At the Tomb of Napoleon
I stood beside his sepulchre whose fame,
Hurled over Europe once on bolt and blast,
Now glows far off as storm-clouds overpast
Glow in the sunset flushed with glorious flame.
Has Nature marred his mould? Can Art acclaim
No hero now, no man with whom men side
As with their hearts' high needs personified?
There are will say, One such our lips could name;
Columbia gave him birth. Him Genius most
Gifted to rule. Against the world's great man
Lift their low calumny and sneering cries
The Pharisaic multitude, the host
Of piddling slanderers whose little eyes
Know not what greatness is and never can.
poem by Alan Seeger
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Australia's First Great Poet
HIS lot how glorious whom the must shall name
Her first high-priest in this bright southern clime!
Aglow with light from her aspiring flame,
Catching the raptures of her Grecian prime,
Lifting these later days to heights sublime,
So shall he walk the glorious path of fame;
He boldly quarryeth from nature’s frame
The sculptured marble of his lofty thyme
Enbreathed with beauty; o’er his splendid page
Shall glow his country-women’s lustrous eyes,
And many a future hero’s noble rage
His flame shall kindle; all the brave and wise,
Breathing his influence from age to age,
Shall sound his glory to his native skies.
poem by Charles Harpur
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Sonnet: On Greatness
Greatness is not a thing, much like an art;
Some man turns great if on it he stumbles;
His greatness ceases, if he thinks, he's great;
Great is he truly who tho' great, humbles.
Greatness is not true greatness, self-proclaimed;
Greatness is not what world showers on us;
Greatness is neither got by being claimed.
Greatness is not achieved by making fuss.
Greatness could come if world decides to give;
Greatness will stay if God blesses our work;
Such greatness, God-destined comes while men live;
Greatness can grow even without much luck.
Greatness doesn't come to everyone on earth;
Some men are made great; some are great by birth.
poem by John Celes
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The New Colossus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
poem by Emma Lazarus
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Sir William Gomm: Sonnets
I.
AT threescore years and five aroused anew
To rule in India, forth a soldier went
On whose bright-fronted youth fierce war had spent
Its iron stress of storm, till glory grew
Full as the red sun waned on Waterloo.
Landing, he met the word from England sent
Which bade him yield up rule: and he, content,
Resigned it, as a mightier warrior’s due;
And wrote as one rejoicing to record
That ‘from the first’ his royal heart was lord
Of its own pride or pain; that thought was none
Therein save this, that in her perilous strait
England, whose womb brings forth her sons so great,
Should choose to serve her first her mightiest son.
II.
Glory beyond all flight of warlike fame
Go with the warrior’s memory who preferred
To praise of men whereby men’s hearts are stirred,
And acclamation of his own proud name
With blare of trumpet-blasts and sound and flame
Of pageant honour, and the titular word
That only wins men worship of the herd,
His country’s sovereign good: who overcame
Pride, wrath, and hope of all high chance on earth,
For this land’s love that gave his great heart birth.
O nursling of the sea-winds and the sea,
Immortal England, goddess ocean-born,
What shall thy children fear, what strengths not scorn,
While children of such mould are born to thee?
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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A Sailor's Observation
The sailor stood on the deck of his ship
looking out at the sea, while the sun
blazed a golden yellow hue on the horizon.
As the ship rocked side to side, the
sailor's thoughts drifted, as they
sailed into the setting sun.
"I think the sunset is the best time of the
evening," the sailor thought to himself.
The sun's glorious color reflected its'
light off the clouds and streamed through
the breaks in the clouds.
A sunset as sea is so beautiful
that it takes your breath away.
You cannot see a sunset like this
anywhere else.
Stars In The Night
Look, look at the stars
How brilliant they are
How can they be shining now?
When hope is so far
Look, look how they shine
These cruelest of stars
What fire inspires them,
What faith is it fires them?
Darkness grows,the world turns cold
And still, there glows the light
Heaven knows what hope they hold tonight
Look,look how they shine
These stars in the night
The darker the night becomes
The brighter their light becomes
Chill winds wail
The tempest blues
and clouds asail the sky
Through the veil,
The stars refuse to die
In this world of darkest night
Where hope is hurled away
There they are
And still, there's light
Oh,so far, but will they
There they lift our hearts
As we lift our eyes
Are we fools to see
The harmony that fills the sky
Look,there's the light
Stars In The Night
The Stars In The Night
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Great and Little Weavers
The great and the little weavers,
They neither rest nor sleep.
