what are some famous british poems?

Answer 1

Elizabeth Barrett Browning
John Donne
T. S. Elliott
W. H. Auden
Robert Burns
Rudyard Kipling
John Keats
These are the ones that come to mind right away.

I've read them all...didn't care much for Auden, but enjoyed all the others. By the Way...Longfellow was an American poet.....I wished I'd looked better at the question...I read "poet" not "poem"...let see...
Keats...Sharing Eve's Apple
Kipling...Gunga Din
Burns...A Bards Epitaph
Auden....As I Walked Out One Evening
Elliott...What The Thunder Said
Donne...Break of Day
Browning...Sonnets From The Portuguese

Answer 2

Look up the following names and pick one, they were all very famous:
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
John Donne
T.S. Elliot
Rudyard Kipling (although he was educated and did most of his writing in India)
John Keats
Robert Browning
Lord Byron

Robert Burns was from Scotland, at a time when it was a sovereign nation, so technically he doesn't qualify as a British poet.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was actually American.

Answer 3

The Spider and the Fly, The Walrus and the Carpenter, Fuzzy Wuzzy anything by Keats, Blake, Shakepeare, Shelly. More at
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Category:English_poems

p.s. Longfellow was born in Portland, Maine :)

Answer 4

Just look up Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. I'm not sure if he is British, but with a name like that, what else could he be?

Answer 5

If
Poem lyrics of If by Rudyard Kipling.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Kubla Khan
OR, A VISION IN A DREAM.
A FRAGMENT.

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree :
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man

Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round :
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh ! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover !
A savage place ! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover !
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced :
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail :
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean :
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war !


The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves ;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.

It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice !
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw :
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,

That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome ! those caves of ice !
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware ! Beware !
His flashing eyes, his floating hair !
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

Answer 6

there once was a lad from nantucket******