Poem Lake | Page 11 | The Greatest Poems of All Time

Song of the Emigrants in Bermuda Where the remote Bermudas ride In the ocean’s bosom unespied, From a small boat that rowed along The listening winds received this song: “What should we do but sing His praise That led us through the watery maze Where he the huge sea monsters... Poet: Andrew Marvell	The Lady lost in the Wood From “Comus” THE LADY.—This way the noise was, if mine ear be true, My best guide now; methought it was the sound Of riot and ill-managed merriment, Such as the jocund flute or gamesome pipe Stirs up amongst the loose, unlettered hinds, When for... Poet: John Milton	The Nymph of the Severn From “Comus” SPIRIT.—There is a gentle nymph not far from hence That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn stream. Sabrina is her name, a virgin pure; Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine, That had the sceptre from his father Brute. She,... Poet: John Milton	The Sirens’ Song From the “Inner Temple Masque” STEER hither, steer your wingèd pines, All beaten mariners: Here lie undiscovered mines, A prey to passengers; Perfumes far sweeter than the best That make the phœnix urn and nest: Fear not... Poet: William Browne
Time: An Enigma Ever eating, never cloying, All-devouring, all-destroying, Never finding full repast Till I eat the world at last. Poet: Jonathan Swift	Retribution From the German by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [Greek] (“The mills of the gods grind late, but they grind fine.”) —Greek Poet. THOUGH the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small; Though with patience he stands waiting, with exactness... Poet: Friedrich von Logau	Life I Made a posie, while the day ran by: “Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie My life within this band.” But Time did beckon to the flowers, and they By noon most cunningly did steal away, And withered in my hand. My... Poet: George Herbert	L’ Allegro Hence, loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, In Stygian cave forlorn, ’Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy! Find out some uncouth cell, Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night-... Poet: John Milton
Il Penseroso Hence, vain deluding joys, The brood of Folly without father bred! How little you bestead, Or fill the fixèd mind with all your toys! Dwell in some idle brain, And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess, As thick and numberless As the... Poet: John Milton	Old Age and Death From “Verses upon His Divine Poesy” THE SEAS are quiet when the winds give o’er; So calm are we when passions are no more. For then we know how vain it was to boast Of fleeting things, too certain to be lost. Clouds of affection from our younger eyes... Poet: Edmund Waller