is a passionate, sincere, and expansive expression of devotion. For more poetry for lovers, this sonnet remains a timeless example.

Contemporary poet Jack Butler’s “For Her Surgery” is a modern poem that blends personal vulnerability with rich, natural imagery to reflect on love, loss, and the future.

For Her Surgery
by Jack Butler

I
Over the city the moon rides in mist,
scrim scarred with faint rainbow.
Two days till Easter. The thin clouds run slow, slow,
the wind bells bleed the quietest
of possible musics to the dark lawn.
All possibility we will have children is gone.

III
I raise a glass half water, half alcohol,
to that light come full again.
Inside, you sleep, somewhere below the pain.
Down at the river, there is a tall
ghost tossing flowers to dark water—
jessamine, rose, and daisy, salvia lyrata . . .

III
Oh goodbye, goodbye to bloom in the white blaze
of moon on the river, goodby
to creek joining the creek joining the river, the axil, the Y,
goodbye to the Yes of two Ifs in one phrase . . .
Children bear children. We are grown,
and time has thrown us free under the timeless moon.

Butler’s poem is beautiful in its raw emotional honesty and striking imagery. It navigates the difficult subject of lost possibility (“All possibility we will have children is gone”) through natural observation (moon, mist, wind bells) and symbolic acts (tossing flowers). The final section’s farewell to blooming and the joining of waters is poignant, concluding with the acceptance of aging and freedom under a “timeless moon.”

Wallace Stevens’ “The Snow Man” is a meditative poem that explores the nature of perception and emptiness.

The Snow Man
by Wallace Stevens

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

This poem is beautiful in its precise, stark imagery of a winter landscape and its philosophical depth. It suggests that to truly see the winter scene without projecting human emotion (“misery”), one must adopt a detached, “mind of winter.” The final lines, contemplating “Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is,” are both simple and profound, challenging the reader’s perception of reality and absence.

Contemporary poet Tom Merrill’s “Come Lord and Lift” is a short, prayer-like poem seeking solace for a broken spirit.

Come Lord and Lift
by Tom Merrill

Come Lord, and lift the fallen bird
Abandoned on the ground;
The soul bereft and longing so
To have the lost be found.

The heart that cries—let it but hear
Its sweet love answering,
Or out of ether one faint note
Of living comfort wring.

The poem’s beauty lies in its tender metaphor of the soul as a “fallen bird” and its simple, heartfelt plea for comfort and rediscovery. The desire to hear a “sweet love answering” or even just a “faint note / Of living comfort” captures a universal longing for connection and hope in times of despair.

Richard Wilbur, known for his formal elegance and wit, also wrote poems of keen observation and unexpected beauty. “The Death of a Toad” is a powerful example.

The Death of a Toad
by Richard Wilbur

A toad the power mower caught,
Chewed and clipped of a leg, with a hobbling hop has got
To the garden verge, and sanctuaried him
Under the cineraria leaves, in the shade
Of the ashen and heartshaped leaves, in a dim,
Low, and a final glade.

The rare original heartsblood goes,
Spends in the earthen hide, in the folds and wizenings, flows
In the gutters of the banked and staring eyes. He lies
As still as if he would return to stone,
And soundlessly attending, dies
Toward some deep monotone,

Toward misted and ebullient seas
And cooling shores, toward lost Amphibia’s emperies.
Day dwindles, drowning and at length is gone
In the wide and antique eyes, which still appear
To watch, across the castrate lawn,
The haggard daylight steer.

Wilbur’s poem finds a tragic beauty in the final moments of a wounded creature. The detailed, almost clinical description of the toad’s injury is contrasted with the elevated, almost mythical language used to describe its death – returning to stone, dying toward “lost Amphibia’s emperies.” The final image of the toad’s “antique eyes” watching the light fade is both poignant and strangely majestic.

Robert Frost, one of America’s most beloved poets, could write with both simple, colloquial language and profound emotional depth. “To Earthward” explores a shift in desire from sweet, fleeting sensations to deeper, more grounded, even painful experiences. For a collection of best robert frost poems, you’re exploring a poet who masters both natural imagery and human psychology.

To Earthward
by Robert Frost

Love at the lips was touch
As sweet as I could bear;
And once that seemed too much;
I lived on air

That crossed me from sweet things,
The flow of – was it musk
From hidden grapevine springs
Downhill at dusk?

