Cities poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best cities poems ever written. Read all poems about cities.
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,
No distance ever separates
Dreams and desires
No mirror ever dissolves
Reflection and water
It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
Five years have past; five summers, with the length
Of five long winters! and again I hear
These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
With a soft inland murmur.--Once again
Above us, stars. Beneath us, constellations.
Five billion miles away, a galaxy dies
like a snowflake falling on water. Below us,
some farmer, feeling the chill of that distant death,
Come, I will make the continent indissoluble;
I will make the most splendid race the sun ever yet shone upon;
I will make divine magnetic lands,
When you set out for Ithaka
ask that your way be long,
full of adventure, full of instruction.
The Laistrygonians and the Cyclops,
O! nothing earthly save the ray
(Thrown back from flowers) of Beauty's eye,
As in those gardens where the day
Springs from the gems of Circassy-
O ME! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless--of cities fill'd with the
I weep for Adonais -he is dead!
O, weep for Adonais! though our tears
Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!
And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years
Hog Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
ARM’D year! year of the struggle!
No dainty rhymes or sentimental love verses for you, terrible year!
Not you as some pale poetling, seated at a desk, lisping cadenzas
Until tonight they were separate specialties,
different stories, the best of their own worst.
Riding my warm cabin home, I remember Betsy's
laughter; she laughed as you did, Rose, at the first
O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!
You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don't even know what songs
This day winding down now
At God speeded summer's end
In the torrent salmon sun,
In my seashaken house
Elan that lifts me above the clouds
into pure space, timeless, yea eternal
Breath transmuted into words
Transmuted back to breath
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
Nature, a wonderful attraction,
Nature, a beautiful wonder,
A city belonging to the most outstanding loveliness White Nile state of Sudan, located around 380 meters away of swinging of light through eyes is full of peace and calm mingle, like a moment all thought dies.
It is located in the opposite direction of the state capital on the bank of Gorgeous the River White Nile and these cities are linked by a bridge; no waist to place my arms around, no lips for me to rub; No hair to lose my fingers in, nor ear to whisper sweet words of love and belle.
Poem by Chan Mongol
I hope and pray that villages sustain and continue;
Here they are-my tribe descending from the heights of the past- dust- colored gray eyed
Winds of the future lash them towards oases populated with rainwater
Here they are - like locusts of imminent drought coming from the last lands of the world
They arrived and scattered in this sandy desert like stone
Mom, he said - I'm in Ukraine.
There is a real war raging here.
I am afraid.
We are bombing all of the cities, together,
The days shock us, the wave killed many of us, destroyed beyond repair, by the nightmare, a foul creature of tales and song, we could grow, this time, stich up your wounds, make it big, make it special, this fight has to be worth while, mental states will so haywire, were going extinct, is there any fight left? Where are the others? The last days of New York, cities in rambles, towns in shambles, villages become ghost towns, close...the beast has crushed my army, the only one left, what a weird fate, here it comes, I'll send us to hell, ship sinking down, to travels we go!
Pushkin loved the idea of St. Petersburg
and the bronze horseman who saw
the city before it was built. Langston
Hughes loved the idea of Harlem,
Village development on par with cities will become a perfect paradise
With the pastoral settings beautifully created with gardens and parks
Interspersed with small buildings with a lot of trees, flower plants,
Fountains and green pastures for all to visit with children playing!
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