Famous Poems . . . Famous Love Poems . . . Famous Short Poems . . . Famous Funny Poems . . . by great poets!

Famous Poems

 
 Famous Poems
Poets

Alexander Pope

Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin

Alfred Edward Housman

Algernon Charles Swinburne

Allan Ramsay

Ambrose Bierce

Amelia Opie

Andrew Marvell

Anna Lætitia Barbauld

Anne Bradstreet

Anne Bronte

Anne Killigrew

Aphra Behn

Cecil Frances Alexander

Charles E. Carryl

Charles Kingsley

Charles Stuart Calverley

Charlotte Bronte

Christina Georgina Rossetti

Christopher Marlowe

Daniel Decatur Emmett

Dante Gabriel Rossetti

David Bates

E. Pauline Johnson



Edgar Allan Poe

Edith Nesbit

Edmund Spenser

Edward Lear

Edward Thomas

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Emily Bronte

Emily Dickinson

Ernest Dowson

Francis Beaumont

Francis Quarles

Francis Scott Key

Gelett Burgess

Geoffrey Chaucer

George Gascoigne

Gerard Manley Hopkins

Giacomo Leopardi

Helen Hunt Jackson

Henry King

Henry Lawson

Henry Vaughan

Henry VIII

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Hilaire Belloc

Isabella Valancy Crawford

James Whitcomb Riley

John Askham

John Boyle O'Reilly

John Donne

John Dryden

John Gay

John Henry Newman

John Keats

John Masefield

John McCrae

John Milton

John Newton

John Oldham

Jorge Luis Borges

Joseph Addison

Joseph Rodman Drake

Joyce Kilmer

Julian Grenfell

Katharine Lee Bates

Katherine Mansfield

Lascelles Abercrombie

Leigh Hunt

Letitia Elizabeth Landon

Lewis Carroll

Li Po

Lord Alfred Tennyson

Lord Byron

Major Henry Livingston Jr.

Mark Akenside

Mary Barber

Mary Elizabeth Coleridge

Matthew Arnold

Muriel Stuart

Nicholas Brenton

Oliver Goldsmith

Oliver Wendell Holmes

Oscar Wilde

Paul Laurence Dunbar

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Peter Gilligan

Phillis Wheatly

Queen Elizabeth I

Raymond Knister

Richard Barnfield

Richard Harris Barham

Richard Lovelace

Robert Blair

Robert Browning

Robert Burns

Robert Frost

Robert Greene

Robert Herrick

Robert Louis Stevenson

Robert W. Service

Rudyard Kipling

Rupert Brooke

Samuel Johnson

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Sappho

Sarah Flower Adams

Sarah Teasdale

Sidney Lanier

Sir George Etherege

Sir John Suckling

Sir Thomas Wyatt

Sir Walter Raleigh

Spike Milligan

Stephen C. Foster

Stuart Macfarlane

Stuart McLean

T. S. Eliot

Thomas Bateson

Thomas Campbell

Thomas Campion

Thomas Edward Brown

Thomas Gray

Thomas Hardy

Thomas Hood

Thomas Lodge

Thomas Lord Vaux

Thomas Lovell Beddoes

Thomas Nashe

Thomas Randolph

Tu Fu

Virgil

Walt Whitman

Wilfred Owen

William Allingham

William Barnes

William Blake

William Butler Yeats

William Cullen Bryant

William Henry Drummond

William Makepeace Thackeray

William Shakespeare

William Wilfred Campbell

William Wordsworth

COLLECTION 2

Alfred Lord Tennyson

Christina Rossetti

Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Dylan Thomas

E. E. Cummings

Elizabeth B. Browning

Emily Dickinson

George Herbert

Langston Hughes

Oscar Wilde

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Robert Browning

Robert Burns

Robert Frost

Robert Herrick

Shel Silverstein
Sir Walter Scott
T. S. Eliot

William Butler Yeats

William Morris

Thomas Moore

William Shakespeare

Poems by Category
Sad Poems
Death Poems
Love Poems
Short Poems
Funny Poems
Nature Poems
Teenage Poems
Friendship Poems
Wedding Poems
Birthday Poems
Religious Poems
Valentine Poems
Christmas Poems
Anniversary Poems
Readers Poems
Contributed Poems
Great Websites

Free View Webcams

Christmas Jokes

Poker Online

Top searches

Weird-Websites

Worst Cities

Love Poems

Inspirational Poems

Funny Poems

Free Diet Plans

Ghost Pictures

Ghost Stories

Raunchiest Riddles

Links
 
 

