Top 15 Most Beautiful Poems in Textbooks

Why don't you come to visit Vĩ village?

Look at the sunlight rising over the areca trees.

Whose garden is so lush, green like jade?

The bamboo leaves are shielding the face of the village.

The wind follows the path of the wind, the clouds follow the clouds,

The river flows in sadness, the corn flowers sway...

Whose boat is docked at the Moon River's shore?

Will it bring the moon back before nightfall?

I dream of a faraway guest, a distant traveler,

Your dress is so white, I can't see you clearly...

Here, the mist and smoke blur the figures,

Who knows if love here is deep and true?

(Hàn Mặc Tử - SGK Ngữ văn 11 - tập 2)

Bamboo green,

When did it become green?

The story of old... once had green bamboo groves.

With slender stems, fragile leaves,

But how has it formed fortresses and walls, oh bamboo?

Wherever bamboo grows, it is lush and green,

Even on rocky or barren soil.

What’s so special, what’s so special,

The little nourishment gathered over time makes it abundant.

Its roots are hardworking, undeterred by poor soil,

The more roots, the more diligence bamboo shows.

Reaching out in the wind, bamboo sways,

The plant endures and serenades the leaves and branches.

It loves the sunshine, the clear blue sky,

Bamboo never hides in the shade.

In the storm, it shields itself and holds tight,

Embracing each other, bamboo grows closer together.

When bamboo is united,

Fortifications are built, my friend.

If by chance, the stalk breaks, and branches fall,

The roots still pass on the legacy to new shoots.

Bamboo doesn’t bow, it doesn’t grow crooked,

From the very start, its form is sharp and strong.

With its bare back, it faces the sun and the rain,

With just a short garment, bamboo shares with its young.

The young shoots are tender,

Already bearing the straight stature and round body of bamboo.

Years pass, months pass,

Old bamboo and new shoots emerge, what’s strange about that?

In the future,

In the future,

In the future...

The earth stays green, bamboo will always remain green.

(Nguyễn Duy - SGK Ngữ văn 6 - tập 1)

I long to extinguish the sunlight,

So the colors won’t fade;

I long to tether the wind,

So the fragrance doesn’t escape.

Here are the bees and butterflies, in their honeymoon;

Here are the flowers of the green countryside;

Here are the leaves on the tender branches swaying;

Here are the swallows singing their love song.

And here is the light flickering on the eyelashes;

Each morning, joyfully knocking at the door;

January is as sweet as a pair of lips close together;

I am joyful. But hurriedly, half of me:

I don’t wait for the setting sun to mourn the spring.

Spring is coming, which means spring is leaving,

Spring is still young, which means it will age,

And when spring ends, it means I, too, will be gone.

My heart is vast, but the sky is narrow,

It doesn’t allow the youth of mankind to last long,

Why speak of spring’s endless cycle,

If when it returns, it’s not the same as before?

The sky and earth will remain, but I will not last forever,

And so I feel regret for both sky and earth;

The scent of months and years carries the taste of farewell,

The rivers and mountains quietly whisper goodbyes...

The gentle breeze whispers through the jade leaves,

Is it angry because it must fly away?

The birds sing joyfully, but suddenly fall silent,

Are they afraid that the fading moment is near?

It will never happen, oh! Never again...

Hurry, let’s go! The season hasn’t turned to dusk yet,

I long to embrace

All of life, just beginning to bloom;

I long to ride the clouds and let the winds swirl,

I long to be intoxicated by butterfly wings and love,

I long to capture in a kiss so much

And the rivers, trees, and morning grass,

To feel the heady fragrance, to be filled with light

To be content with the vibrant hues of youth;

Oh spring, I long to bite into you!

(Xuân Diệu - SGK Ngữ văn 11 - tập 2)

Your homeland is salty waters, bitter fields,

My village is poor, the soil is filled with rocks

You and I were strangers to each other,

From far-off lands, meeting by chance.

Guns side by side, heads close together,

In the cold night, sharing a blanket, we become close friends,

Comrade!

Your fields are entrusted to my hands to plow,

Your humble house sways with the winds, forgotten,

The well by the banyan tree remembers the soldiers who left.

