Top 100 Poems About: PAIN


In this page, poems on / about “pain” are listed.
  • 1.
    On Pain

    Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses
    your understanding. read more »

    Kahlil Gibran
  • 2.
    The Pain Of The Earth

    read more »

    George William Russell
  • 3.
    Pain

    And a woman spoke, saying, 'Tell us of Pain.'

    And he said:

    Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding. read more »

    Kahlil Gibran
  • 4.
    Pain Has An Element Of Blank;

    Pain has an element of blank;
    It cannot recollect
    When it began, or if there were
    A day when it was not. read more »

    Emily Dickinson
  • 5.
    Hymn To Physical Pain

    Dread Mother of Forgetfulness
    Who, when Thy reign begins,
    Wipest away the Soul's distress,
    And memory of her sins. read more »

    Rudyard Kipling
  • 6.
    The Mystery Of Pain

    Pain has an element of blank;
    It cannot recollect
    When it began, or if there were
    A day when it was not. read more »

    Emily Dickinson
  • 7.
    Pain In Pleasure

    A THOUGHT ay like a flower upon mine heart,
    And drew around it other thoughts like bees
    For multitude and thirst of sweetnesses;
    Whereat rejoicing, I desired the art read more »

    Elizabeth Barrett Browning
  • 8.
    The Big Boots Of Pain

    There can be certain potions
    needled in the clock
    for the body’s fall from grace,
    to untorture and to plead for. read more »

    Anne Sexton
  • 9.
    I'Ve A Pain In My Head

    'I've a pain in my head'
    Said the suffering Beckford;
    To her Doctor so dread.
    'Oh! what shall I take for't?' read more »

    Jane Austen
  • 10.
    After Great Pain, A Formal Feeling Comes

    After great pain, a formal feeling comes--
    The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Toombs--
    The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,
    And Yesterday, or Centuries before? read more »

    Emily Dickinson
  • 11.
    The Benefactors

    Ah! What avails the classic bent
    And what the cultured word,
    Against the undoctored incident read more »

    Rudyard Kipling
  • 12.
    The Pains Of Sleep

    Ere on my bed my limbs I lay,
    It hath not been my use to pray
    With moving lips or bended knees ;
    But silently, by slow degrees, read more »

    Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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