Sweet Dove Sweet Dove Never to Return Again Keats

10 Greatest Poems Ever Written

Updated: September iv, 2021

by Evan Mantyk

What is verse? What is slap-up poesy? The poems below answer these questions. From least greatest (ten) to greatest greatest (one), the poems in this listing are limited to ones originally written in the English language linguistic communication and which are under 50 lines, excluding poems similar Homer's Iliad, Edgar Allan Poe's "Raven," Dante Alighieri'south Divine One-act , and Lord Byron's mock epic Don Juan . Each verse form is followed by some brief analysis. Many good poems and poets had to be left off of this list. In the comments section beneath, feel free to make additions or construct your own lists. You can as well submit analyses of classic verse to submissions@classicalpoets.org. They will be considered for publication on this website.

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x. "The Road Non Taken" past Robert Frost (1874-1963)

2 roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could non travel both
And exist ane traveler, long I stood
And looked down 1 every bit far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

And so took the other, as just as fair,
And having mayhap the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them actually about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Nevertheless knowing how manner leads on to mode,
I doubted if I should e'er 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 i less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

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Analysis of the Poem

This poem deals with that big noble question of "How to make a difference in the world?" On first reading, it tells us that the choice 1 makes really does matter, ending: "I took the one less traveled by, / And that has made all the difference."

A closer reading reveals that the lonely choice that was fabricated earlier by our traveling narrator maybe wasn't all that significant since both roads were pretty much the same anyhow ("Had warn them really about the same") and it is only in the remembering and retelling that it made a deviation. We are left to ponder if the narrator had instead traveled down "The Road Non Taken" might information technology have as well made a difference as well. In a sense, "The Road Not Taken" tears apart the traditional view of individualism, which hinges on the importance of choice, every bit in the case of democracy in general (choosing a candidate), as well equally diverse ramble freedoms: option of religion, choice of words (freedom of speech communication), option of group (freedom of assembly), and choice of source of data (freedom of press). For example, we might imagine a young man choosing between being a carpenter or a banker afterwards seeing cracking significance in his choice to be a banker, but in fact there was not much in his original decision at all other than a passing fancy. In this, we run into the universality of man beings: the roads leading to carpenter and banker existence basically the same and the carpenters and bankers at the end of them—seeming like individuals who made meaning choices—really being just part of the collective of the human race.

Then is this poem non near the question "How to make a difference in the world?" afterward all? No. It is still almost this question. The ending is the most articulate and hit part. If naught else, readers are left with the impression that our narrator, who commands cute verse, profound imagery, and time itself ("ages and ages hence") puts value on striving to make a difference. The striving is reconstituted and complicated here in reflection, but our hero wants to make a deviation and so should we. That is why this is a great poem, from a basic or close reading perspective.

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9. "The New Colossus" by Emma Lazarus (1849-1887)

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With acquisition limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand up
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows earth-wide welcome; her mild optics command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Continue, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe gratuitous,
The wretched pass up of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the gilt door!"

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Analysis of the Poem

Inscribed on the Statue of Freedom in New York harbor, this sonnet may have the greatest placement of whatsoever English verse form. It also has one of the greatest placements in history. Lazarus compares the Statue of Liberty to the Colossus of Rhodes, one of the Seven Wonders of the Aboriginal World. Similar the Statue of Freedom, the Colossus of Rhodes was an enormous god-like statue positioned in a harbor. Although the Colossus of Rhodes no longer stands, information technology symbolizes the aboriginal Greek world and the greatness of the ancient Greek and Roman civilization, which was lost for a k years to the West, and only fully recovered again during the Renaissance. "The New Colossus" succinctly crystallizes the connection betwixt the ancient world and America, a mod nation. It'south a connection that can exist seen in the White House and other land and judicial buildings across America that architecturally mirror aboriginal Greek and Roman buildings; and in the American political system that mirrors Athenian Commonwealth and Roman Republicanism.

In the midst of this vast comparison of the ancient and the American, Lazarus still manages to conspicuously render America'southward distinct character. It is the can-do spirit of taking those persecuted and poor from effectually the world and giving them a new opportunity and hope for the future, what she calls "the gilded door." Information technology is a uniquely scrappy and compassionate quality that sets Americans autonomously from the ancients. The relevance of this poem stretches all the way back to the pilgrims fleeing religious persecution in Europe to the controversies surrounding mod immigrants from Mexico and the Centre East. While circumstances today accept changed drastically, there is no denying that this open door was part of what made America groovy once upon a time. It's the perfect depiction of this quintessential Americanness that makes "The New Colossus" also outstanding.