You and I know each shiver,

Fever chills our bodies, sweat beads on our brows.

Your shirt is torn at the shoulder,

My pants patched in several places,

Our smiles feel the cold,

Our feet are barefoot,

We care for each other, our hands tightly hold!

This night, in the desolate forest, under the salted mist,

We stand side by side, waiting for the enemy to arrive,

The moon hangs above the rifle's barrel.

(Chính Hữu - SGK Ngữ văn 9 - tập 1)

Since then, within me, the summer sun has risen,

The truth's light shines brightly through my heart,

My soul has become a garden of flowers and leaves,

Full of rich fragrance and the lively songs of birds...

I bind my soul with everyone,

To spread love across many places,

So that my spirit unites with many suffering souls,

Bringing us closer and strengthening our lives.

I have become the child of countless homes,

The sibling of many wandering generations,

The brother of countless young souls,

Without food or shelter, living by will and determination...

(Tố Hữu - SGK Ngữ văn 11 - tập 2)

As a child, I lived among the fields,

By the river and the sea,

During the war, in the forest,

The moon became my closest companion.

Exposed to nature,

Innocent as the grass and trees,

Thinking I would never forget

The moon's eternal bond with me.

Since I returned to the city,

I've grown accustomed to electric lights and mirrors,

The moon now passes through alleys,

Like a stranger walking by.

Suddenly, the lights went out,

The room became pitch dark,

I hurriedly opened the window,

And suddenly, the full moon appeared.

I looked up at its face,

Feeling something stir inside me,

As if it were the fields, the sea,

As if it were the rivers, the forests.

The moon remained round and full,

Indifferent to those who ignore it,

Its light silently spread,

Enough to make me shudder in surprise.

(Nguyễn Duy - SGK Ngữ văn 9 - tập 1)

The Mã River is distant now, oh Tây Tiến!

Memories of the forests, of a lonely longing.

Sài Khao, where mist hides the weary troops,

In Mường Lát, flowers bloom in the night mist.

The path ascends, winding and steep,

The desolate hilltops are shrouded in cloud, as the guns reach toward the sky.

Thousands of feet climb, thousands descend,

Whose house in Pha Luông, so far from the rain?

My comrade, weathered and tired, cannot continue,

He collapses, leaving his gun, forsaking life!

In the evening, the mighty waterfall roars,

By night, the tigers of Mường Hịch mock the people.

Oh how I miss Tây Tiến, the smoke rising from the rice,

In Mai Châu, the scent of sticky rice fills the air.

The camp comes alive with the torchlight festival,

There, a girl in her traditional dress, from who knows when.

The sound of the khèn pipe dances, the woman shyly responds,

Music travels to Viên Chăn, stirring the poet’s soul.

Did you see the souls of the grass on that misty afternoon in Châu Mộc?

Did you see the figure on the single log, drifting on the water?

The soldiers of Tây Tiến had no hair,

Clad in green, they were as fierce as tigers.

Eyes fierce, their dreams crossed the border,

At night, they dreamt of Hà Nội, of a beautiful maiden's form.

Scattered across the frontier, far from home,

On the battlefield, they did not care for their lost youth.

Wearing their coats as blankets, they returned to the earth,

The Mã River roared, singing their solitary march.

Tây Tiến, the soldiers march without promises,

The path ahead is steep, a final farewell.

Whoever journeys to Tây Tiến that spring,

Their soul will return to Sầm Nứa, never to return.

(Quang Dũng - SGK Ngữ văn 12 - tập 1)

A single purple flower blooms in the green river

Oh, the little bird, the warbler, sings

What does it sing to echo across the sky?

Each drop of dew sparkles as it falls

I raise my hand to catch it.

In spring, the soldiers carry their guns,

With new shoots hanging from their backs.

In spring, the people go to the fields,

Spreading the shoots across the rice paddies.

Everything seems to rush,

Everything is filled with excitement,

Our country, four thousand years old,

Has struggled and endured.

Our country is like a star,

Forever moving forward.

I sing as a bird,

I am like a branch of flowers,

I join the chorus,

Adding a deep, stirring note.

A small spring,

Quietly offered to life,

Whether at twenty,

Or when the hair turns grey.