They work in the height and the glory,
They toil in the dark and the deep.
The rainbow melts with the shower,
The white-thorn falls in the gust,
The cloud-rose dies into shadow,
The earth-rose dies into dust.
But they have not faded forever,
They have not flowered in vain,
For the great and the little weavers
Are weaving under the rain.
Recede the drums of the thunder
When the Titan chorus tires,
And the bird-song piercing the sunset
Faints with the sunset fires,
But the trump of the storm shall fail not,
Nor the flute-cry fail of the thrush,
For the great and the little weavers
Are weaving under the hush.
The comet flares into darkness,
The flame dissolves into death,
The power of the star and the dew
They glow and are gone like a breath,
But ere the old wonder is done
Is the new-old wonder begun,
For the great and the little weavers
Are weaving under the sun.
The domes of an empire crumble,
A child's hope dies in tears;
Time rolls them away forgotten
In the silt of the flooding years;
The creed for which men died smiling
Decays to a beldame's curse;
The love that made lips immortal
Drags by in a tattered hearse.
But not till the search of the moon
Sees the last white face uplift,
And over the bones of the kindreds
The bare sands dredge and drift,
Shall Love forget to return
And lift the unused latch,
(In his eyes the look of the traveller,
On his lips the foreign catch),
Nor the mad song leave men cold,
Nor the high dream summon in vain, --
For the great and the little weavers
Are weaving in heart and brain.
poem by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
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Clara Morris (Written for a Benefit Given Mrs. Morris)
The Radiant Ruler of Mystic Regions
Where souls of artists are fitted for birth,
Gathered together their lovely legions
And fashioned a woman to shine on earth.
They bathed her in splendor
They made her tender:
They gave her a nature both sweet and wild.
They gave her emotions
Like storm stirred oceans,
And they gave her the heart of a little child.
These Radiant Rulers (who are not human
Nor yet divine like the gods above)
Poured all their gifts in the soul of a woman
That fragile vessel meant only for love.
Still more they taught her,
Still more they brought her-
Till they gave her the world for a harp one day,
And they bade her string it-
They bade her ring it,
While the stars all wondered to hear her play.
She touched the strings in a master fashion,
She uttered the cry of a world's despair.
Its long-hid secret, its pent-up passion,
She gave to the winds in a vibrant air.
For ah! the heart of her,
That was the art of her,
Great with the feeling that makes men kin.
Art unapproachable,
Art all uncoachable,
Fragrance and flame from the spirit within.
The earth turns ever an ear unheeding
To the sorrows of art, as it cries for more:
And she played on the harp till her hands were bleeding
And her brow was bruised by the laurels she wore.
She knew the trend of it,
She knew the end of it.
Men heard the music and men felt the thrill.
Bound to the altar
Of art, could she falter?
Then came a silence-the music was still.
And yet in the echoes we seem to hear it
In waves unbroken it circles the earth:
And we catch in the light of her dauntless spirit
A gleam from the center that gave her birth.
Still is the fame of her
Felt in the name of her.
But low lies the harp that once thrilled to her strain.
No hand has taken it,
No hand can waken it-
For the soul of her art was her secret of pain.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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John Masefield He Wrote Long Stories In Rhyme
For many years England's Poet Laureate but that's going back in time
John Masefield he wrote long stories in rhyme
True genius of him none could deny
His great poems to his greatness testify,
In the Literary World John Masefield held in high esteem
Of his era perhaps the poet supreme
As a young man as a deck hand he spent some time at sea
And much of the bigger World out there he did see
His Saltwater Ballads his ticket to fame
And in poetry his became a household name
His last remains in Nature's bosom lay
But his long narrative poems are read and enjoyed today
Far from England's shore by many a Masefield fan
He lives in his poems the great Ledbury man.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Where Love Glows
Where love glows warmly from within,
God's Spirit's welcomed there,
Such that each heart can turn from sin
And shine beyond compare...
For love glows like a furnace flame,
It brings both heat and light
And those who love can't stay the same,
For they must do what's right.
