The Top Ten Long, Longer or "Longish" Poems

(10) "Daddy "and "Tulips" by Sylvia Plath (two remarkable poems by

the golden-haired "rock star" of American poetry)
"After the Persian" by Louis Bogan (a lovely lament written by a
great but undervalued poet)
"Prometheus Unbound" by Percy Bysshe Shelley (the first call to
nonviolent resistance by a major artist)
"Fern Hill" by Dylan Thomas (a glorious romp through
remembrances of childhood)
"Don Juan" by George Gordon, Lord Byron (a delightfully cynical,
satirical assay of the sorrows and absurdities of life)
(9) "The Highwayman" by Alfred Noyes (a lovely melodic ghost
story that will delight adults and children alike)
(8) "In Memory of W. B. Yeats" by W. H. Auden (one of the best
elegies in the English language, in a modern style)
(7) "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T. S. Eliot (with this
eclectic poem Eliot may have created our vision of the modern poet:
himself!)
(6) "Sunday Morning" by Wallace Stevens (a master of English meter
tackles vexing but ultimately unanswerable questions of life and faith)
(5) "Voyages" by Hart Crane is surely the greatest rhapsodic love
poem in the English language!
(4) "Tom O' Bedlam's Song" by Anonymous (the amazing final stanza
is like Don Quixote condensed to a few electric lines)
(3) "Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early
Childhood" by William Wordsworth (perhaps the greatest spiritual
poem in the English language)
(2) "Elegy Written in a Country Church-Yard" by Thomas Gray may
have been the first great poem of English Romanticism
(1) "Song of Myself," "Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking" and
"When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd" by Walt Whitman (the
inventor of modern free verse)

Honorable Mention: "Let America Be America Again" by Langston

Hughes, "Howl" by Allen Ginsberg, "Dover Beach" by Matthew
Arnold, "Four Quartets" and "The Waste Land" by T. S. Eliot,
"Directive" by Robert Frost, "The Fish" by Elizabeth Bishop, "The
Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe, "Memorial Rain" by Archibald
MacLeish, "Church Going" by Philip Larkin, "Ulysses" and "In
Memoriam A.H.H." by Lord Alfred Tennyson, "The Song of
Hiawatha" and "Evangeline" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, "His
Confession" by the Archpoet, "The Song of Solomon" from the King
James Bible (aka "The Song of Songs"), "Piers Plowman" by William
Langland, "Brut" by Layamon, "Adonais," "Queen Mab" and "The
Revolt of Islam" by Percy Bysshe Shelley, "Omeros" by Derek
Walcott, "The Prelude" and "Tintern Abbey" by William
Wordsworth, "Proem: To Brooklyn Bridge" by Hart Crane, "Venus
and Adonis" and "The Phoenix and the Turtle" by William
Shakespeare, "The Rape of the Lock" by Alexander Pope

If Leaves of Grass is considered to be one long poem, then in my

opinion it should be considered along with the great epic poems of
Homer, Dante, Chaucer, Spenser, Shakespeare and Milton. However,
it is my understanding that Whitman agreed with his contemporary
Edgar Allan Poe that long poems are not compatible with the English
language (or perhaps not with modern readers of English poetry). I
believe most readers today prefer poems they can read in a single
sitting, and all the poems above and below fall into that category.

In 1995 the BBC conducted a poll, asking listeners and viewers to

name their favorite poems. A number of long/longish poems were
among England's favorites, including The Lady of Shallot" by Alfred
Lord Tennyson, "Rime of the Ancient Mariner"  and Kubla Khan" by
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, "The Prelude" by William Wordsworth,
"Preludes" by T. S. Eliot, "The Whitsun Weddings" by Philip Larkin,
and several of the poems previously mentioned.

Daddy
by Sylvia Plath

You do not do, you do not do

Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to kill you.

You died before I had time—
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal

And a head in the freakish Atlantic

Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off the beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.

In the German tongue, in the Polish town

Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend

Says there are a dozen or two.

So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.

It stuck in a barb wire snare.

Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene

An engine, an engine,
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.

The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna

Are not very pure or true.
With my gypsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.

I have always been scared of you,

With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You—

Not God but a swastika

So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.

You stand at the blackboard, daddy,

In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty red heart in two.

I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,

And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look

And a love of the rack and the screw.

And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.

If I've killed one man, I've killed two—

The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.

There's a stake in your fat black heart

And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through.