This spring, I sing

The song of Nam ai, Nam bình,

Our thousand-mile land

And our thousand-mile love,

The rhythm echoes from Huế...

(Thanh Hải - SGK Ngữ văn 9 - tập 2)

On the long march

Stopping by a small village

Who knows whose chicken clucked from the nest:

"Cuckoo... cuckoo, cluck-cluck"

The midday sun stirs

Making my weary feet feel lighter

It calls back memories of childhood

The midday chicken’s call

The straw nest filled with pink eggs

Here, a hen with white speckles

Her feathers shining like the sunlight

Here, a golden hen

Her feathers gleam like the light

The midday chicken’s call

And then the grandmother’s scolding voice:

- Look at that hen laying eggs

It’ll wander aimlessly later!

The child looks back into the mirror

Worry and innocence in the heart.

The midday chicken’s call

The grandmother’s hands gently cradle the eggs

Carefully gathering them

For the hen to warm them.

Year after year

When the winter winds blow

The grandmother worries for the chickens

Hoping the frost won't come

So she can sell the chickens by the year’s end

And buy new clothes for the child.

Oh, the trousers with a wide flare

The long, sweeping hem that brushes the earth

The jacket with a V-neck

As it swishes with each step.

The midday chicken’s call

Brings so much joy

At night the child dreams

Of rosy dreams like the eggs

The child fights today

For the love of the Fatherland

For the beloved village

Grandmother, also for you

For the chicken's cluck

And the rosy eggs of childhood

(Xuân Quỳnh - Ngữ văn 7 - Tập 1)

Clutching a block of hatred in an iron cage,

I lie still, watching the days pass by,

Despising those arrogant, foolish people,

My small eyes mock the majestic forest's spirit,

Now fallen, humiliated and imprisoned,

Made to serve as a strange spectacle, a mere toy.

Enduring with a bunch of silly bears,

And a couple of carefree leopards in their cage.

I live forever in the love and memories,

From the days of pride and boasting.

I remember the forest, the towering trees,

With the wind howling, and the mountain's roar,

When I would sing the fierce anthem of the wild,

My steps loud and proud, walking the path with dignity,

My body swirling like waves in a rhythmic dance,

In silence, lurking in shadows, among thorny leaves and sharp grasses.

In the dark cave, with sharp eyes gleaming,

Everything would fall silent before me.

I knew I was the king of all creatures,

In this timeless, ageless wilderness.

Where are the golden nights by the stream?

Drunk on prey, standing in the moonlight's embrace?

Where are the rainy days, storms sweeping in all directions,

I silently observe the changing world?

Where are the dawns, the green trees bathed in sunlight,

With birds singing to awaken my sleeping soul?

Where are the blood-soaked afternoons deep in the woods?

I await death beneath the scorching sun,

To claim my secret part of the world.

- Alas! Where is the glory of the past?

Now, I carry endless bitterness,

Hating the unchangeable,

The mundane, fake world around me:

Flowers carefully nurtured, grass neatly trimmed, roads flattened, trees planted;

Artificial streams with black water, no flowing life

Under low, insignificant mounds;

Simple, harmless leaves, without mystery,

Trying to mimic the wild, ancient beauty

Of the noble and solemn land.

Oh, the majestic power, the grand landscapes!

Where my ancestors once reigned.

Where I once roamed freely in the past,

Now I shall never see again!

Do you know, in these days of despair,

That I follow a great, endless dream

To feel my spirit reach closer to you,

- Oh, my terrifying forest!

(Thế Lữ - Ngữ Văn 8 - Tập 2)

-Do I remember you when I return?

The fifteen years were filled with deep affection.

Do I remember?

Looking at trees reminds me of mountains, looking at rivers reminds me of origins?

Whose voice calls out in the distance?

Feelings of longing, hesitation in each step

The blue shirt worn during farewell

What to say as we hold hands today...

-Do I remember those days of rain?

Rivers swollen with floods, clouds lost in mist?

Do I remember the military camp?

Meals of rice and salt, burdens of old battles?

Do I remember the mountains and forests?

Charming wild fruits, and bamboos that grow old.

Do I recall the humble homes?

Desolate, yet filled with loyalty.

Do I remember the mountains when we fought the Japanese?