I had the swirl and ache
From sprays of honeysuckle
That when they’re gathered shake
Dew on the knuckle.

I craved strong sweets, but those
Seemed strong when I was young:
The petal of the rose
It was that stung.

Now no joy but lacks salt,
That is not dashed with pain
And weariness and fault;
I crave the stain

Of tears, the aftermark
Of almost too much love,
The sweet of bitter bark
And burning clove.

When stiff and sore and scarred
I take away my hand
From leaning on it hard
In grass or sand,

The hurt is not enough:
I long for weight and strength
To feel the earth as rough
To all my length.

Frost’s poem uses rich sensory detail – tastes, smells, textures, even pain – to trace a journey from youthful sensitivity to a mature craving for deeper, more substantial experiences, even those marked by pain and difficulty. The contrast between the light touch of young love and the longing “to feel the earth as rough” is powerful. The poem’s beauty lies in its honest depiction of changing desires and its grounding in vivid physical sensations.

Richard Moore’s “Depths” uses the imagery of the ocean to explore themes of memory, change, and the unchanging core beneath the surface.

Depths
by Richard Moore

Once more home is a strange place: by the ocean a
big house now, and the small houses are memories, once live
images, vacant thoughts here, sinking and vanishing.

Rough sea now on the shore thundering brokenly
draws back stones with a roar out into quiet and far
depths, darkly to lie there years, years—there not a sound from them.

New waves out of the night’s mist and obscurity
lunge up high on the beach, spending their energy,
each wave angrily dying, all shapes endlessly
altering,

yet out there in the depths nothing is modified.
Earthquakes won’t even move—no, nor the hurricane—
one stone there, nor a glance of sun’s light stir its identity.

The poem’s beauty comes from the extended metaphor of the ocean representing memory and time. The changing surface (the beach, the waves, the new house) contrasts with the unchanging, silent “depths” where stones (memories, fundamental truths) lie undisturbed. It offers a comforting idea of an enduring core amidst the flux of life.

Robert Hayden’s “Those Winter Sundays” is a widely anthologized poem that finds profound beauty in the quiet, often unacknowledged acts of love within a family.

Those Winter Sundays
by Robert Hayden

Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he’d call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,
Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love’s austere and lonely offices?

This poem’s beauty is found in its poignant portrayal of a father’s silent devotion and a child’s delayed understanding. The sensory details of the cold morning, the father’s “cracked hands,” and the sound of the cold “splintering, breaking” make his labor vivid. The final lines, reflecting on the speaker’s past indifference and the “austere and lonely offices” of the father’s love, are deeply moving, offering a realization of beauty in selfless action.

Robert Fitzgerald’s “Winter Night” uses stark, personified natural imagery to create a powerful sense of a harsh, unforgiving season.

Winter Night
by Robert Fitzgerald

The grey day left the dusk in doubt,
Now it is dark.
Nightfall and no stars are out,
But this black wind will set its mark
Like anger on the souls that stir
From chimney side or sepulcher.

From hill to pasture moans the snow.
The farms hug tight
Their shaking ribs against the blow.
There is no mercy in this night
Nor scruple to its wrath. The dead
Sleep light this wind being overhead.

The poem’s beauty is a dark, austere one, found in the powerful personification of the “black wind” and the “angry” night. The imagery of the snow moaning and farms hugging their “shaking ribs” creates a palpable sense of vulnerability against the elements. It suggests a profound, almost spiritual, lack of mercy in nature’s force.

Walt Whitman, the groundbreaking American poet, celebrated the interconnectedness of all things and the vastness of the soul. “A Noiseless Patient Spider” is a beautiful metaphor for the soul’s search for connection.

A Noiseless Patient Spider
by Walt Whitman

A noiseless patient spider,
I mark’d where on a little promontory it stood isolated,
Mark’d how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.

And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be form’d, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.

Whitman’s poem draws a parallel between the spider tirelessly spinning its web to connect with its surroundings and the human soul reaching out to connect with the vastness of existence. The repetition of “filament” and the description of the soul’s actions – “musing, venturing, throwing, seeking” – create a sense of persistent, hopeful effort. The poem’s beauty lies in its simple yet profound metaphor for the soul’s inherent desire for connection and meaning.