Famous Poems for Teenagers :

 

Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare

Genius in Beauty by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Riddle by Christina Rossetti

Goblin Market by Christina Rossetti

A Wintry Sonnet by Christina Rossetti

The Frog by Christina Rossetti

An Alphabet by Christina Rossetti

There is another sky by Emily Dickinson

Young Charmides by Oscar Wilde

Fable by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Earth's Immortalities by Robert Browning

The Bag Of The Bee by Robert Herrick

The Dolls by William Butler Yeats

To A Young Girl by William Butler Yeats

Song III: It Grew Up Without Heeding by William Morris

To A Mouse, On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With The Plough by Robert Burns

The Pride of Youth by Sir Walter Scott

May our friendship last forever by Nicholas Gordon

Be A Friend by Edgar A Guest

The Boy Who Laughed at Santa Claus by Ogden Nash

Santa Claus by Anonymous

Christmas Greetings by Lewis Carroll

A Carol For The Children by Ogden Nash

Ardelia to Melancholy by Anne Kingsmill Finch

Melancholia by Charles Bukowski

Sadness by Donald Justice

Be Not Sad by James Joyce

Having it Out with Melancholy by Jane Kenyon

Melancholy by John Fletcher

Ode On Melancholy by John Keats

Melancholetta by Lewis Carroll

From The Long Sad Party by Mark Strand

Ode to Melancholy by Mary Darby Robinson

Saddest Poem by Pablo Neruda

Sad Steps by Philip Larkin

Melancholia by Robert Seymour Bridges

The Reason Why The Closet-Man Is Never Sad by Russell Edson

Away, Melancholy by Stevie Smith

My Sad Captains by Thom Gunn

The Sad Day by Thomas Flatman

Sadness and Joy by William Henry Davies

Languid, And Sad, And Slow, From Day To Day by William Lisle Bowles

The End Of The World by Archibald MacLeish

On by Bob Kaufman

Salesmanship, With Half A Dram Of Tears by Brooks Haxton

The Threat by Denise Duhamel

The Harvest by Duncan Campbell Scott

ENGLAND’S OPENERS by Gerald England

Lion & Honeycomb by Howard Nemerov

Being old in the game by Ivan Donn Carswell

Thirty Bob a Week by John Davidson

Scab Maids On Speed by Maggie Estep

Again by Marilyn L. Taylor

Bill and Joe by Oliver Wendell Holmes

The Present by Philip Levine

Tam o’ Shanter: A Tale by Robert Burns

 

Comfort To A Youth That Had Lost His Love by Robert Herrick

Broken Heart by Crystal Holtz

My Heart Believes In You by Stewart Bradshaw

Left Behind by Elizabeth Akers Allen

Garden Of Eden by Shawn Mette

Ash-Wednesday by T S Eliot

Union by Anne Wilkinson

From Friends To Lovers by Joe Vieira

Give All to Love by Ralph Waldo Emerson

I Love by Melissa Neiding

Farewell to the dear days of Genesis by Conrad Aiken

It's time to make love. Douse the glim by Conrad Aiken

Jackie by Jon Macomber

Can We Still Be Friends? by Kathleen Sheppard

Thirteen by Julie Kane

 

Thirteen by Julie Kane

All summer she twirled
in pearls and satin gowns,
pale as a mushroom
in the attic.
Sometime her aunt or
her father would hint that
the field of Queen Anne’s lace
at the end of the road
was chock-full of children
her age. Her age
was suddenly uncertain as
the woman’s breath
rising and falling
in an oxygen tent
all summer long.
Nothing to do but wait.
In the stale heat
of the attic, in the rippled
full-length mirror,
she posed
in velvet, in chiffon,
in her mother’s useless clothes:
waiting for her breasts
to blossom and fill
the loose bodice of her grief.

 

 Carol For The Children by Ogden Nash

God rest you merry, Innocents,
Let nothing you dismay,
Let nothing wound an eager heart
Upon this Christmas day.

Yours be the genial holly wreaths,
The stockings and the tree;
An aged world to you bequeths
Its own forgotten glee.

Soon, soon enough come cureller gifts,
The anger and the tears;
Between you now there sparsely drifts
A handful yet of years.

Oh, dimly, dimly glows the star
Through the electric throng;
The bidding in temple and bazaar
Drowns out the silver song.

The ancient altars smoke afresh,
The ancient idols stir;
Faint in the reek of burning flesh
Sink frankincense and myrrh.

