This page is about the poems I like the most. This is not a complete list and more will be added in the times to come.
I’ve added some snippets of them along with the link to the full poem. Hope you like it.
“I met a lady in the meads
Full beautiful, a faery’s child;
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long;
For sideways would she lean, and sing
A faery’s song. ”
How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray’s accepted, and each wish resign’d;
“…Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’
Gleams that untravell’d world whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use! ”
“….Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,–
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. ”
“…. I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I–
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.”
“….One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, “Good fences make good neighbours.”
“…But when the bitter hour is gone
And the keen throbbing pangs are still
Oh the sweetest then to couch alone
Upon some silent hill ”
5. Though the excerpts given below are not poems, I would still like to include it here. Its from a famous play “Hamlet” written by William Shakespeare. I am very fond of this play and have read it many times. The lines below are a few among a lot which I like.
1. “Seems, madam! nay it is; I know not ‘seems.’
‘Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black,
Nor windy suspiration of forced breath,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected ‘havior of the visage,
Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief,
That can denote me truly: these indeed seem,
For they are actions that a man might play:
But I have that within which passeth show;
These but the trappings and the suits of woe.”
2. “This above all — to thine ownself be true;
- And it must follow, as the night the day,
- Thou canst not then be false to any man.”
- 3. “…The undiscover’d country, from whose bourn
- No traveller returns, — puzzles the will,
- And makes us rather bear those ills we have
- Than fly to others that we know naught of?
- Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
- And thus the native hue of resolution
- Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought;”