Classic Expressions of Love and Admiration

Returning to classic love poetry, Ben Jonson’s “To Celia” is a lyric renowned for its elegant expression of devotion and the idea that the beloved’s presence can transform the ordinary.

To Celia
by Ben Jonson

Drink to me, only, with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I’ll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise,
Doth ask a drink divine:
But might I of Jove’s nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.

I sent thee, late, a rosy wreath,
Not so much honouring thee,
As giving it a hope, that there
It could not withered be.
But thou thereon didst only breathe,
And sent’st back to me:
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,
Not of itself, but thee.

Jonson’s poem is beautiful in its courtly grace and hyperbole. The speaker declares that the beloved’s gaze is more potent than wine and that a kiss left in a cup makes nectar undesirable. The second stanza uses the image of a rosy wreath that remains fresh after being touched by the beloved, suggesting her transformative power. The poem’s enduring appeal lies in its elegant language and timeless expression of infatuation.

Robert Herrick, a Cavalier poet, is known for his carpe diem poems and lyrics celebrating beauty. “To Daffodils” is a poignant reflection on the briefness of life, using the ephemeral nature of flowers as a parallel.

To Daffodils
by Robert Herrick

Fair daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon.
As yet the early-rising sun
Hath not attained his noon.
Stay, stay,
Until the hasting day
Has run
But to the even-song;
And, having prayed together, we
Will go with you along.

We have short time to stay, as you;
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you, or any thing.
We die.
As your hours do, and dry
Away
Like to the summer’s rain;
Or as the pearls of morning’s dew
Ne’er to be found again.

Herrick’s poem finds beauty in lamentation. The gentle address to the daffodils and the wish for them to “Stay, stay” creates a sense of tenderness. The poem then draws a direct comparison between the short life of the flowers and the similarly brief human existence, using vivid images like “summer’s rain” and “morning’s dew.” The poem’s structure and simple language convey a profound sense of the fleeting nature of life.

William Blake, the visionary poet and artist, explored both innocence and experience in his work. “Cradle Song” from Songs of Innocence is a seemingly simple lullaby with deeper, more complex undertones.

Cradle Song
by William Blake

Sleep, sleep, beauty bright,
Dreaming in the joys of night;
Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit and weep.

Sweet babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.

As thy softest limbs I feel
Smiles as of the morning steal
O’er thy cheek, and o’er thy breast
Where thy little heart doth rest.

O the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep!
When thy little heart doth wake,
Then the dreadful night shall break.

The beauty of Blake’s “Cradle Song” lies in its delicate balance of innocence and foreshadowing. The tender imagery of the sleeping babe and the mother’s gentle touch is contrasted with the presence of “Little sorrows” and the hint of future “cunning wiles.” The final stanza introduces a sense of foreboding, suggesting that the waking to experience will break the innocent “night.”

Lord Alfred Tennyson, a major figure of the Victorian era, was known for his musicality and ability to evoke profound emotion. “Tears, Idle Tears” is a celebrated example of his lyrical power.

Tears, Idle Tears
by Lord Alfred Tennyson

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy Autumn fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more.

Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,
That brings our friends up from the underworld,
Sad as the last which reddens over one
That sinks with all we love below the verge;
So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.

Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns
The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds
To dying ears, when unto dying eyes
The casement slowly grows a glimmering square;
So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.

Dear as remembered kisses after death,
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned
On lips that are for others; deep as love,
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;
O Death in Life, the days that are no more.

Tennyson’s poem is a beautiful exploration of inexplicable melancholy, a feeling of sorrow that arises without a clear cause, prompted by looking at “happy Autumn fields” and thinking of “the days that are no more.” The poem uses powerful similes comparing this feeling to sights and sounds associated with both arrival and departure, awakening and dying. The final stanza connects this sadness to profound loss and unfulfilled love, culminating in the oxymoron “O Death in Life,” capturing the exquisite pain of living with the memory of what is gone.

Gerard Manley Hopkins, a Victorian poet whose work was largely unpublished in his lifetime, is known for his innovative use of rhythm (sprung rhythm) and his intense religious and natural observations. “The Windhover” is one of his most famous and beautiful poems.

The Windhover
by Gerard Manley Hopkins

I caught this morning morning’s minion, king-
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of; the mastery of the thing!

Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!

No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.