Gaspar, Balthazar, Melchior!
Where are your offerings now?
What greetings to the Prince of War,
His darkly branded brow?

Two ultimate laws alone we know,
The ledger and the sword --
So far away, so long ago,
We lost the infant Lord.

Only the children clasp His hand;
His voice speaks low to them,
And still for them the shining band
Wings over Bethlehem.

God rest you merry, Innocents,
While innocence endures,
A sweeter Christmas than we to ours
May you bequeath to yours.

Tam o’ Shanter: A Tale by Robert Burns

Category : Teen Poems

WHEN chapman billies leave the street,
And drouthy neibors, neibors, meet;
As market days are wearing late,
And folk begin to tak the gate,
While we sit bousing at the nappy,
An’ getting fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps and stiles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Where sits our sulky, sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.


This truth fand honest TAM O’ SHANTER,
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter:
(Auld Ayr, wham ne’er a town surpasses,
For honest men and bonie lasses).


O Tam! had’st thou but been sae wise,
As taen thy ain wife Kate’s advice!
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum;
That frae November till October,
Ae market-day thou was na sober;
That ilka melder wi’ the Miller,
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;
That ev’ry naig was ca’d a shoe on
The Smith and thee gat roarin’ fou on;
That at the L—d’s house, ev’n on Sunday,
Thou drank wi’ Kirkton Jean till Monday,
She prophesied that late or soon,
Thou wad be found, deep drown’d in Doon,
Or catch’d wi’ warlocks in the mirk,
By Alloway’s auld, haunted kirk.


Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,
To think how mony counsels sweet,
How mony lengthen’d, sage advices,
The husband frae the wife despises!


But to our tale:—Ae market night,
Tam had got planted unco right,
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely,
Wi reaming sAats, that drank divinely;
And at his elbow, Souter Johnie,
His ancient, trusty, drougthy crony:
Tam lo’ed him like a very brither;
They had been fou for weeks thegither.
The night drave on wi’ sangs an’ clatter;
And aye the ale was growing better:
The Landlady and Tam grew gracious,
Wi’ favours secret, sweet, and precious:
The Souter tauld his queerest stories;
The Landlord’s laugh was ready chorus:
The storm without might rair and rustle,
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.


Care, mad to see a man sae happy,
E’en drown’d himsel amang the nappy.
As bees flee hame wi’ lades o’ treasure,
The minutes wing’d their way wi’ pleasure:
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,
O’er a’ the ills o’ life victorious!


But pleasures are like poppies spread,
You seize the flow’r, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snow falls in the river,
A moment white—then melts for ever;
Or like the Borealis race,
That flit ere you can point their place;
Or like the Rainbow’s lovely form
Evanishing amid the storm.—
Nae man can tether Time nor Tide,
The hour approaches Tam maun ride;
That hour, o’ night’s black arch the key-stane,
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in;
And sic a night he taks the road in,
As ne’er poor sinner was abroad in.


The wind blew as ’twad blawn its last;
The rattling showers rose on the blast;
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow’d;
Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow’d:
That night, a child might understand,
The deil had business on his hand.


Weel-mounted on his grey mare, Meg,
A better never lifted leg,
Tam skelpit on thro’ dub and mire,
Despising wind, and rain, and fire;
Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet,
Whiles crooning o’er some auld Scots sonnet,
Whiles glow’rin round wi’ prudent cares,
Lest bogles catch him unawares;
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,
Where ghaists and houlets nightly cry.


By this time he was cross the ford,
Where in the snaw the chapman smoor’d;
And past the birks and meikle stane,
Where drunken Charlie brak’s neck-bane;
And thro’ the whins, and by the cairn,
Where hunters fand the murder’d bairn;
And near the thorn, aboon the well,
Where Mungo’s mither hang’d hersel’.
Before him Doon pours all his floods,
The doubling storm roars thro’ the woods,
The lightnings flash from pole to pole,
Near and more near the thunders roll,
When, glimmering thro’ the groaning trees,
Kirk-Alloway seem’d in a bleeze,
Thro’ ilka bore the beams were glancing,
And loud resounded mirth and dancing.


Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!
What dangers thou canst make us scorn!
Wi’ tippenny, we fear nae evil;
Wi’ usquabae, we’ll face the devil!
The swats sae ream’d in Tammie’s noddle,
Fair play, he car’d na deils a boddle,
But Maggie stood, right sair astonish’d,
Till, by the heel and hand admonish’d,
She ventur’d forward on the light;
And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight!