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8. "Ozymandias" by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)

I met a traveler from an antiquarian land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert . . . Most them, on the sand,
One-half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose pout,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words announced:
'My name is Ozymandias, rex of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away."

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Analysis of the Verse form

In this winding story within a story within a poem, Shelley paints for united states the image of the ruins of a statue of ancient Egyptian rex Ozymandias, who is today commonly known equally Ramesses II. This king is still regarded as the greatest and most powerful Egyptian pharaoh. Even so, all that's left of the statue are his legs, which tell us information technology was huge and impressive; the shattered head and snarling face, which tell us how tyrannical he was; and his inscribed quote hailing the magnificent structures that he built and that have been reduced to dust, which tells us they might not have been quite as magnificent every bit Ozymandias imagined. The image of a dictator-like king whose kingdom is no more creates a palpable irony. But, across that there is a perennial lesson near the inescapable and destructive forces of fourth dimension, history, and nature. Success, fame, power, money, health, and prosperity can only final and so long before fading into "lone and level sands."

There are yet more than layers of significant here that drag this into 1 of the greatest poems. In terms of lost civilizations that show the ephemeralness of human pursuits, there is no better instance than the Egyptians—who we acquaintance with such dazzling monuments as the Sphinx and the Cracking Pyramid at Giza (that stands far taller than the Statue of Liberty)—yet who completely lost their spectacular language, culture, and culture. If the forces of fourth dimension, history, and nature can take downward the Egyptian civilization, information technology begs the question, "Who'southward adjacent?" Additionally, Ozymandias is believed to have been the villainous pharaoh who enslaved the ancient Hebrews and who Moses led the exodus from. If all ordinary pursuits, such as power and fame, are only dust, what remains, the poem suggests, are spirituality and morality—embodied past the ancient Hebrew faith. If you don't have those then in the long run yous are a "colossal wreck." Thus, the perfectly composed scene itself, the Egyptian imagery, and the Biblical backstory convey a perennial message and make this a great poem.

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7. "Ode on a Grecian Urn" by John Keats (1795-1821)

K still unravish'd bride of quietness,
M foster-child of silence and tiresome time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring'd legend haunts near thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?

Heard melodies are sweet, merely those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Piping to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Off-white youth, beneath the trees, thou canst non leave
Thy song, nor e'er can those trees be blank;
Bold Lover, never, never canst yard kiss,
Though winning nigh the goal yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy elation,
For always wilt g honey, and she exist fair!

Keats'due south own cartoon of the Grecian Urn.

Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied,
For always pipe songs for ever new;
More than happy love! more than happy, happy dear!
For always warm and notwithstanding to be enjoy'd,
For ever panting, and for always young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
A burning brow, and a parching tongue.

Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green chantry, O mysterious priest,
Pb'st k that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What niggling town past river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, piddling town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent exist; and not a soul to tell
Why one thousand fine art desolate, can e'er return.

O Attic shape! Off-white mental attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With wood branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent class, dost tease u.s. out of thought
As doth eternity: Common cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste matter,
One thousand shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on world, and all ye need to know."

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Analysis of the Poem

As if in response to Shelley's "Ozymandias," Keats's "Ode on a Grecian Urn" offers a sort of antidote to the inescapable and destructive force of time. Indeed, "Ode on a Grecian Urn" was published in 1819 just a year or so after "Ozymandias." The antidote is simple: art. The fine art on the Grecian urn—which is basically a decorative pot from aboriginal Greece—has survived for thousands of years. While empires rose and fell, the Grecian urn survived. Musicians, trees, lovers, heifers, and priests all continue dying decade after decade and century after century, but their artistic depictions on the Grecian urn live on for what seems eternity.

This realization about the timeless nature of art is non new now nor was it in the 1800s, merely Keats has chosen a perfect instance since ancient Greek culture so famously disappeared into the ages, being subsumed by the Romans, and mostly lost until the Renaissance a thousand years subsequently. Now, the ancient Greeks are all certainly dead (like the rex Ozymandias in Shelley'southward verse form) but the Greek art and culture live on through Renaissance painters, the Olympic Games, owned Neoclassical architecture, and, of course, the Grecian urn.