Hopkins’ poem is beautiful in its celebration of movement, power, and grace, both in the windhover (a type of falcon) and in humble human labor. The dense, alliterative language and unique rhythm mimic the bird’s flight. The turn in the second stanza connects the bird’s “brute beauty” to the “fire” that breaks forth, and then relates this to the beauty found in the sheer effort (“shéer plód”) of a ploughman or the transformation of dying embers. It’s a poem that finds profound beauty in both spectacular and ordinary mastery and sacrifice.

John Donne, the leading figure of the Metaphysical poets, is known for his intellectual complexity, wit, and exploration of paradox. “Song” is a witty and cynical take on finding a faithful woman.

Song
by John Donne

Go and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,
Or who cleft the devils foot;
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy’s stinging,
And find
What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind.

If thou be’st born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights
Till Age snow white hairs on thee;
Thou, when thou return’st wilt tell me
All strange wonders that befell thee,
And swear
No where
Lives a woman true and fair.

If thou find’st one let me know;
Such a pilgrimage were sweet.
Yet do not; I would not go,
Though at next door we might meet.
Though she were true when you met her,
And last, till you write your letter,
Yet she
Will be
False, ere I come, to two or three.

Donne’s poem’s beauty lies in its playful hyperbole and sharp wit. The impossible tasks listed in the first stanza set up the ultimate impossibility: finding a woman who is both “true and fair.” Despite the cynicism, the poem’s inventive language, complex structure, and underlying melancholy about the rarity of fidelity give it a unique, intellectual beauty.

Thomas Hardy, the novelist and poet, often explored themes of fate, rural life, and the human condition with a sense of poignant realism. “The Convergence Of The Twain” is a notable poem reflecting on the sinking of the Titanic.

The Convergence Of The Twain
by Thomas Hardy

Lines on the loss of the “Titanic”

In a solitude of the sea
Deep from human vanity,
And the Pride of Life that planned her, stilly couches she.
Steel chambers, late the pyres
Of her salamandrine fires,
Cold currents thrid, and turn to rhythmic tidal lyres.
Over the mirrors meant
To glass the opulent—
The sea-worm crawls—grotesque, slimed, dumb, indifferent.
Jewels in joy designed
To ravish the sensuous mind—
Lie lightless, all their sparkles bleared and black and blind.
Dim moon-eyed fishes near
Gaze at the gilded gear
And query: “What does this vaingloriousness down here?”

…

Well: while was fashioning
This creature of cleaving wing,
The Immanent Will that stirs and urges everything
Prepared a sinister mate
For her—so gaily great—
A Shape of Ice, for the time far and dissociate.
And as the smart ship grew
In stature, grace, and hue,
In shadowy silent distance grew the Iceberg too.
Alien they seemed to be;
No mortal eye could see
The intimate welding of their later history,
Or sign that they were bent
By paths coincident
On being anon twin halves of one august event,
Till the Spinner of the Years
Said “Now!” And each one hears,
And consummation comes, and jars two hemispheres.

Hardy’s poem finds a grim, fatalistic beauty in the predestined collision of the Titanic and the iceberg. The description of the wreck at the bottom of the sea, overcome by indifferent nature, is vivid and haunting. The second part introduces the idea of an “Immanent Will” orchestrating the simultaneous creation and eventual convergence of the ship and the iceberg. The poem’s beauty lies in its powerful imagery, its sense of tragic inevitability, and its philosophical reflection on fate.

Edward Arlington Robinson, an American poet known for his portraits of quiet desperation and psychological depth, created a haunting figure in “Luke Havergal.”

Luke Havergal
by Edward Arlington Robinson

Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal,
There where the vines cling crimson on the wall,
And in the twilight wait for what will come.
The leaves will whisper there of her, and some,
Like flying words, will strike you as they fall;
But go, and if you listen, she will call.
Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal—
Luke Havergal.

No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies
To rift the fiery night that’s in your eyes;
But there, where western glooms are gathering
The dark will end the dark, if anything:
God slays Himself with every leaf that flies,
And hell is more than half of paradise.
No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies—
In eastern skies.

Out of a grave I come to tell you this,
Out of a grave I come to quench the kiss
That flames upon your forehead with a glow
That blinds you to the way that you must go.
Yes, there is yet one way to where she is,
Bitter, but one that faith may never miss.
Out of a grave I come to tell you this—
To tell you this.