It like their hearts are filled with love,
With Christmas joys and more!
God's gifts and grace will prove enough
For those who would stay pure...
Consider rainbows in the sky
That cast dark clouds away!
Or dazzling dolphins leaping high
To celebrate each day!
Where love glows warmly from within,
It melts away the past,
Such that each lives new souls to win
Till Heaven comes at last...
Let God's love kindle broken hearts,
Reborn to live anew...
For truly that's when beauty starts,
With words like, 'I love you! '
poem by Denis Martindale
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Psalm 141
O Lord my heart it cries to you
Please hear me when I call
I lift my hands and worship you
Without you I would fall
Coals of fire upon my lips
Two hearts that stand as one
I'll walk with you and you alone
Without you I'm undone
The wicked cause me great distress
I long to see the day
When Christ shall reign forevermore
All tears are wiped away
Until that day, I lift my eyes
To Christ the risen King
Exalted one, Emmanuel
Of Him the angels sing
poem by Frank McEleny
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Id Be A Legend In My Time
Don gibson
If heartaches brought fame
In loves crazy game
Id be a legend in my time
If they gave gold statuettes
For tears and regrets
Id be a legend in my time
But they dont give awards
And theres no praise or fame
For a heart thats been broken
Over love thats in vain
If lonliness meant world acclaim
Everyone would know my name
Id be a legend in my time
If lonliness meant world acclaim
Everyone would know my name
Id be a legend in my time
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Hero?
Her hero is pretty and thin
Her hero is a hero to many
A hero of fame and a hero of fortune
A role model, a hero of glamour
Her hero is a hero to many
His hero is fit and fast
His hero is a hero to many
A hero of sport, a hero of games
A role model, a hero of victory
His hero is a hero to many
Her hero is clever yet plane
Her hero is a hero to few
A hero of science, a hero of logic
A role model, a hero of knowledge
Her hero is a hero to few
His hero is a hero of art but he is poor
His hero is a hero to few
A hero of word a hero of writings
A role model, a hero of language
His hero is a hero to few
But that’s the thing with your heros....
Hero worship is only skin deep.
poem by Timothy Venard
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One Has To Wonder Why
John Clare was the English language greatest poet of Nature
So much of Nature's ways the man did know
But he died in a mental institution
In Northampton asylum near to fifteen decades ago
Just like Vincent Van Gogh the Dutchman a World renowned artist
His paintings are sold for millions today
Yet he died poor and mentally unstable
At his own hands in quite a tragic way
William Cowper was a literary genius
A man who too was mentally unwell
He never did enjoy the fame he earned
And life for him it was an Earthly hell
James Clarence Mangan is the National Bard of Ireland
He died in mid life at forty six years old
A poor Dubliner in Ireland's years of famine
His death was of consumption we are told
Janet Frame was a great New Zealand writer
But she was seldom happy in her mind
Her life story is not a happy story
Though her equal would be very hard to find
Stephen Foster was America's greatest songwriter
Of him true greatness cannot be denied
But fame in his lifetime failed to make him happy
And 'twas of alcoholic poisoning that he died
Paul Robeson one of the World's greatest singers
He died a very disappointed man
A victim of politics and racism
Yet his fame on it does not have a time span.
Poverty, madness and racism not a barrier to greatness
As the lives of many greats does testify
But in their lives some for their genius not rewarded
And why this should be one has to wonder why?
poem by Francis Duggan
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0162 Greatness
How great is greatness? asks my questing soul:
scenting behind that quest, eternity;
that dark which, studied, lights the dazzling whole
and brings to finite thought, infinity;
as when great singers sing, all hearts can sing;
great dancers give us sense that all can dance;
great actors speak for all of us; we think
to know all painted greatness at one glance:
we know already, greatness' unfenced whole,
we know that boundless place, the human heart;
Creation is no secret to our soul;
all being sings its song in every part.
How glorious those sages who can see
in everything that lives, totality!
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Standing Flame
Than anniversary is here,
That day the earth stood still in fear…
When the candle of life
Withdrew its flame
And the light came crashing down in pain.
Then man stood together,
Restoring great optimism for this september.
Of this state united
And standing against terror.
Reigniting this passion,
Rising tall for the world to see.