Farther, what is depicted on the Grecian urn is a diversity of life that makes the otherwise cold urn experience live and vibrant. This aliveness is accentuated by Keats'due south barrage of questions and blaring exclamations: "More happy dearest! more happy, happy dear!" Fine art, he seems to propose, is more live and real than we might imagine. Indeed, the last two lines tin exist read as the urn itself talking: "Beauty is truth, truth dazzler,—that is all / Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know." In these profound lines, Keats places usa within ignorance, suggesting that what we know on earth is limited, but that artistic dazzler, which he has now established is alive, is connected with truth. Thus, nosotros tin can escape ignorance, humanness, and certain expiry and arroyo some other form of life and truth through the beauty of art. This effectively completes the thought that began in Ozymandias and makes this a corking poem one notch up from its predecessor.

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6. "The Tiger" by William Blake (1757-1827)

Tiger Tiger, called-for bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal paw or middle,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine optics?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the manus, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy eye?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread paw? and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy encephalon?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its mortiferous terrors clasp!

When the stars threw down their spears
And h2o'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his piece of work to run into?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tiger Tiger called-for vivid,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

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Analysis of the Poem

This poem contemplates a question arising from the idea of cosmos by an intelligent creator. The question is this: If there is a loving, compassionate God or gods who created homo beings and whose great powers exceed the comprehension of human beings, as many major religions hold, and then why would such a powerful being allow evil into the world. Evil here is represented by a tiger that might, should you lot exist strolling in the Indian or Chinese wild in the 1700s, have leapt out and killed y'all. What would have created such a unsafe and evil creature? How could it peradventure be the same divine blacksmith who created a cute harmless fluffy lamb or who created Jesus, also known as the "Lamb of God" (which the devoutly Christian Blake was probably as well referring to here). To put it another mode, why would such a divine blacksmith create beautiful innocent children and then as well allow such children to be slaughtered. The bombardment of questions brings this mystery to life with lavish intensity.

Does Blake offering an answer to this question of evil from a good God? It would seem non on the surface. But, this wouldn't be a great verse form if it were really that open ended. The answer comes in the way that Blake explains the question. Blake's language peels abroad the mundane world and offers a look at the super-reality to which poets are privy. We wing near in "forests of the night" through "afar deeps or skies" looking for where the fire in the tiger's center was taken from by the Creator. This is the reality of expanded fourth dimension, infinite, and perception that Blake so conspicuously elucidates elsewhere with the lines "To see a world in a grain of sand / And a heaven in a wild flower, / Concord infinity in the palm of your paw, / And eternity in an hour" ("Auguries of Innocence"). This indirectly tells us that the reality that we ordinarily know and perceive is really insufficient, shallow, and deceptive. Where we perceive the injustice of the wild tiger something else entirely may be transpiring. What we ordinarily have for truth may actually be far from it: a thought that is scary, yet as well sublime or beautiful—like the beautiful and fearsome tiger. Thus, this poem is great because it concisely and compellingly presents a question that yet plagues humanity today, as well as a key inkling to the answer.

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5. "On His Blindness" by John Milton (1608-1674)

When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this nighttime world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning admonish,
"Doth God exact mean solar day-labour, light denied?"
I fondly ask. Just Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies: "God doth not need
Either man'south work or his own gifts: who best
Bear his balmy yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed
And postal service o'er land and ocean without rest:
They as well serve who only stand and look."

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Analysis of the Verse form

This verse form deals with one's limitations and shortcomings in life. Everyone has them and Milton'due south blindness is a perfect example of this. His eyesight gradually worsened and he became totally blind at the age of 42. This happened after he served in an eminent position under Oliver Cromwell'due south revolutionary Puritan government in England. To put information technology simply, Milton rose to the highest position an English author might at the time and and so sank all the manner downward to a state of being unable read or write on his ain. How pathetic!

The genius of this poem comes in the way that Milton transcends the misery he feels. First, he frames himself, not as an private suffering or lonely, only every bit a failed servant to the Creator: God. While Milton is disabled, God here is enabled through imagery of a male monarch commanding thousands. This celestial monarch, his ministers and troops, and his kingdom itself are invisible to human eyes anyway, and then already Milton has subtly undone much of his failing by subverting the necessity for man vision. More straightforwardly, through the voice of Patience, Milton explains that serving the celestial monarch only requires begetting those hardships, which really aren't that bad (he calls them "mild") that life has burdened yous with (like a "yoke" put on an ox). This grand mission from sky may exist as simple as standing and waiting, having patience, and understanding the society of the universe. Thus, this is a great poem considering Milton has not just dispelled sadness over a major shortcoming in life but also shown how the shortcoming is itself imbued with an extraordinary and uplifting purpose.

