49 Unrestrained Poems About Anger

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Here are my favorite poems about anger categorized:

  • Famous poems about anger
  • Poems about anger and pain
  • Angry poems about love
  • Poems about female anger
  • Angry poems about family
  • Short poems about anger

So if you want the best poems about anger, then you’re in the right place.

Keep reading!

49 Best Poems About Anger (Handpicked)
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Unrestrained Poems About Anger

Explore a range of thought-provoking and emotionally charged poems about anger, featuring some of the most powerful and famous works from some of the greatest poets of all time, as well as lesser-known gems that capture the intense emotions of anger in all its complexity.

From the searing rage of a betrayed lover to the simmering resentment of a forgotten friend, these poems offer insight into the many different shades and nuances of this powerful emotion.

Whether you’re looking to process your own anger or simply seeking to understand the feelings of others, these poems are sure to stir your soul and leave a lasting impression.

Let’s get started!

My #1 Favorite Poem About Anger

“A Poison Tree” by William Blake

I was angry with my friend;
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I watered it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears:
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night.
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine.

And into my garden stole,
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see;
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

Famous Poems About Anger

“To My Enemy” by Lucy Maud Montgomery

Let those who will of friendship sing,
And to its guerdon grateful be,
But I a lyric garland bring
To crown thee, O, mine enemy!

Thanks, endless thanks, to thee I owe
For that my lifelong journey through
Thine honest hate has done for me
What love perchance had failed to do.

I had not scaled such weary heights
But that I held thy scorn in fear,
And never keenest lure might match
The subtle goading of thy sneer.

Thine anger struck from me a fire
That purged all dull content away,
Our mortal strife to me has been
Unflagging spur from day to day.

And thus, while all the world may laud
The gifts of love and loyalty,
I lay my meed of gratitude
Before thy feet, mine enemy!

“Stop Me!” by Amos Russel Wells

Stop me, good people! Don’t you see
My temper is running away with me?
Help, Master Commonsense! Are you afraid?
Good Mistress Prudence, come to my aid!
Stop me, Conscience! Stop me, I pray!
My temper, my temper is running away!
Dear Brother Kindness, snatch after the reins!
Help, or my temper will dash out my brains!
Help, or I’ll get a terrible fall!
Help, Shame, Caution, Love, Wisdom, and all!

“Don’t Tease the Lion” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

If you saw a lion
Not within a cage,
Would you tease and fret him
Till he roared in rage?
Would you tempt his anger
And his savage power,
Knowing he could crush you,
Kill you, and devour?

Yet I know some people
Who, morn and noon and night,
Tease and fret with bitters
The lion–appetite.
It matters not what ails them,
For each disease and all
They seem to think there’s healing
In demon alcohol.

So they fret the lion,
And anger him, until,
In his awful power,
He springs up to kill.

Let me warn you, children,
From this foolish way.
Do not tease the lion,
Nor tempt him any day.

Don’t believe the doctors
If they say you need
Any wines or ciders;
For there are, indeed,
Better cures, and safer,
Than these drinks, that slay
More than a hundred people
Without fail each day.

“Hymn Before Action” by Rudyard Kipling

The earth is full of anger,
The seas are dark with wrath,
The Nations in their harness
Go up against our path:
Ere yet we draw the blade,
Jehovah of the Thunders,
Lord God of Battles, aid!

High lust and froward bearing,
Proud heart, rebellious brow
Deaf ear and soul uncaring,
We seek My mercy now!
The sinner that forswore Thee,
The fool that passed Thee by,
Our times are known before Thee
Lord, grant us strength to die!

For those who kneel beside us
At altars not Thine own,
Who lack the lights that guide us,
Lord, let their faith atone!
If wrong we did to call them,
By honour bound they came;
Let not Thy Wrath befall them,
But deal to us the blame.

“Guard Thy Lips” by Lillian E. Curtis

Oh, when harsh and hasty words arises
And clouds of vexation dim the eyes,
And anger begins to settle down.
And the face puts on a sullen frown;
When wrathful thoughts rush quickly up,
Oh, dash aside the poisoned cup.
And guard thy lips!

Guard them, lest, in an unguarded hour,
They should utter, beyond thy power,
Words to wound some loving heart,
Perhaps, a lasting scar impart;
Inevitable words when once they’re spoken.
Nothing can heal the heart they’ve broken.
Then, guard thy lips!

“Keep Your Temper” by Ellen Palmer Allerton

It never did, and never will,
Put things in better fashion,
Though rough the road, and steep the hill,
To fly into a passion.

And never yet did fume or fret
Mend any broken bubble;
The direst evil, bravely met,
Is but a conquered trouble.

Our trials—did we only know—
Are often what we make them;
And mole-hills into mountains grow,
Just by the way we take them.

Who keeps his temper, calm and cool,
Will find his wits in season;
But rage is weak, a foaming fool,
With neither strength nor reason.

And if a thing be hard to bear
When nerve and brain are steady,
If fiery passions rave and tear,
It finds us mained already.

Who yields to anger conquered lies—
A captive none can pity;
Who rules his spirit, greater is
Than he who takes a city.

A hero he, though drums are mute,
And no gay banners flaunted;
He treads his passions under foot,
And meets the world undaunted.

Oh, then, to bravely do our best,
Howe’er the winds are blowing;
And meekly leave to God the rest,
Is wisdom worth the knowing!

“Let It Pass” by Unknown

Be not swift to take offence;
Let it pass!
Anger is a foe to sense;
Let it pass!
Brood not darkly o’er a wrong
Which will disappear erelong;
Bather sing this cheery song-
Let it pass!

Strife corrodes the purest mind;
Let it pass!
As the unregarded wind,
Let it pass!
Any vulgar souls that live
May condemn without reprieve;
’Tis the noble who forgive;
Let it pass!

Echo not an angry word;
Let it pass!
Think how often you have erred;
Let it pass!
Since our joys must pass away,
Like the dew-drops on the spray,
Wherefore should our sorrows stay?
Let it pass!

“The Three Laws” by Amos R. Wells

Love is the golden law,
Sunnily dear;
Justice, the silver law,
Cold, calm, and clear;
Anger, the iron law,
Harshly severe
Anger’s an iron lance
Mighty to slay;
Justice, a silver scale,
Faultless alway;
Love is a golden ring,
Joining for aye!

“The Mad Wind” by Clark Ashton Smith

What hast thou seen, O wind,
Of beauty or of terror
Surpassing, denied to us,
That with precipitate wings,
Mad and ecstatical,
Thou spurnest the hollows and trees
That offer thee refuge of peace,
And findest within the sky
No safety nor respite
From the memory of thy vision?

“Righteous Wrath” by Henry Van Dyke

There are many kinds of hatred, as many kinds of fire;
And some are fierce and fatal with murderous desire;
And some are mean and craven, revengeful, sullen, slow,
They hurt the man that holds them more than they hurt his foe.

And yet there is a hatred that purifies the heart:
The anger of the better against the baser part,
Against the false and wicked, against the tyrant’s sword,
Against the enemies of love, and all that hate the Lord.

O cleansing indignation, O flame of righteous wrath,
Give me a soul to feel thee and follow in thy path!
Save me from selfish virtue, arm me for fearless fight,
And give me strength to carry on, a soldier of the Right!

“A Bird’s Anger” by William Henry Davies

A summer’s morning that has but one voice;
Five hundred stocks, like golden lovers, lean
Their heads together, in their quiet way,
And but one bird sings, of a number seen.

It is the lark, that louder, louder sings,
As though but this one thought possessed his mind:
‘You silent robin, blackbird, thrush, and finch,
I’ll sing enough for all you lazy kind!’

And when I hear him at this daring task,
‘Peace, little bird,’ I say, ‘and take some rest;
Stop that wild, screaming fire of angry song,
Before it makes a coffin of your nest.’

“Against Scoffing and Calling Names” by Isaac Watts

Our tongues were made to bless the Lord,
And not speak ill of men:
When others give a railing word,
We must not rail again.

Cross words and angry names require
To be chastised at school;
And he’s in danger of hell-fire
That calls his brother fool.

But lips that dare be so profane
To mock, and jeer, and scoff
At holy things, or holy men,
The Lord shall cut them off.

When children, in their wanton play,
Served old Elisha so,
And bade the prophet go his way,
“Go up, thou bald head, go!”

God quickly stopped their wicked breath;
And sent two raging bears,
That tore them limb from limb to death,
With blood, and groans, and tears.

Great God! How terrible art thou
To sinners e’er so young:
Grant me thy grace, and teach me how
To tame and rule my tongue.

“Unrest” by Don Marquis

A fierce unrest seethes at the core
Of all existing things:
It was the eager wish to soar
That gave the gods their wings.

From what flat wastes of cosmic slime,
And stung by what quick fire,
Sunward the restless races climb!—
Men risen out of mire!

There throbs through all the worlds that are
This heart-beat hot and strong,
And shaken systems, star by star,
Awake and glow in song.

But for the urge of this unrest
These joyous spheres are mute;
But for the rebel in his breast
Had man remained a brute.

When baffled lips demanded speech,
Speech trembled into birth—
(One day the lyric word shall reach
From earth to laughing earth.)—

When man’s dim eyes demanded light,
The light he sought was born—
His wish, a Titan, scaled the height
And flung him back the morn!

From deed to dream, from dream to deed,
From daring hope to hope,
The restless wish, the instant need,
Still lashed him up the slope!
. . . . . .
I sing no governed firmament,
Cold, ordered, regular—
I sing the stinging discontent
That leaps from star to star!

“Sonnet to Liberty” by Oscar Wilde

Not that I love thy children, whose dull eyes
See nothing save their own unlovely woe,
Whose minds know nothing, nothing care to know,—
But that the roar of thy Democracies,
Thy reigns of Terror, thy great Anarchies,
Mirror my wildest passions like the sea
And give my rage a brother—! Liberty!
For this sake only do thy dissonant cries
Delight my discreet soul, else might all kings
By bloody knout or treacherous cannonades
Rob nations of their rights inviolate
And I remain unmoved—and yet, and yet,
These Christs that die upon the barricades,
God knows it I am with them, in some things.

“Angry Words” by Unknown

Angry words! O let them never
From the tongue unbridled slip;
May the heart’s best impulse ever
Check them, e’er they soil the lip.

Love is much too pure and holy,
Friendship is too sacred far,
For a moment’s reckless folly
Thus to desolate and mar.

Angry words are lightly spoken,
Bitterest thoughts are rashly stirred;
Brightest links of life are broken
By a single angry word.

Poems About Anger and Pain

“Inarticulate Grief” by Richard Aldington

Let the sea beat its thin torn hands
In anguish against the shore,
Let it moan
Between headland and cliff;
Let the sea shriek out its agony
Across waste sands and marshes,
And clutch great ships,
Tearing them plate from steel plate
In reckless anger;
Let it break the white bulwarks
Of harbour and city;
Let it sob and scream and laugh
In a sharp fury,
With white salt tears
Wet on its writhen face;
Ah! let the sea still be mad
And crash in madness among the shaking rocks—
For the sea is the cry of our sorrow.

“To His Angry God” by Robert Herrick

Through all the night
Thou dost me fright,
And hold’st mine eyes from sleeping;
And day by day,
My cup can say
My wine is mix’d with weeping.

Thou dost my bread
With ashes knead
Each evening and each morrow;
Mine eye and ear
Do see and hear
The coming in of sorrow.

Thy scourge of steel,
Ah me! I feel
Upon me beating ever:
While my sick heart
With dismal smart
Is disacquainted never.

Long, long, I’m sure,
This can’t endure,
But in short time ’twill please Thee,
My gentle God,
To burn the rod,
Or strike so as to ease me.

“Anger” by Charles and Mary Lamb

Anger in its time and place
May assume a kind of grace.
It must have some reason in it,
And not last beyond a minute.
If to further lengths it go,
It does into malice grow.
‘Tis the difference that we see
‘Twixt the serpent and the bee.
If the latter you provoke,
It inflicts a hasty stroke,
Puts you to some little pain,
But it never stings again.
Close in tufted bush or brake
Lurks the poison-swelled snake
Nursing up his cherished wrath;
In the purlieus of his path,
In the cold, or in the warm,
Mean him good, or mean him harm,
Wheresoever fate may bring you,
The vile snake will always sting you.

“The Deeds of Anger” by Edgar A. Guest

I used to lose my temper an’ git mad an’ tear around
An’ raise my voice so wimmin folks would tremble at the sound;
I’d do things I was ashamed of when the fit of rage had passed,
An’ wish I hadn’t done ’em, an’ regret ’em to the last;
But I’ve learned from sad experience how useless is regret,
For the mean things done in anger are the things you can’t forget.

Now I think I’ve learned my lesson an’ I’m treadin’ gentler ways,
An’ I try to build my mornings into happy yesterdays;
I don’t let my temper spoil ’em in the way I used to do
An’ let some splash of anger smear the record when it’s through;
I want my memories pleasant, free from shame or vain regret,
Without any deeds of anger which I never can forget.

“Righteous Anger” by James Stephens

The lanky hank of a she in the inn over there
Nearly killed me for asking the loan of a glass of beer:
May the devil grip the whey-faced slut by the hair,
And beat bad manners out of her skin for a year.

That parboiled imp, with the hardest jaw you will see
On virtue’s path, and a voice that would rasp the dead,
Came roaring and raging the minute she looked on me,
And threw me out of the house on the back of my head!

If I asked her master he’d give me a cask a day;
But she, with the beer at hand, not a gill would arrange!
May she marry a ghost and bear him a kitten, and may
The High King of Glory permit her to get the mange.

Angry Poems About Love

“Reproach” by Ruby Archer

He came in ruddy anger, and he flung
Quick, deeply-stabbing words, nor measured wounds,
Nor minded if a loving heart were stung.
My sobs uprose. I pressed them back to bounds.
Oh, could he know, his briefest look unkind
Were more than ample punishment to find,—
Reserve alone had all my bosom wrung.

“A Lover’s Anger” by Matthew Prior

As Cloe came into the Room t’other Day,
I peevish began; Where so long cou’d You stay?
In your Life-time You never regarded your Hour:
You promis’d at Two; and (pray look Child) ’tis Four.
A Lady’s Watch needs neither Figures nor Wheels:
‘Tis enough, that ’tis loaded with Baubles and Seals.
A Temper so heedless no Mortal can bear
Thus far I went on with a resolute Air.
Lord bless Me! said She; let a Body but speak:
Here’s an ugly hard Rose-Bud fall’n into my Neck:
It has hurt Me, and vext Me to such a Degree
See here; for You never believe Me; pray see,
On the left Side my Breast what a Mark it has made.
So saying, her Bosom She careless display’d.
That Seat of Delight I with Wonder survey’d;
And forgot ev’ry Word I design’d to have said.

“Hateful Is the Dark-Blue Sky” by Alfred Lord Tennyson

Hateful is the dark-blue sky,
Vaulted o’er the dark-blue sea.
Death is the end of life; ah, why
Should life all labor be?
Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast,
And in a little while our lips are dumb.
Let us alone. What is it that will last?
And things are taken from us, and become
Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.
Let us alone. What pleasure can we have
To war with evil? Is there any peace
In ever climbing up the climbing wave?
All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave
In silence, ripen, fall, and cease:
Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease.

angry woman looking through tree branches

“Quarrel” by Elinor Wylie

Let us quarrel for these reasons:
You detest the salt which seasons
My speech. . . and all my lights go out
In the cold poison of your doubt.
I love Shelley. . . you love Keats
Something parts and something meets.
I love salads. . . you love chops;
Something goes and something stops.
Something hides its face and cries;
Something shivers; something dies.
I love blue ribbons brought from fairs;
You love sitting splitting hairs.
I love truth, and so do you. . .
Tell me, is it truly true?

Poems About Female Anger

“Female Revenge” by James McIntyre

I heard Bill say to-day, Mary,
That you are a charming fairy,
And that to town he’d give you drive,
But just as sure as you’re alive,
He does intend to have the bliss,
Of stealing from your lips a kiss.

I’ll let him drive me now, Jane,
His efforts they will all be vain,
I hate him, and I him defy,
And anger flashed from her eye,
The monster’s wiles I will defeat,
Peck of strong onions I will eat.

“Time’s Lesson” by Emily Dickinson

Mine enemy is growing old,—
I have at last revenge.
The palate of the hate departs;
If any would avenge,—

Let him be quick, the viand flits,
It is a faded meat.
Anger as soon as fed is dead;
’T is starving makes it fat.

“Hatred and Vengeance, My Eternal Portion” by William Cowper

Hatred and vengeance, my eternal portion,
Scarce can endure delay of execution,
Wait, with impatient readiness, to seize my
Soul in a moment.

Damned below Judas: more abhorred than he was,
Who for a few pence sold his holy Master.
Twice betrayed Jesus me, this last delinquent,
Deems the profanest.

Man disavows, and Deity disowns me:
Hell might afford my miseries a shelter;
Therefore hell keeps her ever hungry mouths all
Bolted against me.

Hard lot! encompassed with a thousand dangers;
Weary, faint, trembling with a thousand terrors;
I’m called, if vanquished, to receive a sentence
Worse than Abiram’s.

Him the vindictive rod of angry justice
Sent quick and howling to the center headlong;
I, fed with judgment, in a fleshly tomb, am
Buried above ground.

“The Fairies’ Siege” by Rudyard Kipling

I have been given my charge to keep
Well have I kept the same!
Playing with strife for the most of my life,
But this is a different game.
I’ll not fight against swords unseen,
Or spears that I cannot view
Hand him the keys of the place on your knees
‘Tis the Dreamer whose dreams come true!

Ask him his terms and accept them at once.
Quick, ere we anger him, go!
Never before have I flinched from the guns,
But this is a different show.
I’ll not fight with the Herald of God
(I know what his Master can do!)
Open the gate, he must enter in state,
‘Tis the Dreamer whose dreams come true!

I’d not give way for an Emperor,
I’d hold my road for a King
To the Triple Crown I would not bow down
But this is a different thing.
I’ll not fight with the Powers of Air,
Sentry, pass him through!
Drawbridge let fall, ’tis the Lord of us all,
The Dreamer whose dreams come true!

“Revenge” by Mary Tucker Lambert

Ah! I could curse them in my woe,
E’en as the viper stings,
And to the heel that strikes it clings,
So I could plant my blow.

Yes, I could pray that fell disease
Should torture them with pain-
That plague should fall in every rain,
Miasma taint each breeze.

That wealth should vanish, and the curse
Of poverty should reign;
That cries for bread should be in vain!
And always empty purse.

That friends should die, and every pride
Should vanish in a day;
‘Till even hope withdraws her ray,
And naught of joys abide.

Yes, I could whisper in the ear
Of one who loves to tell
Some fabrication, dark as hell,
As scandal loves to hear.

Revenge is sweet; I could invent
Full many a thousand way,
That would my heartfelt wrongs repay,
Could they my soul content.

But could I go to sleep in peace,
And could I dream of heaven-
Could I e’er hope to be forgiven
When death came to release?

Revenge is sweet to those who live;
But when we think of death-
The ebbing of this life-tide breath-
‘Tis sweeter to forgive.

“Check and Counter-Check” by Madison Julius Cawein

Vent all your coward’s wrath
Upon me so! –
Yes, I have crossed your path
And will not go!

Storm at me hate, and name
Me all that’s vile,
“Lust,” “filth,” “disease,” and “shame,”
I only smile.