There is the western gate, Luke Havergal,
There are the crimson leaves upon the wall,
Go, for the winds are tearing them away,—
Nor think to riddle the dead words they say,
Nor any more to feel them as they fall;
But go, and if you trust her she will call.
There is the western gate, Luke Havergal—
Luke Havergal.

Robinson’s poem is beautiful in its eerie, dreamlike quality and its portrayal of obsessive grief. The speaker, possibly a voice from the grave, directs Luke to a specific place to await a call from a lost beloved. The imagery of the “crimson” leaves and the “western gate” (suggesting sunset and death) creates a strong atmosphere. The poem explores themes of loss, enduring love beyond death, and the potential madness of grief, all rendered with a haunting lyricism.

William Shakespeare, the unparalleled master of English literature, created poems of immense beauty and variety. From The Tempest, Ariel’s song about a drowned father is a perfect example of transformative beauty.

Full Fathom Five
by William Shakespeare

Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:
Ding-dong.
Hark! now I hear them — ding-dong, bell.

This short song is captivating for its magical transformation of the human body into elements of the sea floor. Bones become coral, eyes become pearls. The phrase “suffer a sea-change / Into something rich and strange” is iconic, capturing a beautiful and mysterious metamorphosis. The simple, musical “Ding-dong” adds to the enchanting, slightly melancholic atmosphere.

William Wordsworth, a central figure of the Romantic movement, found profound beauty and spiritual significance in nature and everyday life. “Composed Upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802” captures a fleeting moment of urban tranquility.

Composed Upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802
by William Wordsworth

Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!

Wordsworth’s sonnet finds unexpected beauty in the city of London at dawn, before the bustle begins. The city is personified, wearing the morning’s beauty like a garment. The description emphasizes the stillness and cleanness of the air, making the man-made structures appear as serene as natural landscapes. The final line, calling the city a “mighty heart” that is “lying still,” is a powerful image of urban peace, making this a truly beautiful poem about an often-overlooked moment.

The Song of Solomon, traditionally attributed to King Solomon, is a collection of lyrical poems celebrating love and desire with rich, natural imagery.

Song of Solomon
attributed to King Solomon

I am the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys.
As the lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters.
As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons.
I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.
He brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love.
Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples: for I am sick of love.
His left hand is under my head, and his right hand doth embrace me.
I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes,
and by the hinds of the field, that ye stir not up, nor wake my love, till he please.

This passage from the Song of Solomon is beautiful for its lush, sensual imagery drawn from nature – roses, lilies, apple trees, roes, hinds. It uses metaphors to express the uniqueness and desirability of the beloved (“As the lily among thorns,” “As the apple tree among the trees”). The description of finding delight and comfort in the beloved’s presence is vivid and passionate, creating a timeless portrait of romantic love.

Percy Bysshe Shelley’s “Ozymandias” is a powerful sonnet that reflects on the transience of power and human ambition by describing the ruined statue of a forgotten king.

Ozymandias
by Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Shelley’s poem is beautiful in its ironic commentary on arrogance and decay. The vivid description of the shattered statue and its proud, defiant inscription (“king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”) is juxtaposed with the stark reality that “Nothing beside remains” but the vast, empty desert. The beauty here lies in the poem’s powerful imagery and its profound message about the ephemeral nature of power compared to the enduring forces of time and nature.

Robert Burns, the national poet of Scotland, is celebrated for his lyrical poems written in Scots dialect and English. “A Red, Red Rose” is one of the most famous love poems in the English language.

A Red, Red Rose
by Robert Burns

Oh my luve is like a red, red rose,
That’s newly sprung in June:
Oh my luve is like the melodie,
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve!
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho’ it were ten thousand mile!

Burns’ poem is beautiful for its simple, heartfelt declaration of love and its use of hyperbolic comparisons drawn from nature and music. The beloved’s beauty is likened to a fresh rose and a sweet melody. The promises of eternal love (“Till a’ the seas gang dry”) and unwavering devotion, even across vast distance, are expressed with fervent sincerity. Its musical quality and enduring sentiment make it a timeless example of beautiful poems.

Robert Herrick’s “Upon Julia’s Clothes” is a short, intensely sensual poem that finds beauty in the simple movement of clothing.

Upon Julia’s Clothes
by Robert Herrick

Whenas in silks my Julia goes,
Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows
The liquefaction of her clothes.

