FA/FSC Part 1 English Poems Book 3

(Last Updated On: February 15, 2018)

Poem No. 1 

The Rain


I hear leaves drinking rain;

I hear rich leaves on top

sGiving the poor beneath

Drop after drop;

‘Tis a sweet noise to hear

These green leaves drinking near.

And when the sun comes out,

After this rain shall stop

A wondrous light will fill

Each dark, round drop;

I hope the Sun shines bright;

It will be a lovely sight.

(W.H. Davies)

Poem No. 2

Night Mail


This is the Night Mail crossing the border,

Bringing the cheque and the postal order,

Letters for the rich, letters for the poor,

The shop at the corner, the girl next door,

Pulling up Beattock, a steady climb;

The gradient’s against her, but she’s on time.

Past cotton-grass and moorland boulder,

Shovelling white steam over her shoulder,

Snorting noisily, she passes

Silent miles of wind-bent grasses.

Birds turn their heads as she approaches,

Stare from bushes at her black-faced coaches.

Sheepdogs cannot turn her course;

They slumber on with paws across.

In the farm she passes; no one wakes,

But a jug in a bedroom gently shakes.

(W.H. Auden)

Poem No. 3

Loveliest of Trees,

The Cherry Now

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now

Is hung with bloom along the bough

And stands about the woodland ride

Wearing white for Easter tide.

Now, of my three score years and ten

Twenty will not come again,

And take from seventy Springs a score,

It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom

Fifty Springs ate little room,

About the woodland I will go

To see the cherry hung with snow.

(A. E. Houseman)

Poem No. 4

O Where are You Going?

“O where are you going?” said reader to rider,

“That valley is fatal when furnaces burn,

Yonder’s the midden whose odours will madden,

That gap is the grave where the tall return.

“O do you imagine,” said fearer to farer,

“That dusk will delay on your path to the pass,

Your diligent looking discover the lacking

Your footsteps feel from granite to grass?”

“O what was that bird,” said horror to hearer,

“Did you see that shape in the twisted trees?

Behind you swiftly the figure comes softly

The spot on your skin is a shocking disease?”

“Out of this house” – said rider to reader,

“Yours never will” – said farer to fearer,

“They’re looking for you” – said hearer to horror,

As he left them there, as he left them there.

(W. H. Auden)

Poem No. 5

In the Street of the Fruit Stalls

In-the-Street-of-the-Fruit- poem

Wicks balance flame, a dark dew falls

Om the street of the fruit stalls

Melon, guava, mandarin,

Pyramid piled like cannon balls

Glow red-hot, gold-hot from within.

Dark children with a coin to spend

Enter the lantern’s orbit; find

Melon, guava, mandarin

The moon compacted to a rind,

The sun in a pitted skin.

They take it, break it open, let

A gold or silver fountain wet

Mouth, fingers, cheek, nose, chin:

Radiant as lantern, they forget

The dark street I am standing in.

(Jan Stallworthy)

Poem No. 6

A Sindhi Woman

A-Sindhi-Woman  poem

Bare foot, through the bazaar,

And with the same undulant grace

As the cloth blown back from her face,

She glides with a stone jar,

High on her head

And not a ripple in her tread

Watching her cross erect

Stones, garbage, excrement and crumbs

Of glass in the Karachi slums,

I, with my stoop, reflect:

They stand most straight

Who learn to walk beneath a weight.

(Jan Stallworthy)

Poem No. 7


Times poem

To everything there is a season,

            And a time to every purpose under the heaven;

A time to be born,

            And a time to die;

A time to plant,

            And a time to pluck up that which is planted;

A time to break down,

            And a time to build up;

A time to weep,

            And a time to dance;

A time to cast away stones,

            And a time to gather stones together;

A time to embrace,

            And a time to refrain from embracing;

A time to get,

            And a time to lose;

A time to keep,

            And a time to cast away;

A time to rend,

            And a time to sew;

A time to keep silence,

            And a time to speak….

(From Ecclesiates, 3, 1-12)

Poem No. 8


\Ozymandias poem

I met a traveler from an antique land

Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert …. Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown.

