Laughter Poems | Famous Poems About Laughter And Smiles


    Take bread away from me, if you wish,
    take air away, but
    do not take from me your laughter.

    Do not take away the rose,
    the lance flower that you pluck,
    the water that suddenly
    bursts forth in joy,
    the sudden wave
    of silver born in you.

    My struggle is harsh and I come back
    with eyes tired
    at times from having seen
    the unchanging earth,
    but when your laughter enters
    it rises to the sky seeking me
    and it opens for me all
    the doors of life.

    My love, in the darkest
    hour your laughter
    opens, and if suddenly
    you see my blood staining
    the stones of the street,
    laugh, because your laughter
    will be for my hands
    like a fresh sword.

    Next to the sea in the autumn,
    your laughter must raise
    its foamy cascade,
    and in the spring, love,
    I want your laughter like
    the flower I was waiting for,
    the blue flower, the rose
    of my echoing country.

    Laugh at the night,
    at the day, at the moon,
    laugh at the twisted
    streets of the island,
    laugh at this clumsy
    boy who loves you,
    but when I open
    my eyes and close them,
    when my steps go,
    when my steps return,
    deny me bread, air,
    light, spring,
    but never your laughter
    for I would die.

    Beauty And Beauty Poem by Rupert Brooke

    When Beauty and Beauty meet
    All naked, fair to fair,
    The earth is crying-sweet,
    And scattering-bright the air,
    Eddying, dizzying, closing round,
    With soft and drunken laughter;
    Veiling all that may befall
    After – after –

    Where Beauty and Beauty met,
    Earth’s still a-tremble there,
    And winds are scented yet,
    And memory-soft the air,
    Bosoming, folding glints of light,
    And shreds of shadowy laughter;
    Not the tears that fill the years
    After – after –

    What Were They Like? Poem by Denise Levertov

    Did the people of Viet Nam
    use lanterns of stone?
    Did they hold ceremonies
    to reverence the opening of buds?
    Were they inclined to quiet laughter?
    Did they use bone and ivory,
    jade and silver, for ornament?
    Had they an epic poem?
    Did they distinguish between speech and singing?

    Sir, their light hearts turned to stone.
    It is not remembered whether in gardens
    stone gardens illumined pleasant ways.
    Perhaps they gathered once to delight in blossom,
    but after their children were killed
    there were no more buds.
    Sir, laughter is bitter to the burned mouth.
    A dream ago, perhaps. Ornament is for joy.
    All the bones were charred.
    it is not remembered. Remember,
    most were peasants; their life
    was in rice and bamboo.
    When peaceful clouds were reflected in the paddies
    and the water buffalo stepped surely along terraces,
    maybe fathers told their sons old tales.
    When bombs smashed those mirrors
    there was time only to scream.
    There is an echo yet
    of their speech which was like a song.
    It was reported their singing resembled
    the flight of moths in moonlight.
    Who can say? It is silent now.

    Dirge Without Music Poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay

    I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
    So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
    Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
    With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

    Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
    Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
    A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
    A formula, a phrase remains,—but the best is lost.

    The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the
    They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
    Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not
    More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the

    Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
    Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
    Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
    I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

    Joy And Sorrow Chapter Viii Poem by Kahlil Gibran

    Then a woman said, ‘Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow.’

    And he answered:

    Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.

    And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.

    And how else can it be?

    The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.

    Is not the cup that hold your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter’s oven?

    And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?

    When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.

    When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

    Some of you say, ‘Joy is greater than sorrow,’ and others say, ‘Nay, sorrow is the greater.’

    But I say unto you, they are inseparable.

    Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

    Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.

    Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.

    When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.

    Minstrel Man Poem by Langston Hughes

    Because my mouth
    Is wide with laughter
    And my throat
    Is deep with song,
    You do not think
    I suffer after
    I have held my pain
    So long?

    Because my mouth
    Is wide with laughter,
    You do not hear
    My inner cry?
    Because my feet
    Are gay with dancing,
    You do not know
    I die?

    A Challenge To The Dark Poem by Charles Bukowski

    shot in the eye
    shot in the brain
    shot in the ****
    shot like a flower in the dance

    amazing how death wins hands down
    amazing how much credence is given to idiot forms of life

    amazing how laughter has been drowned out
    amazing how viciousness is such a constant

    I must soon declare my own war on their war
    I must hold to my last piece of ground
    I must protect the small space I have made that has allowed me life

    my life not their death
    my death not their death…

    Suicide In The Trenches Poem by Siegfried Sassoon

    I knew a simple soldier boy
    Who grinned at life in empty joy,
    Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
    And whistled early with the lark.

    In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
    With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
    He put a bullet through his brain.
    No one spoke of him again.

    You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
    Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
    Sneak home and pray you’ll never know
    The hell where youth and laughter go.

    O Mistress Mine, Where Are You Roaming? (Twelfth Night, Act Ii, Scene Iii) Poem by William Shakespeare

    O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
    O stay and hear! your true-love’s coming
    That can sing both high and low;
    Trip no further, pretty sweeting,
    Journey’s end in lovers’ meeting-
    Every wise man’s son doth know.

    What is love? ’tis not hereafter;
    Present mirth hath present laughter;
    What’s to come is still unsure:
    In delay there lies no plenty,-
    Then come kiss me, Sweet and twenty,
    Youth’s a stuff will not endure.