Top poems of all time? Is there a list on here?

Girl Lithe and Tawny by Pablo Neruda and Ozymandias by Percy Shelly are a couple of my favorites.

Disclaimer: I had not heard of Ozymandias before Breaking Bad lol

Ozymandias

To Autumn

The road not taken

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

The rime of the ancient mariner

Stanzas from the Grande Chartreuse

Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night

The chimney sweeper

The red wheelbarrow

Though not the all time best, one of my personal favorites is Invictus by William Ernest Henley.

LINK

That takes in a lot of territory and subjective opinions. Here’s a few that came to mind.

Elegy Written In A Country Churchyard-Thomas Gray

quote:

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The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave
Awaits alike th' inevitable hour:—
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

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Anthem For Doomed Youth-Wilfred Owen

quote:

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What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle Can patter out their hasty orisons.

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Dulce et Decorum Est-Wilfred Owen

quote:

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Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags,
we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep.
Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod.
All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

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She Was a Phantom of Delight-William Wordsworth

quote:

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I saw her upon nearer view,
A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
Her household motions light and free, And steps of virgin-liberty;
A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A Creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

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The Expiration-John Donne

quote:

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So, so breake off this last lamenting kisse, Which sucks two soules, and vapours Both away,

Turne thou ghost that way, and let mee turne this, And let our selves benight our happiest day,

We ask’d none leave to love; nor will we owe Any, so cheape a death, as saying, Goe;

Goe; and if that word have not quite kil’d thee, Ease mee with death, by bidding mee goe too.

Oh, if it have, let my word worke on mee, And a just office on a murderer doe.

Except it be too late, to kill me so,
Being double dead, going, and bidding, goe.

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Always have been a big fan of Blake, both his paintings and poems.

When I was in grad school though when someone asked me what my favorite poem was this was always my response. Yeats was pretty great, although I have lots of other favorites.

The Second Coming

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

There once was a man from Peru

I’ve always loved “Gunga Din” by Kipling. I imagine it’s been canceled now though, not PC.

“Ozmandyus” (sp?), “Tyger, Tyger,” and “If” are all solid.

My Dad’s favorite is “Vagabond’s House” by Don Blanding and I’ll give it honorable mention simply for including this stanza—though the whole poem is great.

There’ll be driftwood powder to burn on logs
And a shaggy rug for a couple of dogs,
Boreas, winner of prize and cup,
And Mickey, a lovable gutter-pup.
Thoroughbreds, both of them, right from the start,
One by breeding, the other by heart.
There are times when only a dog will do
For a friend . . . when you’re beaten, sick and blue
And the world’s all wrong, for he won’t care
If you break and cry, or grouch and swear,
For he’ll let you know as he licks your hands
That he’s downright sorry . . . and understands.