I want a perfect English poem from a famous poet.Please mention the name of poem and poet.?

Answer 1

Invictus
(Taking responsibity for one's destiny)
by William Ernest Henley; 1849-1903

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul.

Answer 2

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
and sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
and looked down one as far as I could
to where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
and having perhaps the better claim
because it was grassy and wanted wear;
though as for that, the passing there
had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
in leaves no feet had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less travelled by,
and that has made all the difference

by Robert Frost

Answer 3

Now that's a bit like asking for a perfect mate without giving any specifications. Give me a follow-up statement that tells me what kind of poem you consider perfect. Is it an epic? Is it a story poem from the Greek Myth? Do you love modern poets? Or does your taste run to the Mediaeval? Or the Victorians?
Here's a suggestion from me. Oscar Wilde wrote a sweet, gentle epitaph for his little sister. I consider it one of the loveliest poems in English. If you're interested, let me know and I'll post it for you. Anne M

Answer 4

Not quite a poem but absolutly perfect:

No man is an Iland, intire of itselfe; every man
is a peece of the Continent, a part of the maine;
if a Clod bee washed away by the Sea, Europe
is the lesse, as well as if a Promontorie were, as
well as if a Manor of thy friends or of thine
owne were; any mans death diminishes me,
because I am involved in Mankinde;
And therefore never send to know for whom
the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.

MEDITATION XVII
Devotions upon Emergent Occasions
John Donne

Answer 5

I majored in lit in college. i might say for this poem, you opt for for some heritage on the poet. It starts out kinda unhappy, with the view. 'Futures i've got divorced' maximum like refers to deserted hopes and targets. The 'do no longer look lower back' and knife reference is in all hazard approximately getting over painful memories. That it now no longer cuts implies desire. Or in all hazard numbness. The stuff on complacency in all hazard ability he feels he permit somebody down by way of no longer doing some thing he ought to have finished. hence the accusatory voices. The final paragraph is a little greater complicated. My experience is that the narrator found out his existence instructions and acted hence, hence the monstrous advantages. This guy feels like a soldier to me. one that believes that no longer taking action at some necessary 2d led to others injury. Now he's became that attitude around, and located some peace. He gave up previous and futile tries and took a distinct way of living, and he's commencing to discover his existence greater constructive. i do no longer frequently like poems, yet my mom and dad spents hundreds that they did no longer have so i ought to verify to interpret then. i'm greater approximately novels, although. lower back, you will in all hazard income from understanding some thing of this author's existence. This one is particularly own, previous the final experience of the sweetness and cruelty of the international I frequently see in lesser poems.

Answer 6

Lord Byron - She walks in beauty, like the night

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 the 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.

Answer 7

I've always liked "Porphyria's Lover" by Robert Browning...