Next, when I cast mine eyes and see
That brave vibration each way free,
Oh, how that glittering taketh me!

The poem’s beauty lies in its focus on a seemingly minor detail – the way Julia’s silk clothes move. The word “liquefaction” is particularly striking, suggesting a fluid, melting quality to the fabric’s flow. The speaker is captivated by the “vibration” and “glittering,” finding an almost intoxicating pleasure in this visual spectacle. It’s a poem that celebrates sensual delight in the physical world.

Lord Byron, another key figure of Romanticism, was known for his Byronic hero persona and his lyrical descriptions of beauty, particularly in women. “She Walks In Beauty” is a quintessential example.

She Walks In Beauty
by Lord Byon

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow’d to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair’d the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

Byron’s poem is beautiful for its iconic comparison of the beloved’s beauty to a starry night, blending darkness and light. It describes her beauty as a harmonious balance, suggesting that even slight alteration would lessen her grace. The poem moves beyond physical appearance to link outer beauty with inner purity and a peaceful heart, creating a portrait of idealized perfection.

Lucy Maud Montgomery, best known for her novel Anne of Green Gables, also wrote poetry, often celebrating the beauty of the natural world, particularly in springtime.

Spring Song
by Lucy Maud Montgomery

Hark, I hear a robin calling!
List, the wind is from the south!
And the orchard-bloom is falling
Sweet as kisses on the mouth.

In the dreamy vale of beeches
Fair and faint is woven mist,
And the river’s orient reaches
Are the palest amethyst.

Every limpid brook is singing
Of the lure of April days;
Every piney glen is ringing
With the maddest roundelays.

Come and let us seek together
Springtime lore of daffodils,
Giving to the golden weather
Greeting on the sun-warm hills.

Montgomery’s poem is a delightful celebration of springtime’s sensory awakening. The sounds of robins and brooks, the scent and feel of falling orchard-bloom, and the visual imagery of mist and amethyst river reaches combine to create a vibrant picture. The poem’s simple structure and joyous tone convey a sense of pure delight in the season’s beauty.

Edna St. Vincent Millay’s “Spring” offers a contrasting, more complex perspective on the season, finding its beauty insufficient in the face of deeper existential concerns.

Spring
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

Millay’s “Spring” is a beautiful, albeit challenging, poem that questions the adequacy of natural beauty in the face of human suffering and meaninglessness. The speaker acknowledges the sensory details of spring (“redness / Of little leaves,” “spikes of the crocus,” “smell of the earth”) but finds them insufficient to “quiet” her existential concerns. The stark metaphors for life (“An empty cup,” “uncarpeted stairs”) and the final, brutal simile comparing April to an “idiot, babbling and strewing flowers” give the poem a powerful, unsettling beauty rooted in its intellectual honesty and emotional rawness.

Millay’s “Dirge Without Music” is another powerful and deeply moving poem that grapples with the finality of death.

Dirge Without Music
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.
Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains,—but the best is lost.
The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,—
They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

This poem’s beauty lies in its passionate refusal to accept the finality of death. The speaker explicitly states, “I am not resigned,” repeating this powerful declaration throughout. The contrast between the vibrant life of those lost (“wise and the lovely,” “answers quick and keen,” “honest look, the laughter, the love”) and their reduction to “indiscriminate dust” or food for roses is stark and painful. The poem finds a fierce beauty in the speaker’s unwavering love and her protest against the natural order, valuing the light in human eyes above all earthly beauty.

Vera Pavlova, a contemporary Russian poet, is known for her brief, impactful poems. “Shattered” is a striking example.

Shattered
by Vera Pavlova
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I shattered your heart;
now I limp through the shards
barefoot.

This extremely short poem is beautiful in its minimalist intensity and powerful metaphor. The image of the speaker walking barefoot through the “shards” of the beloved’s shattered heart conveys immediate pain and the consequences of her actions. Its brevity forces the reader to confront the stark emotional truth it presents.

This journey through a selection of beautiful poems reveals that beauty in poetry takes countless forms – from the tender elegy to the philosophical reflection, from the celebration of nature to the unflinching look at human experience. These poems, across centuries and styles, share an ability to connect with us on a deep emotional and aesthetic level, reminding us why poetry continues to be a vital and cherished art form. As you continue your own exploration of verse, may you discover the poems that resonate most deeply with your own sense of beauty.

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