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:

And on the pedestal these words appear:

“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.

(Percy Bysshe Shelley)

Poem No. 9

The Feed

The-Feed poem

Holding a grain of millet in her beak.

The mother sparrow has come to feed

The young ones ate so tiny and small

From head to toe they are beaks

When they cry.

One grain to be fed to the ten young ones.

To whom the mother sparrow should feed?

Conjoining beak with beak

With whom should she solace?

Fissuring the atom,

You have learnt to set life on foot

Could you spilt the grain?

Once grain to be fed to the ten young ones.

(Ahmed Nadeem Qasmi)

Poem No. 10

The Hollow Men

The-Hollow-Men poem

We are the hollow men

We are the stuffed men

Leaning together

Headpiece filled with straw, Alas!

Our dried voices, when

We whisper together

Are quiet and meaningless

As wind in dry grass

Or rats’ feet over broken glass

In our dry cellar.

Shape without form, shade without colour,

Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed

With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom

Remember us – if at all – not as lost

Violent souls, but only

As the hollow men

The stuffed men.

(T. S. Eliot)

Poem No. 11


Leisure poem

What is this life if, full of care

We have no time to stand and stare?

No time to stand beneath the boughs

And stare as long as sheep or cows:

No time to see, in broad daylight,

Streams full of stars, like skies at night:

No time to wait till her mouth can

Enrich that smile, her eyes began?

A poor life this if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare

(William Henry Davies)

Poem No. 12


Ruba'iyat poem

Faith is like Abraham at the stake: to be

Self-honoring and God=drunk is faith. Hear me,

You whom this age’s way so captivate!

To have no faith is worse than slavery

Music of strange lands with Islam’s fire blends,

On which the nation’s harmony depend;

Empty of concord is the soul of Europe,

Whose civilization to no Makkah bends.

Love’s madness has departed: in

The Muslim’s veins the blood runs thin;

Ranks broken, hearts perplexed, prayers cold,

No feeling deeper than the skin.

(Allama Muhammad Iqbal)

Poem No. 13

A Tale of Two Cities

A-Tale-of-Two-Cities poem

In the storms of the shrills

Of arms, smoke and the drills

All were scarred, burnt and afraid

Powerless and helpless were they made.

Woeful were all the hills

Wasteful were all the grills

None to share their moans

None to lessen their groans.

The flowers, flavours all smashed

Burnt, crushed and all dashed

And all passed through the grind

Leaving there nothing behind.

No eye could look

The explosion that took

The lives of two glories

In the moments of furies

All was done by a nation

Who in her wild passion

Cared not for the human rights

Nor saved them from deadly fights.

But how much great were they

Who bore the pains of black day:

“Ashes are not merely the waste

They can really create the great.”

(John Peter)

Poem No. 14

My Neighbour Friend

Breathing His Last!

My Neighbour Friend Breathing his last poem

My neighbour friend breathing his last!

What should I do, O god! Aghast!

He is to leave, now can’t remain,

Companions ready to catch the train.

            What should I do, O god! Aghast!

On every side decamping talk,

At every place are shrieks in stock

            What should I do, O god! Aghast!

Flare up flames in heart to height,

For, visible is not charming sight.

            What should I do, O god! Aghast!

Without His love, Bullah in loss,

Can hardly dwell here or across.

            What should I do, O god! Aghast!

(Bullah Shah)

Translated by A.R. Luther

Poem No. 15

He Came to Know Himself

He came to know Himself

Naught else had He in view

To be able to realize this

He got enmeshed in love

He alighted from high heaven

To pour a cascade of love

Became Mansur to mount the gallows

Just to have His head cut off,

He treaded the bazaars of Egypt,

Just to be sold for a slave

Sachu speaks the bare Truth

To speak of His sojourn on earth.

(Sachal Sarmast)


Hi! I am the CEO of www.lahoreeducation.com and i am living in Pakistan(Lahore) and i am teacher of commerce i teach about money, banking, finance, intro of business, economics, accounting and some other subjects of commerce and i write notes of that subjects.

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