What is your favorite poem?

Answer 1

"To daffodils" by William Worthsworth (1804).

I wander'd lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,

They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:

I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Note: You can visit the website below to see some beautiful daffodils. Enjoy!

Answer 2

Mine is Sea Fever by Sir John Masefield. It has such feeling and emotion that you can almost feel the spray of the ocean on your skin. It reads thus:

Sea Fever

I must go down to the seas again,
to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship
and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song
and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face
and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again,
for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call
that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day
with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume,
and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again
to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way
where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn
from a laughing fellow rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream
when the long trick's over.

-- John Masefield

Answer 3

My favorite poem by my favorite poet: Antler

A SECOND BEFORE IT BURSTS

Seeing my reflection on a river
and seeing a bubble float into my reflection
the bubble also reflecting me,
So I see the reflection of my face in the bubble
in the reflection of my face
on the river,
While below on the bottom
the shadow of the bubble passes over
golden fallen sunken leaves
So it looks like inside my face is a riverbottom
of golden fallen sunken leaves
with the shadow of a bubble passing over
while on the surface
My reflected face with a bubble moving in it
also reflecting me
and me thinking
It will burst any second
just before it
bursts . . .

Answer 4

somewhere i have never travelled, by ee cummings...especially this part...

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands

A truly timeless, beautiful poem that gets more interesting and romantic every time you read it. You can get the full version here...

Answer 5

The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe

"...and his eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming, And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor, Shall be lifted--nevermore!"

I know everyone has probably heard this one a million times, but honestly, I've never read one I like better.

Answer 6

It's an Emily Dickinson poem that reads (I remember only the first stanza by heart):

"He touched me, so I live to know
That such a day, permitted so,
I groped upon his breast.
It was a boundless place to me;
And silenced, as the raging sea
Put minor streams to rest."

Very interesting, especially coming from a spinster recluse from the 19th century!

Answer 7

It's a toss-up between 3 of Poe's...The Raven, Annabelle Lee, and The Bells

Answer 8

William Carlos Williams
"This is Just to Say"
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

Answer 9

Annabelle Lee (Poe)
Seal Lullaby (Rudyard Kipling)

And
The trouble with kittins is THAT eventually the become a CAT. (Ogden Nash)

Answer 10

To His Coy Mistress by Andrew Marvell is one of mine.