Star Poems | Famous Poems About Stars in The Sky


    Be Drunk Poem by Charles Baudelaire

    You have to be always drunk. That’s all there is to it–it’s the
    only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks
    your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually
    But on what?Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be
    And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of
    a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again,
    drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave,
    the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything
    that is groaning, everything that is rolling, everything that is
    singing, everything that is speaking. . .ask what time it is and
    wind, wave, star, bird, clock will answer you:”It is time to be
    drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be
    continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish.”



    Fireflies In The Garden Poem by Robert Frost

    Here come real stars to fill the upper skies,
    And here on earth come emulating flies,
    That though they never equal stars in size,
    (And they were never really stars at heart)
    Achieve at times a very star-like start.
    Only, of course, they can’t sustain the part.



    A Song Of Eternity In Time Poem by Sidney Lanier

    Once, at night, in the manor wood
    My Love and I long silent stood,
    Amazed that any heavens could
    Decree to part us, bitterly repining.
    My Love, in aimless love and grief,
    Reached forth and drew aside a leaf
    That just above us played the thief
    And stole our starlight that for us was shining.

    A star that had remarked her pain
    Shone straightway down that leafy lane,
    And wrought his image, mirror-plain,
    Within a tear that on her lash hung gleaming.
    “Thus Time,” I cried, “is but a tear
    Some one hath wept ‘twixt hope and fear,
    Yet in his little lucent sphere
    Our star of stars, Eternity, is beaming.”



    I Desire Poem by Allama Muhammad Iqbal

    I want to have the extremes of your Love,
    See, how silly am I, wishing for unachievable.

    I don’t care if you maltreat me or promise to unveil your beauty,
    I just want something unbearable to test my fortitude

    Let the God fearing people be dwelling in the paradise,
    For, instead I want to be face to face with you.
    (I don’t want to go to paradise but want to observe the Divine Beauty)

    O fellows, I am here for a few moments, as a gust,
    Like morning star I will fade and vanish in a few moments.

    I disclosed the secret in public,
    I need to be punished for being so rude.



    Love Lies Sleeping Poem by Elizabeth Bishop

    Earliest morning, switching all the tracks
    that cross the sky from cinder star to star,
    coupling the ends of streets
    to trains of light.

    now draw us into daylight in our beds;
    and clear away what presses on the brain:
    put out the neon shapes
    that float and swell and glare

    down the gray avenue between the eyes
    in pinks and yellows, letters and twitching signs.
    Hang-over moons, wane, wane!
    From the window I see

    an immense city, carefully revealed,
    made delicate by over-workmanship,
    detail upon detail,
    cornice upon facade,

    reaching up so languidly up into
    a weak white sky, it seems to waver there.
    (Where it has slowly grown
    in skies of water-glass

    from fused beads of iron and copper crystals,
    the little chemical “garden” in a jar
    trembles and stands again,
    pale blue, blue-green, and brick.)

    The sparrows hurriedly begin their play.
    Then, in the West, “Boom!” and a cloud of smoke.
    “Boom!” and the exploding ball
    of blossom blooms again.

    (And all the employees who work in a plants
    where such a sound says “Danger,” or once said “Death,”
    turn in their sleep and feel
    the short hairs bristling

    on backs of necks.) The cloud of smoke moves off.
    A shirt is taken of a threadlike clothes-line.
    Along the street below
    the water-wagon comes

    throwing its hissing, snowy fan across
    peelings and newspapers. The water dries
    light-dry, dark-wet, the pattern
    of the cool watermelon.

    I hear the day-springs of the morning strike
    from stony walls and halls and iron beds,
    scattered or grouped cascades,
    alarms for the expected:

    queer cupids of all persons getting up,
    whose evening meal they will prepare all day,
    you will dine well
    on his heart, on his, and his,

    so send them about your business affectionately,
    dragging in the streets their unique loves.
    Scourge them with roses only,
    be light as helium,

    for always to one, or several, morning comes
    whose head has fallen over the edge of his bed,
    whose face is turned
    so that the image of

    the city grows down into his open eyes
    inverted and distorted. No. I mean
    distorted and revealed,
    if he sees it at all.



    Tower Of Light Poem by Pablo Neruda

    O tower of light, sad beauty
    that magnified necklaces and statues in the sea,
    calcareous eye, insignia of the vast waters, cry
    of the mourning petrel, tooth of the sea, wife
    of the Oceanian wind, O separate rose
    from the long stem of the trampled bush
    that the depths, converted into archipelago,
    O natural star, green diadem,
    alone in your lonesome dynasty,
    still unattainable, elusive, desolate
    like one drop, like one grape, like the sea.



    For My Daughter Poem by David Ignatow

    When I die choose a star
    and name it after me
    that you may know
    I have not abandoned
    or forgotten you.
    You were such a star to me,
    following you through birth
    and childhood, my hand
    in your hand.

    When I die
    choose a star and name it
    after me so that I may shine
    down on you, until you join
    me in darkness and silence



    Moonless Darkness Stands Between Poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins

    Moonless darkness stands between.
    Past, the Past, no more be seen!
    But the Bethlehem-star may lead me
    To the sight of Him Who freed me
    From the self that I have been.
    Make me pure, Lord: Thou art holy;
    Make me meek, Lord: Thou wert lowly;
    Now beginning, and alway:
    Now begin, on Christmas day.



    Sunset Poem by Rainer Maria Rilke

    Slowly the west reaches for clothes of new colors
    which it passes to a row of ancient trees.
    You look, and soon these two worlds both leave you
    one part climbs toward heaven, one sinks to earth.

    leaving you, not really belonging to either,
    not so hopelessly dark as that house that is silent,
    not so unswervingly given to the eternal as that thing
    that turns to a star each night and climbs-

    leaving you (it is impossible to untangle the threads)
    your own life, timid and standing high and growing,
    so that, sometimes blocked in, sometimes reaching out,
    one moment your life is a stone in you, and the next, a star.



    Blue Winter Poem by Robert Francis

    Winter uses all the blues there are.
    One shade of blue for water, one for ice,
    Another blue for shadows over snow.
    The clear or cloudy sky uses blue twice-
    Both different blues. And hills row after row
    Are colored blue according to how far.
    You know the bluejay’s double-blur device
    Shows best when there are no green leaves to show.
    And Sirius is a winterbluegreen star.