What is the greatest poem ever written?

Answer 1

For me, it's between "Desiderata" & "If" (Rudyard Kipling).

Plus anything by William Blake.

Didn't study the arts, but these catch my heart & imagination...

Nice question, friend.

A. R.

Answer 2

Alone - Edgar Allen Poe

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were — I have not seen
As others saw — I could not bring
My passions from a common spring —
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow — I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone —
And all I lov'd — I lov'd alone —
Then — in my childhood — in the dawn
Of a most stormy life — was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still —
From the torrent, or the fountain —
From the red cliff of the mountain —
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold —
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by —
From the thunder, and the storm —
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.

or:

Funeral Blues - W.H. Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Answer 3

I agree with septembersong that there is really no such thing as the "best", it's all a matter of personal taste. Probably the poem you're enjoying reading at that particular moment. However, Thoughtfox by Ted hughes or Kilmer's lovely "Tree". Robert Frost's "On stopping by a wood on a snowy evening" is a particular favourite of mine. So too is the poem "Sisters" by the Scots poet Elizabeth Burns. Think you may be able to read this on the Scottish Poetry library's website.

Answer 4

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

The Iron Maiden version isn't bad either!

Answer 5

The Listeners, by Walter de la Mare

Innisfree by WB Yeats


GS is right. There is no such thing as the 'greatest' poem. Your mood will dictate what is the 'greatest' one at that time. And there is at least one for every mood - Thank God!

These are two of my favourites

Answer 6

This is akin to asking what is the greatest painting or flower, so my answer (s) must be subjective. 1. In Memory of W.B. Yeats, by W.H. Auden 2. What Are Years, by Marianne Moore 3. Love Calls Us to the Things of This World, by Richard Wilbur 4. Dover Beach, by Matthew Arnold. And many, many more.

Answer 7

Psalms 23 the lord is my Shepard
and
Foot Prints In The Sand

Answer 8

Really difficult this one, the (anti) war poems of Wilfred Owen, Tennyson's wonderfully descriptive 'Lady of Shallot,' but I've gone with my favourite because i think it means different things to different people, everyone who reads it interprets in a way personal to them.

It's by Stevie Smith and it's called 'Not waving but drowning'

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.

Answer 9

The Greatest Poem Ever Written

Answer 10

This one:

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

-- Joyce Kilmer

Answer 11

Dante's Divine Comedy.