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iv. "A Psalm of Life" past Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)

What the heart of the young man said to the Psalmist

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is just an empty dream!
For the soul is expressionless that slumbers,
And things are non what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is non its goal;
Dust thou art, to grit returnest,
Was non spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
Just to deed, that each tomorrow
Detect the states farther than today.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Even so, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world'due south broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Exist non similar dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Permit the dead By bury its expressionless!
Deed,—human activity in the living Nowadays!
Heart inside, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind u.s.
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of fourth dimension;—

Footprints, that mayhap another,
Sailing o'er life'south solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked blood brother,
Seeing, shall take center once more.

Let united states, and so, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
All the same achieving, all the same pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

Assay of the Poem

In this nine-stanza poem, the first six stanzas are rather vague since each stanza seems to brainstorm a new thought. Instead, the emphasis here is on a feeling rather than a rational train of idea. What feeling? It seems to be a reaction confronting science, which is focused on calculations ("mournful numbers") and empirical evidence, of which there is no, or very little, to bear witness the being of the soul. Longfellow lived when the Industrial Revolution was in loftier gear and the ideals of science, rationality, and reason flourished. From this perspective, the fact that the start six stanzas practice not follow a rational railroad train of thought makes perfect sense.

According to the poem, the force of scientific discipline seems to restrain one's spirit or soul ("for the soul is dead that slumbers"), pb to inaction and self-approbation from which we must interruption free ("Deed,—human action in the living Present! / Heart inside, and God o'erhead!") for lofty purposes such as Art, Center, and God before time runs out ("Art is long, and Time is fleeting"). The terminal three stanzas—which, having broken free from scientific discipline by this bespeak in the poem, read more smoothly—suggest that this acting for lofty purposes tin pb to greatness and tin aid our fellow human being.

Nosotros might think of the unabridged poem equally a clarion telephone call to do great things, however insignificant they may seem in the nowadays and on the empirically observable surface. That may mean writing a poem and inbound it into a poetry competition, when y'all know the chances of your poem winning are very small; risking your life for something you believe in when you know it is non pop or it is misunderstood; or volunteering for a cause that, although it may seem hopeless, you experience is truly important. Thus, the greatness of this poem lies in its ability to and then clearly prescribe a method for greatness in our modern world.

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3. "Daffodils" past William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

I wandered lone equally a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at in one case I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the copse,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-catastrophe line
Forth the margin of a bay:
10 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—merely little thought
What wealth the prove to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inwards eye
Which is the elation of confinement;
And and then my centre with pleasance fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

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Analysis of the Poem

Through the narrator's take a chance see with a field of daffodils by the water, we are presented with the ability and beauty of the natural earth. It sounds simple enough, but in that location are several factors that contribute to this poem's greatness. First, the poem comes at a time when the Western world is industrializing and homo feels spiritually alone in the face of an increasingly godless worldview. This feeling is perfectly harnessed by the depiction of wandering through the wilderness "alone as a deject" and by the catastrophe scene of the narrator sadly lying on his couch "in vacant or in pensive mood" and finding happiness in confinement. The daffodils then get more than nature; they get a companion and a source of personal joy. Second, the very simplicity itself of enjoying nature—flowers, copse, the sea, the heaven, the mountains etc.—is perfectly manifested by the simplicity of the poem: the iv stanzas simply brainstorm with daffodils, describe daffodils, compare daffodils to something else, and end on daffodils, respectively. Any common reader tin can easily become this poem, as hands as her or she might enjoy a walk effectually a lake.

Third, Wordsworth has subtly put forward more than just an ode to nature here. Every stanza mentions dancing and the third stanza even calls the daffodils "a show." At this fourth dimension in England, one might have paid money to see an opera or other performance of loftier artistic quality. Here, Wordsworth is putting forrard the idea that nature can offering similar joys and even requite you "wealth" instead of taking it from you, undoing the idea that beauty is fastened to earthly coin and social status. This, coupled with the linguistic communication and topic of the verse form, which are both relatively accessible to the mutual man, make for a great verse form that demonstrates the all-encompassing and accessible nature of beauty and its associates, truth and bliss.

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ii. "Holy Sonnet 10: Expiry, Exist Not Proud" by John Donne (1572-1631)

Decease, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for chiliad fine art not and then;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Decease, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From residual and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasance; then from thee much more must menstruum,
And soonest our best men with thee exercise go,
Residue of their bones, and soul'south commitment.
Thou art slave to fate, gamble, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, state of war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can brand united states of america slumber as well
And better than thy stroke; why dandy'st thou then?
1 curt sleep past, nosotros wake eternally
And death shall be no more; Death, g shalt die.