Warlocks and witches in a dance:
Nae cotillon, brent new frae France,
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,
Put life and mettle in their heels.
A winnock-bunker in the east,
There sat auld Nick, in shape o’ beast;
A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large,
To gie them music was his charge:
He screw’d the pipes and gart them skirl,
Till roof and rafters a’ did dirl.—
Coffins stood round, like open presses,
That shaw’d the Dead in their last dresses;
And (by some devilish cantraip sleight)
Each in its cauld hand held a light.
By which heroic Tam was able
To note upon the haly table,
A murderer’s banes, in gibbet-airns;
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristened bairns;
A thief, new-cutted frae a rape,
Wi’ his last gasp his gabudid gape;
Five tomahawks, wi’ blude red-rusted:
Five scimitars, wi’ murder crusted;
A garter which a babe had strangled:
A knife, a father’s throat had mangled.
Whom his ain son of life bereft,
The grey-hairs yet stack to the heft;
Wi’ mair of horrible and awfu’,
Which even to name wad be unlawfu’.


As Tammie glowr’d, amaz’d, and curious,
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious;
The Piper loud and louder blew,
The dancers quick and quicker flew,
The reel’d, they set, they cross’d, they cleekit,
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit,
And coost her duddies to the wark,
And linkit at it in her sark!


Now Tam, O Tam! had they been queans,
A’ plump and strapping in their teens!
Their sarks, instead o’ creeshie flainen,
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen!—
Thir breeks o’ mine, my only pair,
That ance were plush o’ guid blue hair,
I wad hae gien them off my hurdies,
For ae blink o’ the bonie burdies!
But wither’d beldams, auld and droll,
Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal,
Louping an’ flinging on a crummock.
I wonder did na turn thy stomach.


But Tam kent what was what fu’ brawlie:
There was ae winsome wench and waulie
That night enlisted in the core,
Lang after ken’d on Carrick shore;
(For mony a beast to dead she shot,
And perish’d mony a bonie boat,
And shook baith meikle corn and bear,
And kept the country-side in fear);
Her cutty sark, o’ Paisley harn,
That while a lassie she had worn,
In longitude tho’ sorely scanty,
It was her best, and she was vauntie.
Ah! little ken’d thy reverend grannie,
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,
Wi twa pund Scots (’twas a’ her riches),
Wad ever grac’d a dance of witches!


But here my Muse her wing maun cour,
Sic flights are far beyond her power;
To sing how Nannie lap and flang,
(A souple jade she was and strang),
And how Tam stood, like ane bewithc’d,
And thought his very een enrich’d:
Even Satan glowr’d, and fidg’d fu’ fain,
And hotch’d and blew wi’ might and main:
Till first ae caper, syne anither,
Tam tint his reason a thegither,
And roars out, “Weel done, Cutty-sark!”
And in an instant all was dark:
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied.
When out the hellish legion sallied.


As bees bizz out wi’ angry fyke,
When plundering herds assail their byke;
As open pussie’s mortal foes,
When, pop! she starts before their nose;
As eager runs the market-crowd,
When “Catch the thief!” resounds aloud;
So Maggie runs, the witches follow,
Wi’ mony an eldritch skreich and hollow.


Ah, Tam! Ah, Tam! thou’ll get thy fairin!
In hell, they’ll roast thee like a herrin!
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin!
Kate soon will be a woefu’ woman!
Now, do thy speedy-utmost, Meg,
And win the key-stone o’ the brig;
There, at them thou thy tail may toss,
A running stream they dare na cross.
But ere the keystane she could make,
The fient a tail she had to shake!
For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi’ furious ettle;
But little wist she Maggie’s mettle!
Ae spring brought off her master hale,
But left behind her ain grey tail:
The carlin claught her by the rump,
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.


Now, wha this tale o’ truth shall read,
Ilk man and mother’s son, take heed:
Whene’er to Drink you are inclin’d,
Or Cutty-sarks rin in your mind,
Think ye may buy the joys o’er dear;
Remember Tam o’ Shanter’s mare.

 

 

 
   
 

Books of teenage poems :

Things I Have to Tell You : Poems and Writing by Teenage Girls

 

Book Description

In Things I Have to Tell You: Poems and Writing by Teenage Girls, editor Betsy Franco gathers more than 30 poems by adolescents into a poignant collection of prose and poetry. Black-and-white photographs by Nina Nickles accompany each work, and the pairings offer glimpses into the writers' raw anger, budding sexuality and search for identity.

 

 
 

Teenage poetry books: