33 POEMS OF 4 STANZAS BY GREAT AUTHORS - LITERATURE - 2025

We leave you a list of poems of four stanzas by great authors such as Pablo Neruda, Mario Benedetti, Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer, Federico García Lorca, Rubén Darío, Juan Ramón Jiménez, José Martí, Lope de Vega and others.

A poem is a composition that uses the literary resources of poetry. It can be written in different ways, but it is generally in verse.

This means that it is made up of phrases or sentences written on separate lines and grouped into sections called stanzas. Each of these lines usually rhyme with each other, that is, a similar vowel sound, especially in the last word of the lines.

The length of the poems can be unlimited and is not governed by any rule. There are single-line poems and others that can fill multiple pages.

But it could be said that a standard extension is one with 4 stanzas, since it is a length that allows the idea to be transmitted sufficiently to be developed.

It is common to associate poetry with love and romanticism, but it is good to clarify that a poem can be written on any subject. However, poetry has an intrinsic intention to communicate a stylized, sublime and beautiful idea.

Contemporary poetry has many licenses that sometimes do not allow poems to fit into a certain structure. In this way, we find poems in prose, without rhyme, with asymmetric verses or stanzas, and so on.

List of 4-stanza poems by famous authors

Woman Body

Woman's body, white hills, white thighs,

you look like the world in your attitude of surrender.

My body of a wild peasant undermines you

and makes the son jump from the bottom of the earth

I was just like a tunnel. The birds fled from me

and the night entered me with its powerful invasion.

To survive I forged you like a weapon,

like an arrow in my bow, like a stone in my sling.

But the hour of revenge falls, and I love you.

Body of skin, moss, greedy and firm milk.

Ah the glasses of the chest! Ah the eyes of absence!

Ah, the pubic roses! Ah your slow and sad voice!

Body of my woman, will persist in your grace.

My thirst, my endless craving, my indecisive path!

Dark channels where eternal thirst continues,

and fatigue continues, and infinite pain.

Author: Pablo Neruda

Vice versa

I'm afraid to see you, I need to see you

hope to see you, disappointment to see you.

I want to find you, worry to find you, certainty of finding you, poor doubts of finding you.

I have an urge to hear you, joy to hear you, good luck hearing you and fears hearing you.

I mean in short, I'm fucked and radiant, perhaps more the first than the second and also vice versa.

Author: Mario Benedetti

For you to read with your gray eyes

So that you read them with your gray eyes,

so that you sing them with your clear voice,

so that they fill your chest with emotion,

I wrote my verses myself.

So that they find a refuge in your chest

and give them youth, life, warmth,

three things that I can't give them,

I wrote my verses myself.

To make you enjoy my joy,

so that you suffer with my pain,

so that you feel my life throb,

I wrote my verses.

In order to put before your plants

the offering of my life and my love,

with soul, broken dreams, laughter, tears,

I wrote my verses myself.

From: Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer

Malagueña

Death

enters and leaves

the tavern.

Black horses

and sinister people pass

by the deep paths

of the guitar.

And there is a smell of salt

and female blood

in the feverish tuberose

of the navy.

Death

comes in and goes out,

and death goes in and out

of the tavern.

Author: Federico García Lorca

Farewell

If I die,

leave the balcony open.

The boy eats oranges.

(From my balcony I see it).

The reaper mowing wheat.

(From my balcony I feel it).

If I die,

leave the balcony open!

Author: Federico García Lorca

Old songs

I

At the time of dew,

the

white mountain range and green meadow emerge from the mist.

The sun in the holm oaks!

Until they disappear in the sky,

the larks rise.

Who put feathers in the field?

Who made wings of crazy earth?

In the wind over the mountains,

the golden eagle has

wide open wings.

On the pillory

where the river is born,

on the turquoise lake

and the gullies of green pines;

over twenty villages,

over a hundred roads…

Along the paths of the air,

lady eagle,

where are you going at all flights so early in the morning?

II

There was already a moonrise

in the blue sky.

The moon in the espartales,

near Alicún!

Round on the alcor,

and rotates in the murky waters

of the Guadiana minor.

Between Úbeda and Baeza - the

hill of the two sisters:

Baeza, poor man and lady;

Úbeda, queen and gypsy.

And in the holm oak grove,

round and blessed moon,

always with me by my side!

III

Near Úbeda la grande,

whose hills no one will see,

the moon was following me

over the olive grove.

A breathless moon,

always with me at the same time.

I thought: bandits

of my land !, walking

on my light horse.

Some will go with me!

That this moon knows me

and, with fear, gives me

the pride of having

once been a captain.

IV

In the Sierra de Quesada

there is a giant

greenish, black and golden eagle,

its wings always open.

It is made of stone and does not tire.

Past Puerto Lorente, the horse of the mountains

gallops through the clouds

.

It never tires: it is made of rock.

In the depths of the ravine

the fallen rider can be seen,

raising his arms to the sky.

The arms are made of granite.

And where no one rises,

there is a smiling virgin

with a blue river in her arms.

It is the Virgin of the Sierra.

Author: Antonio Machado

Spring Purpose

To Vargas Vila.

I offer myself to say hello and to celebrate I force

your triumph, Love, to the kiss of the season that arrives

while the white swan of the blue lake sails

in the magical park of my witness triumphs.

Love, your golden sickle has reaped my wheat;

For you the soft sound of the Greek flute flatters me,

and for you Venus prodigal gives me her apples

and offers me the pearls of fig honeys.

In the erect term I place a crown

in which the purple detonates from fresh roses;

and while the water sings under the dark woods, next to the adolescent that in the mystery I will begin , alternating with your sweet exercise,

the golden amphorae of the divine Epicurus.

Author: Rubén Darío

Smoke shadow

Shadow smoke across the meadow!

And it goes so fast!

There is no time for the search

to retain the past!

Terrible shadow of myth

that pulls out of me,

is it perhaps a lever

to sink into infinity?

Mirror that undoes me

while I am seeing myself in it,

man begins dying

from the moment he is born.

The beam of the soul

smokes you from the smoke when it goes into the shade,

with its secret it amazes you

and with its amazement it overwhelms you.

Author: Miguel de Unamuno

Rhyme 1

Why those lilies that the ice kills?

Why those roses when the sun goes down?

Why those little birds that without flight

die in down?

Why does heaven waste so many lives

that are not of other new links?

Why was

your poor heart a dam of your pure blood ?

Why were not our bloods

of love mingled in holy communion?

Why did you and I, Teresa of my soul,

not give granazón?

Why, Teresa, and what were we born for?

Why and for what did we both go?

Why and for what is everything nothing?

Why did God make us?

Author: Miguel de Unamuno

Brunette and agile girl

Dark and agile girl, the sun that makes fruits,

the one that curdles the wheat, the one that twists the algae,

made your body happy, your luminous eyes

and your mouth that has the smile of water.

An eager black sun wraps itself around the strands

of your black hair when you stretch out your arms.

You play with the sun as with an estuary

and it leaves two dark pools in your eyes.

Dark and agile girl, nothing brings me closer to you.

Everything about you takes me away, like noon.

You are the delirious youth of the bee,

the intoxication of the wave, the strength of the spike.

My gloomy heart seeks you, however,

and I love your cheerful body, your loose and thin voice.

Sweet and definitive brown butterfly,

like the wheat field and the sun, the poppy and the water.

Author: Pablo Neruda

A rose and milton

From the generations of roses

that have been lost in the depths of time,

I want one to be saved from oblivion,

one without a mark or sign among things

that they were. Fate brings me

this gift of naming for the first time

that silent flower, the last

rose that Milton brought to his face, without seeing her. Oh you vermilion or yellow

or white rose from a blotted garden,

magically leave your past

immemorial and in this verse shines,

gold, blood or ivory or dark

as in his hands, invisible rose.

Author: Jorge Luis Borges

What in sound verse and sweet rhyme

Those of you who, in sonorous verse and sweet rhyme,

make a concert to listen to a

versifying poet in the form of a courier,

that prints a number to every address, Hear of a chaos the raw material

does not cultivate like recipe figures,

that in pure, easy, clean and clear language,

I invent, Love writes, the lime time.

These, finally, relics of the

sweet flame that burned me, if

they were not for sale, or to fame, May my happiness be such that, in spite of him, those

who dismay me

that his beautiful breast is enough for laurel.

Author: Lope de Vega

The rain

Suddenly the afternoon has cleared

Because the meticulous rain is already falling.

Falls or fell. Rain is one thing

that certainly happens in the past.

Whoever hears her fall has recovered

The time when fortunate luck

revealed to him a flower called rose

And the curious color of red.

This rain that blinds the crystals

Will rejoice in lost suburbs

The black grapes of a vine in certain

Patio that no longer exists. The wet

afternoon brings me the voice, the desired voice,

Of my father who returns and has not died.

Author: Jorge Luis Borges

To the flowers

These were pomp and joy

waking up to the dawn of the morning,

in the afternoon they will be vain pity

sleeping in the arms of the cold night.

This nuance that defies the sky,

striped iris of gold, snow and scarlet,

will be a lesson to human life:

so much is undertaken in the space of one day!

They rose early to bloom,

and to grow old they blossomed: a

cradle and a grave in a button they found.

Such men saw their fortunes:

in one day they were born and breathed out;

that after the centuries, hours were.

Author: Calderón de la Barca

Sleep easy

You said the word that falls in love

To my ears. You already forgot. Okay.

Sleep peacefully Your face must be serene

AND beautiful at all times.

When it enchants the seductive mouth

It must be fresh, its saying pleasant;

For your office of lover, the burning

face of the one who cries a lot is not good.

More glorious destinies demand of you

Than to carry, among the black wells

Of the dark circles, the gaze in duel.

Cover of beautiful victims the floor!

More damage to the world did the fatuous sword

Of some barbarian king And has a statue

Author: Alfonsino Storni

Sonnet 1

When I stop to contemplate my state

and to see the steps by where it has brought me,

I find, according to where I was lost,

that a greater evil could have come;

but when I am forgotten about the road, I

don't know why I have come to such a bad thing:

I know that I am finished, and more I have felt

my care end with me.

I will finish, that I gave myself without art

to who will know how to lose me and finish me,

if he wants, and even know how to complain:

that my will can kill me,

yours, which is not so much on my part,

being able, what will I do but do it?

Author: Garcilaso de Vega

Joy of touch

I am alive and I play.

I play, I play, I play.

And no, I am not crazy.

Man, touch, touch

what causes you:

bosom, feather, rock, well tomorrow is true

that you will already be dead, stiff, swollen, stiff.

Touch touch touch, What crazy joy!

Touch. Touch. Touch

Author: Damaso Alonso

To a nose

Once upon a man with a glued nose, once

upon a superlative nose, once

upon a sayón nose and write, once

upon a very bearded swordfish.

It was a wrong-faced sundial, once

upon a thoughtful Altar, once

upon a face-up elephant, it

was Ovidio Nasón with a more nosy nose.

Once upon a spur of a galley,

upon a pyramid of Egypt,

the twelve Tribes of noses was.

There was once a very infinite

nose, a lot of nose, a nose so fierce

that on Annas's face it was a crime.

Author: Francisco de Quevedo

Meeting

I bumped into you in spring,

a sunny afternoon, thin and fine,

and you were on my creeper back,

and on my waist, bow and serpentine.

You gave me the softness of your wax,

and I gave you the salt of my saline.

And we sail together, without a flag,

through the sea of ​​rose and thorn.

And later, to die, to be two rivers

without oleanders, dark and empty,

for the clumsy mouth of the people….

And behind, two moons, two swords,

two waists, two linked mouths

and two love arches of the same bridge.

Author: Rafel de León

Past midnight

As midnight passed

and the Girl burst into tears,

the hundred beasts woke up

and the barn came alive.

And they came closer

and stretched out to the Child

like a shaken forest.

An ox lowered his breath to his face

and exhaled it without noise,

and his eyes were tender,

as if full of dew…

A sheep was rubbing it

against her very soft fleece,

and her hands were licking her

squatting two goats…

Author: Gabriela Mistral

I am an honest man

I am an honest man

From where the palm grows, And before I die I want

Cast my verses from the soul.

I come from everywhere

And everywhere I go:

I am art among the arts, In the mountain, I am mountain.

I know the strange names

Of herbs and flowers, And of deadly deceptions, And of sublime pains.

I have seen in the dark night

Rain on my head

The rays of pure fire

Of divine beauty.

Author: José Martí

Constant love beyond death

My eyes will close the last

Shadow that the white day will take me,

And this soul of mine

Hora, will be able to unleash this eager desire to flatter;

But not from the other side on the shore It

will leave the memory, where it burned:

Swimming knows my flame cold water,

And losing respect for severe law.

Soul, to whom a God has been a prison,

Venas, what a humor they have given to so much fire,

Medulas, who have gloriously burned, Your body will leave, not your care;

They will be ash, but it will make sense;

They will be dust, more love dust.

Author: Francisco de Quevedo

October

I was lying on the ground, facing

the infinite countryside of Castile,

which autumn wrapped in the yellow

sweetness of its clear setting sun.

Slowly, the plow, parallel

opened the dark feat, and the simple

open hand left the seed

in his bowels honestly split

I thought of ripping out my heart and throwing it,

full of its high and deep feeling,

the wide furrow of the tender terroir,

to see if with splitting it and sowing it, spring showed the world

the pure tree of eternal love.

Author: Juan Ramón Jiménez

Black stone on a white stone

I will die in Paris in a downpour,

one day of which I already have the memory.

I will die in Paris - and I am not running -

perhaps on a Thursday, as it is today, in the fall.

Thursday will be, because today, Thursday, that I prose

these verses, the humbers have put

on the bad thing and, never like today, I have returned,

with all my way, to see myself alone.

César Vallejo has died, they

all beat him without him doing anything to them;

they hit him hard with a stick and hard

also with a rope; are witnesses on Thursdays and humerus bones,

loneliness, rain, roads…

Author: César Vallejo

What do I have that my friendship seeks

What do I have that my friendship seeks?

What interest do you follow, my Jesus,

that at my door covered with dew you

spend the dark winter nights?

Oh how hard my insides were,

because I did not open you! What a strange delusion,

if from my ingratitude the cold ice

dried the sores of your pure plants!

How many times did the Angel say to me:

«Alma, look out the window now,

you will see with how much love to call persistence»!

And how many, sovereign beauty,

"Tomorrow we will open it," he answered,

for the same answer tomorrow!

Author: Lope de Vega

Rhyme LII

Giant waves that you break roaring

on the deserted and remote beaches,

wrapped in the sheet of foam,

take me with you!

Hurricane gusts that snatch

the withered leaves from the high forest,

swept away in the blind whirlwind,

take me with you!

Storm cloud that breaks the lightning

and in fire you adorn the bloody borders,

caught up in the dark mist,

take me with you !.

Take me, out of pity, to where vertigo

with reason raises my memory.

For mercy! I'm afraid of being left

with my pain alone!

Author: Lope de Vega

In order to your hands I have come

Finally, I have come to your hands, I

know that I have to die so tight

that even alleviating my care with complaints

as a remedy is already defended for me;

I do not know what my life has sustained

if it is not in having been kept

so that only in me it would be proven

how much a sword cuts in one surrender.

My tears have been shed

where dryness and roughness

gave bad fruit deltas, and my luck:

The ones I have cried for you are enough;

take no more revenge on me with my weakness;

There avenge you, lady, with my death!

Author: Garcilaso de Vega

What i left for you

I left for you my forests, my lost

grove, my sleepless dogs,

my capital years banished

until almost the winter of life.

I left a tremor, I left a shaking,

a glow of unquenched fires,

I left my shadow in the desperate

bleeding eyes of parting.

I left sad doves next to a river,

horses on the sand sun,

I stopped smelling the sea, I stopped seeing you.

I left for you everything that was mine. Give me you, Rome, in exchange for my pains,

as much as I left to have you.

Daughters of the wind

They have come.

They invade the blood.

They smell of feathers,

of lack,

of tears.

But you feed fear

and loneliness

like two small animals

lost in the desert.

They have come

to set fire to the age of sleep.

A goodbye is your life.

But you hug yourself

like the crazy snake of movement

that only finds itself

because there is no one.

You cry under your crying,

you open the chest of your desires

and you are richer than the night.

But it's so lonely

that words commit suicide.

Author: Alejandra Pizarnik

Verse

You dig into the verse,

sink your pen into it

until the first drops

of blood run down the page.

But the verse does not run.

It stays there, standing.

Nobody reads or knows it.

You hear the printing woe

that multiplies the verse

by a thousand or five thousand.

Once in print,

the mockery is funnier:

another thousand times it will not be read.

Author: Eduardo Lizalde

Cover me, love, the sky of my mouth

Cover me, love, the sky of my mouth

with that rapturous foam,

which is jasmine that knows and burns,

sprouted from rock coral.

Alóquemelo, love, its salt, crazy

Your lancinating sharp supreme flower,

Folding its fury in the diadem

of the biting carnation that unleashes it.

Oh tight flow, love, oh beautiful

gurgling tempered with snow

through such a narrow grotto raw, to see how your thin neck

slips you, love, and it rains you

with jasmine and saliva stars!

Author: Rafael Alberti

Strong woman

I remember your face that was fixed in my days, a

woman with a blue skirt and a tan forehead,

that in my childhood and on my land of ambrosia

I saw the black furrow open in a fiery April.

The impure cup

that a son attached to the lily's breast was lifting in the tavern, deep, the impure cup,

and under that memory, which was a burn to you,

the seed fell from your hand, serene.

Segar I saw your son's wheat in January,

and without understanding I had fixed eyes on you,

enlarged at the same time, with wonder and tears.

And the mud of your feet will still kiss,

because among a hundred mundanes I have not found your face

and I still follow you in the furrows the shadow with my song!

Author: Gabriela Mistral

Other poems of interest

Poems of five stanzas.

Poems of six stanzas.

Poems of Romanticism.

Avant-garde poems.

Poems of the Renaissance.

Poems of Futurism.

Poems of Classicism.

Poems of Neoclassicism.

Poems of the Baroque.

Poems of Modernism.

Poems of Dadaism.

Cubist Poems.

References

1. Poem and its elements: stanza, verse, rhyme. Recovered from portaleducativo.net
2. Poem. Recovered from es.wikipedia.org
3. Twenty love poems and a desperate song. Recovered from albalearning.com
4. Love poems by Mario Benedetti. Recovered from norfipc.com
5. Rhyme XCIII: For you to read with your gray eyes. Recovered from ciudadseva.com
6. "Farewell" and "Malagueña". Recovered from poesi.as
7. Old songs. Recovered from Buscapoemas.net
8. Poems by Rubén Darío. Recovered from los-poetas.com.