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Assay of the Poem

Decease is a perennial discipline of fearfulness and despair. Simply, this sonnet seems to say that it need non be this mode. The highly focused attack on Death's sense of pride uses a grocery list of rhetorical attacks: First, sleep, which is the closest homo experience to death, is actually quite prissy. Second, all dandy people die sooner or after and the process of decease could exist viewed as joining them. Third, Expiry is under the command of higher regime such equally fate, which controls accidents, and kings, who wage wars; from this perspective, Death seems no more than a pawn in a larger chess game within the universe. 4th, Expiry must associate with some unsavory characters: "poison, wars, and sickness." Yikes! They must make unpleasant coworkers! (You lot can almost see Donne laughing as he wrote this.) Fifth, "poppy and charms" (drugs) can do the sleep job equally well as Death or improve. Death, y'all're fired!

The 6th, virtually compelling, and almost serious reason is that if one truly believes in a soul then Death is really nothing to worry about. The soul lives eternally and this explains line 4, when Donne says that Death tin't impale him. If you recognize the subordinate position of the torso in the universe and identify more fully with your soul, then you can't be killed in an ordinary sense. Farther, this poem is then bully because of its universal application. Fear of death is then natural an instinct and Expiry itself so all-encompassing and inescapable for people, that the spirit of this poem and applicability of it extends to about any fearfulness or weakness of character that ane might have. Confronting, head on, such a fear or weakness, as Donne has done hither, allows man beings to transcend their condition and their perception of Death, more than fully maybe than one might through art past itself—as many poets from this acme 10 list seem to say—since the art may or may not survive may or may not be any practiced, but the intrinsic quality of 1's soul lives eternally. Thus, Donne leaves a powerful lesson to learn from: face what yous fear head on and call back that there is nada to fear on earth if you believe in a soul.

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1. "Sonnet 18" by William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

Shall I compare thee to a summertime'south solar day?
G art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer'south lease hath all too short a engagement:
Sometime too hot the center of sky shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair onetime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that off-white chiliad ow'st;
Nor shall Expiry brag yard wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st;
Then long as men can breathe or eyes can meet,
Then long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

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Analysis of the Poem

Basically, the narrator tells someone he esteems highly that this person is better than a summer's day because a summer'south day is often too hot and too windy, and particularly considering a summer'south mean solar day doesn't last; information technology must fade abroad merely equally people, plants, and animals dice. But, this esteemed person does not lose dazzler or fade abroad like a summertime's twenty-four hour period because he or she is eternally preserved in the narrator's own poetry. "And so long lives this, and this gives life to thee" ways "This poetry lives long, and this verse gives life to you."

From a modern perspective this poem might come off as pompous (assuming the greatness of ane'due south own poesy), arbitrary (criticizing a summer'due south twenty-four hour period upon what seems a whim), and sycophantic (praising someone without substantial evidence). How so could this maybe be number i? After the bad gustation of an erstwhile flavor to a modern tongue wears off, we realize that this is the very best of poetry. This is not pompous because Shakespeare actually achieves greatness and creates an eternal poem. It is okay to recognize poetry as great if it is great and it is okay to recognize an artistic hierarchy. In fact, it is absolutely necessary in educating, guiding, and leading others. The attack on a summertime's day is not capricious. Woven throughout the language is an implicit connectedness between homo beings, the natural world ("a summertime'due south day"), and sky (the sun is "the heart of sky"). A comparing of a human beingness to a summertime's day immediately opens the mind to unconventional possibilities; to spiritual perspectives; to the ethereal realm of poetry and beauty. The unabashed praise for someone without a hint every bit to fifty-fifty the gender or accomplishments of the person is non irrational or sycophantic. It is a pure and simple mode of approaching our relationships with other people, assuming the best. It is a happier style to live—immediately gratuitous from the depression, stress, and cynicism that creeps into our hearts. Thus, this poem is strikingly and refreshingly bold, profound, and uplifting.

Finally, as to the question of overcoming death, fright, and the decay of time, an overarching question in these bang-up poems, Shakespeare adroitly answers them all by skipping the question, suggesting information technology is of no consequence. He wields such sublime ability that he is unmoved and tin can instead offer remedy, his verse, at will to those he sees befitting. How marvelous!

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Source: https://classicalpoets.org/2016/01/07/10-greatest-poems-ever-written/

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