Me brute rage can not hurt,
It only flings
In your own eyes blind dirt
That bites and stings.

Rave at your like such whine,
Your fellow-men,
This wrath! – great God! and mine! –
What is it then?

No words! no oaths! such hate
As devils smile
When raw success cries “wait!”
And “afterwhile!”

A woman I and ill,
A courtesan
You wearied of, would kill,
And you – a man!

You, you – unnamable!
A thing there’s not,
Too base to burn in Hell,
Too vile to rot.

Angry Poems About Family

beautiful white haired young woman with fierce blue eyes

“Anger” by H. P. Nichols

When a child is cross and angry,
Never must her voice be heard;
Only to herself most softly
May she say this simple word,

“Lead us not into temptation;”
That will angry thoughts remove,
Make her calm and still and gentle,
With a spirit full of love.

“Let Dogs Delight to Bark and Bite” by Isaac Watts

Let dogs delight to bark and bite,
For God hath made them so;
Let bears and lions growl and fight,
For ’tis their nature too.

But, children, you should never let
Such angry passions rise;
Your little hands were never made
To tear each other’s eyes.

“The Tone of Voice” by Unknown

It’s not so much what you say
As the manner in which you say it;
It’s not so much the language you use
As the tone in which you convey it.
“Come here!” I sharply said,
As the child cowered and wept.
“Come here.” I said. He looked and smiled
And straight into my lap he crept.

Words may be mild and fair
But the tone may pierce like a dart;
Words may be soft as the summer air
But the tone may break my heart;
For words come from the mind, grow by study and art
But the tone leaps from the inner self,
Revealing the state of the heart.

Whether you know it or not,
Whether you mean it, or care,
Gentleness, kindness, love and hate,
Envy, and anger are there.
Then would you quarrels avoid
And peace and love rejoice?
Keep anger not only out of your words
Keep it out of your voice.

“Rich Boy’s Christmas” by Ellis Parker Butler

And now behold this sulking boy,
His costly presents bring no joy;
Harsh tears of anger fill his eye
Tho’ he has all that wealth can buy.
What profits it that he employs
His many gifts to make a noise?
His playroom is so placed that he
Can cause his folks no agony.

“Love Between Brothers and Sisters” by Isaac Watts

Whatever Brawls disturb the Street,
There should be Peace at Home;
Where Sisters dwell and Brothers meet,
Quarrels should never come.

Birds in their little Nests agree;
And ’tis a shameful Sight,
When Children of one Family
Fall out, and chide and fight.

Hard Names at first, and threat’ning Words,
That are but noisy Breath,
May grow to Clubs and naked Swords;
To Murder and to Death.

The Devil tempts one Mother’s Son
To rage against another,
So wicked Cain was hurry’d on
Till he had kill’d his Brother.

The Wife will make their Anger cool,
At least before ’tis Night;
But in the Bosom of a Fool
It burns till Morning-light.

Pardon, O LORD, our childish Rage,
Our little Brawls remove;
That as we grow to riper Age,
Our Hearts may all be Love.

“The Father” by Muriel Stuart

The evening found us whom the day had fled,
Once more in bitter anger, you and I,
Over some small, some foolish, trivial thing
Our anger would not decently let die,
But dragged between us, shamed and shivering
Until each other’s taunts we scarcely heard,
Until we lost the sense of all we said,
And knew not who first spoke the fatal word.
It seemed that even every kiss we wrung
We killed at birth in shuddering and hate,
As if we feared a thing too passionate.
However close we clung
One hour, the next hour found us separate,
Estranged, and love most bitter on our tongue.

Tonight we quarrelled over one small head,
Our fruit of last year’s maying, the white bud
Blown from our stormy kisses and the dead
First rapture of our wild, unhappy blood.
You clutched him; there was panther in your eyes,
We breathed like beasts in thickets; on the wall
Our shadows swelled in frustrate tyrannies,
The room grew dark with anger, yet through all
The shame and hurt and pity of it you were
Still strangely and imperishably dear,
Behind the tempest hung the rainbow’s thrall.