The early days of Viet Minh struggles?

Do I recall my home?

Tân Trào, Hồng Thái, the old village pond?

-We and I, together as one

My heart is steadfast, my trust unyielding

As I leave, I remember myself

The wellspring of loyalty flows like a stream...

Memories, like remembering a lover

The moon rises over the mountain top, the sun sets over the fields

Each song from the village resonates in the mist

The warmth of the hearth, as loved ones return.

Remembering the bamboo groves, the trees along the river

The Thia stream, the Đáy river, the Lê creek's ebb and flow.

Though I leave, memories of the days stay

At home and in distant places, we shared the bitterness and joy...

Sharing cassava root, dividing the meal

Rice bowls shared in halves, blankets wrapped together.

Remembering the mother under the scorching sun

Carrying children on her back, picking corn in the fields.

Remembering the school with its humble beginnings

Late-night lanterns lighting up the celebrations

Remembering the past, the hardships endured

And the songs sung through the mountains and hills.

Remembering the sound of the evening bell

The rhythmic pounding of mortar and pestle, distant rivers...

As I return, do you remember me?

Returning, I remember the flowers and people.

The lush forests and the red banana blossoms

The high mountain pass with sunlight glistening on the knives.

In the spring, the white blossoms fill the forest

Remembering the girl weaving a bamboo hat.

The cicadas hum as the golden trees shed their leaves

Remembering the sister picking bamboo shoots alone

The autumn forests glow under the moonlight of peace

Remembering the songs of loyalty and love.

Remembering when the enemy arrived and pursued us

The forests and mountains stood by our side in the battle against the French.

The mountains were our shield, the forest our defense

Surrounded by fog and mist, we stood united in the fight.

Who will remember us when we are gone?

Remembering the rivers and roads of Viet Bac

Every night the sounds of soldiers march through the earth

Stars glimmer above the rifles, friends under bamboo hats.

The people carried torches, moving in unison

The sound of footsteps crumbling stones, sparks flying in the air.

Thick fog envelops the night as the headlights brighten the path.

The joy of victory echoed in every corner

From the peaceful plains of Tây Bắc to Điện Biên, joy returned

From Đồng Tháp to An Khê, joy spread far

Rejoicing in Viet Bac, on every mountain road.

Do you remember when we return?

The red flag waves in the wind, the mountains echoing the cheers.

The noon sun reflects the golden star

The leadership discussed the great causes of the country

Campaigns to grow the agricultural lands, to expand the roads

Preserving the dikes, planting crops, supporting the northern regions...

Wherever there is darkness, look to Viet Bac for guidance

Wherever there is pain, turn to Viet Bac for hope.

Fifteen years passed, who can forget?

In the land of revolution, the Republic was born

Returning, I remember the past

The Hồng Thái temple, the Tân Trào banyan tree.

-The rivers will return to their source

Clouds will reunite with the mountains once again

When I return, I'll send my love

The dark brown earth still holds our memories.

The water will return to the river, the sky will come back to the land

The love for the homeland never fades

In Viet Bac, we remain as one, with love.

The sky will still be blue, the land forever green

And the heart of the nation, forever pure and strong.

Next year we return, with joy in our hearts

The streets will echo, the voices of the people singing.

Viet Bac will live on, forever beloved.

In the years to come, Viet Bac will thrive.

Through hardships, we will rise again.

And we will sing for you, Vietnam!

—(Tố Hữu - SGK Ngữ văn 12 - Tập 1)

Little Tai sleeps on mother's back,

Sleep well, don't leave your mother's side.

Mother grinds rice, she feeds the soldiers,

The rhythm of the pestle sways, the sleep of the child follows.

Mother's sweat falls, and your cheek feels warm,

Her shoulders are hunched, making a pillow for you,

The back rocks the cradle, and her heart sings:

- Sleep well, my child, sleep well, my dear,

Mother loves you, and she loves the soldiers.

You dream of giving her grains of rice so white,

One day, you'll grow and make the ricefields bloom...

Little Tai sleeps on mother's back,

Sleep well, don't leave your mother's side.

Mother is planting corn on the mountain of Ka-lui,

The mountain is tall, but your mother's back is small,

Sleep well, my child, don't make your mother tired.