That this flame has bound together
And forever will this flame be
Sky high, In remembrance of unity.
poem by Chris Cariad
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Fame
As recorded by david bowie
Fame, makes a man take things over.
Fame, let's him lose, hard to swallow.
Fame, puts you there where things are hollow.
Fame.
Fame,
It's not your brain, it's just a flame,
That burns your change to keep you insane.
Fame.
Fame, what you like is in the limo.
Fame, what you get is no tomorrow.
Fame, what you need you have to borrow.
Fame.
Fame,
Now it's mine, it's just his line
To bind your time it drives you to crime.
Fame.
Is it any wonder
I reject you first?
Fame, fame, fame, fame.
Is it any wonder
You are too cool to fool?
Fame.
Fame,
Bully for you,
Chilly for me,
Got to get a raincheck on pain.
Fame.
Fame, fame, fame, fame, fame, fame, fame, fame, fame, fame,
Fame, fame, fame, fame, fame, fame, fame, fame, fame, fame,
Fame, fame, fame, - fame.
What's your name?
(fame, fame)
(fame, fame)
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fame
As recorded by david bowie
Fame, makes a man take things over.
Fame, let's him lose, hard to swallow.
Fame, puts you there where things are hollow.
Fame.
Fame,
It's not your brain, it's just a flame,
That burns your change to keep you insane.
Fame.
Fame, what you like is in the limo.
Fame, what you get is no tomorrow.
Fame, what you need you have to borrow.
Fame.
Fame,
Now it's mine, it's just his line
To bind your time it drives you to crime.
Fame.
Is it any wonder
I reject you first?
Fame, fame, fame, fame.
Is it any wonder
You are too cool to fool?
Fame.
Fame,
Bully for you,
Chilly for me,
Got to get a raincheck on pain.
Fame.
Fame, fame, fame, fame, fame, fame, fame, fame, fame, fame,
Fame, fame, fame, fame, fame, fame, fame, fame, fame, fame,
Fame, fame, fame, - fame.
What's your name?
(fame, fame)
(fame, fame)
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Craigie House
Behold! a double glory resteth here,
Wherein was housed in Revolution's time
A man who while a king refused a throne,
Save in his country's grateful heart alone;
And who by singleness of soul sublime
Has made his name to every people dear.
And he who wore the poet's anadem
Kept the old relics in their primal place,
Reviving yet the age of Washington:
Poet and statesman — how their face is one
In greatness, goodness, and a world's embrace,
Though time and genius widely parted them.
A reverent love has kept the olden pile
Almost untouched by innovating hands;
Nor has Art stinted Nature, — here she lies
In ancient ampleness to bless the eyes.
Beyond are spread the open meadow-lands
That stretch away to catch the river's smile.
From massive clumps of lofty lilac trees
Pours forth the searching fragrance of the spring,
Greeting the sense, while yet unseen the source;
And when the summer's glow hath spent its force,
And birds no more in elms and lindens sing,
Millions of winy leaves inflame the breeze.
And winter holds here an unwonted sway;
The towering trees with honors long since dead,
And charged with snows, still leave the fancy warm
To feel that Time's or Nature's chilling storm
By Fame eternal shall be buffeted,
Nor vital greatness suffer cold decay.
But let the pilgrim come what time he will,
Here is evoked Thought's majesty of mood;
Here she moves on with slow, imperial gait,
Since two such Presences upon her wait.
Lo! Past and Present mix, — a might flood
Beside whose stately flow the lips grow still.
poem by Charlotte Fiske Bates (1879)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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My political hero
There's something about him
There's something about him
It’s not just his looks
Or the fact he’s a great cook
How do I fathom a man?
That is a tremendous success
I say this not to impress
When you hear him address congress
With words so tantalizing even to the press
You may agree and confess to his greatness
There's something about him
There's something about him
A man of the people
So gentle and simple
Gifted with imagination
Passionate with dedication
Master of the political game
A man with vision
And one on a mission
Somewhere in my head
I know it might sound weird
It is nothing to do with the bed
He is my political hero
Political hero of tomorrow
Political hero!
Political hero!
My political hero
Future leader of tomorrow
I praise thy name
Even if you can’t hear
I praise it all the same
2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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