I said, “My son shall wear his father’s sword.”
You said, “Shall hands once rosy on my breast
Be stained with blood?” I answered with a word
More bitter, and your word, the bitterest,
Stung me to sudden anger, and I said,
“My son shall be no coward of his line
Because his mother fears!” You turned your head,
And your eyes grew implacable on mine.
And like a trodden snake you turned to meet
The foe with sudden hissing … then you smiled
And broke our life in pieces at my feet.
“Your child? ” you said. “Your child? “

Short Poems About Anger

“The Muse’s Mirror” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Early one day, the Muse, when eagerly bent on adornment,
Follow’d a swift-running streamlet, the quietest nook by it seeking.
Quickly and noisily flowing, the changeful surface distorted
Ever her moving form; the goddess departed in anger.
Yet the stream call’d mockingly after her, saying: “What, truly!
Wilt thou not view, then, the truth, in my mirror so clearly depicted?”
But she already was far away, on the brink of the ocean,
In her figure rejoicing, and duly arranging her garland.

“Autumn” by Siegfried Sassoon

October’s bellowing anger breaks and cleaves
The bronzed battalions of the stricken wood
In whose lament I hear a voice that grieves
For battle’s fruitless harvest, and the feud
Of outraged men. Their lives are like the leaves
Scattered in flocks of ruin, tossed and blown
Along the westering furnace flaring red.
O martyred youth and manhood overthrown,
The burden of your wrongs is on my head.

“Old Person of Bangor” by Edward Lear

There was an Old Person of Bangor,
Whose face was distorted with anger;
He tore off his boots, and subsisted on roots,
That borascible Person of Bangor.

“God’s Anger Without Affection” by Robert Herrick

God when He’s angry here with anyone,
His wrath is free from perturbation;
And when we think His looks are sour and grim,
The alteration is in us, not Him.

“Crossing XVI” by Rabindranath Tagore

You came to my door in the dawn and sang; it angered me to be awakened from sleep, and you went away unheeded.
You came in the noon and asked for water; it vexed me in my work, and you were sent away with reproaches.
You came in the evening with your flaming torches.
You seemed to me like a terror and I shut my door.
Now in the midnight I sit alone in my lampless room and call you back whom I turned away in insult.

“God in Wrath” by Stephen Crane

A god in wrath
Was beating a man;
He cuffed him loudly
With thunderous blows
That rang and rolled over the earth.
All people came running.
The man screamed and struggled,
And bit madly at the feet of the god.
The people cried,
“Ah, what a wicked man!”
And —
“Ah, what a redoubtable god!”

“Anger & Wrath My Bosom Rends” by William Blake

Anger & Wrath my bosom rends
I thought them the Errors of friends
But all my limbs with warmth glow
I find them the Errors of the foe

“To His Friend to Avoid Contention of Words” by Robert Herrick

Words beget anger; anger brings forth blows;
Blows make of dearest friends immortal foes.
For which prevention, sociate, let there be
Betwixt us two no more logomachy.
Far better ’twere for either to be mute,
Than for to murder friendship by dispute.

“Anger” by Robert Herrick

Wrongs, if neglected, vanish in short time,
But heard with anger, we confess the crime.

“Anger Affords a Weapon to Him Who Seeks One” by Claudian

Anger affords a weapon to him who seeks one.
Rage changes whatever it carries into a javelin.
Anger arms us all.
When a ferocious right hand rages for blood, all things can serve as a spear’s point.
Rage converts whatever is carried into a deadly spear.

“Angry Words” by Theognis of Megara

Rash, angry words, and spoken out of season,
When passion has usurp’d the throne of reason,
Have ruin’d many. Passion is unjust,
And for an idle, transitory gust
Of gratified revenge, dooms us to pay
With long repentence at a later day.

“Old Man of Quebec” by Edward Lear

There was an Old Man of Quebec,
A beetle ran over his neck;
But he cried, ‘With a needle,
I’ll slay you, O beadle!’
That angry Old Man of Quebec.