The sun for the corn lies on the hilltop,

The sun for mother, you rest upon her back.

- Sleep well, my child, sleep well, my dear,

Mother loves you, and she loves the village that's hungry.

You dream of helping your mother harvest the corn,

One day, you'll grow and help Ka-lui flourish...

Little Tai sleeps on mother's back,

Sleep well, don't leave your mother's side.

Mother is moving the camp, she walks through the forest.

The Americans are chasing us, we must leave the creek.

Your brother carries a gun, your sister holds a spear,

Mother carries you to save the last fight.

From your mother's back, you go to the battlefield,

From hunger and hardship, you enter the Trường Sơn range.

- Sleep well, my child, sleep well, my dear,

Mother loves you, and she loves the homeland.

You dream of your mother seeing President Ho Chi Minh,

One day, you'll grow and be a free person...

(Nguyễn Khoa Điềm - Vietnamese Literature 9 - Volume 1)

Suddenly, I notice the scent of guava

Carried in the cool breeze

The wind hesitates as it passes through the alley

It seems autumn has arrived

The river flows slowly now

The birds are starting to hurry

A summer cloud hangs around

Half of it drifts into autumn

There’s still so much sunlight

The rains have gradually diminished

The thunder is less sudden

On the trees standing with age.

(Hữu Thỉnh - Vietnamese Literature 9 - Volume 2)

A stove flickering in the morning mist

A stove filled with warmth and love

How much I cherish my grandmother through all the sun and rain!

At four years old, I was already familiar with the smell of smoke

That year was the one when hunger weighed heavily on us,

Father went to the war, the horse was thin and weak,

I only remember the smoke that stung my eyes

And even now, I still feel the sting in my nose!

For eight years, I gathered firewood with my grandmother

The cuckoo called out in the distant fields

The cuckoo called, does grandmother still remember?

Grandmother often told stories from our time in Hue

How dearly the cuckoo called out!

My parents, busy with work, couldn’t return

I stayed with grandmother, and she told me to listen

She taught me how to work, she took care of my studies

We lit the stove, thinking of the hardship she endured

Cuckoo, why don’t you come live with grandmother?

Why do you keep calling in the distant fields?

The year the invaders set the village on fire, burning everything

The neighbors returned, silent and weary

We helped grandmother rebuild the hut

With a steady heart, she reminded me:

"Father is in the war zone, he has his duties

Don’t mention this or that in your letters

Just say that the house is still safe!"

Then, day after day, grandmother rekindled the stove

One flame, always filled with warmth

One flame, carrying unwavering hope...

Grandmother knew all too well the hardships of sun and rain

Decades have passed, and even now

She still wakes up early

To light the stove filled with warmth and love

The flame of affection, the sweet taste of cassava and yam

The steaming rice sharing joy together

The flame that nurtures the tender feelings of youth!

Oh, the stove is so sacred and mysterious!

Now I have gone far away.

There is smoke from a hundred boats

Flames from a hundred homes, joy from every direction

But I will never forget to remind myself:

Has grandmother lit the stove this morning?...

(Bằng Việt - Vietnamese Literature 9 - Volume 1)

Raging yet gentle

Loud yet silent

The river cannot understand itself

The waves stretch all the way to the ocean

Oh, the waves of the past

And still, they remain unchanged

The yearning for love

Echoes in the heart of youth

Before the endless waves of the sea

I think of you, I

I think of the vast ocean

From where do the waves arise?

Waves begin with the wind

The wind starts from where?

I don’t know either

When did we fall in love?

The wave deep below

The wave upon the surface of the sea

Oh, the wave longing for the shore

Day and night, unable to rest
My heart misses you

Even in my dreams, I stay awake

Whether going north

Or heading south
Wherever I am, I think

Of you – in one direction

Out there, the vast ocean

Hundreds of thousands of waves

Each one reaches the shore

Even with the distance between them

Life may be long

But time keeps moving on

Just like the vast sea

The clouds still drift afar

How can they be dispersed?

Into a thousand smaller waves

In the great ocean of love

So that they will ripple for eternity.

(Xuân Quỳnh - Vietnamese Literature 12 - Volume 2)