Courage poems
/ page 40 of 77 /A Hidden Life
© George MacDonald
Ah God! when Beauty passes by the door,
Although she ne'er came in, the house grows bare.
Shut, shut the door; there's nothing in the house.
Why seems it always that it should be ours?
A secret lies behind which Thou dost know,
And I can partly guess.
The Four Seasons : Summer
© James Thomson
From brightening fields of ether fair disclosed,
Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes,
In pride of youth, and felt through Nature's depth:
He comes attended by the sultry Hours,
The Right to Die
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
I have no fancy for that ancient cant
That makes us masters of our destinies,
On the Lady Elizabeth, and Count Palatine Being Married on St. Valentine's Day
© John Donne
Hail Bishop Valentine, whose day this is,
All the air is thy Diocese,
The Christ upon the Hill
© William Cosmo Monkhouse
A couple old sat o'er the fire,
And they were bent and gray;
They burned the charcoal for their Lord,
Who lived long leagues away.
The Gentle Hand Of Women Folks
© Edgar Albert Guest
The gentle hand of women folks
Keeps this old world in line,
Elegy For My Father
© Annie Finch
Bequeath us to no earthly shore until
Is answered in the vortex of our grave
The seals wide spindrift gaze towards paradise.
Hart Crane, Voyages
Afternoon At A Parsonage
© Jean Ingelow
Preface.
What wonder man should fail to stay
A nursling wafted from above,
The growth celestial come astray,
That tender growth whose name is Love!
Alfred. Book IV.
© Henry James Pye
"I come," the stranger said, "from fields of fame,
A Saxon born, and Aribert my name.
I come from Devon's shores, where Devon's lord
Waves o'er the prostrate Dane the British sword.
Freedom might yet revisit Britain's coast,
Did Alfred live to lead her victor host."
Our Orders
© Julia Ward Howe
WEAVE no more silks, ye Lyons looms,
To deck our girls for gay delights!
The crimson flower of battle blooms,
And solemn marches fill the night.
Feigned Courage
© Charles Lamb
Horatio, of ideal courage vain,
Was flourishing in air his father's cane,
At Dawn
© Margaret Elizabeth Sangster
The dawn is here! I climb the hill;
The earth is young and strangely still;
A tender green is showing where
But yesterday my fields were bare. . . .
I climb and, as I climb, I sing;
The dawn is here, and with it - spring!
260. Sketch in Verse, inscribed to the Right Hon. C. J. Fox
© Robert Burns
But now for a Patron whose name and whose glory,
At once may illustrate and honour my story.
To Horace Bumstead
© James Weldon Johnson
If so, take new and greater courage then,
And think no more withouten help you stand;
For sure as God on His eternal throne
Sits, mindful of the sinful deeds of men,
--The awful Sword of Justice in His hand,--
You shall not, no, you shall not, fight alone.
A Poem Beginning With A Line From Pindar
© Robert Duncan
But the eyes in Goyas painting are soft,
diffuse with rapture absorb the flame.
Their bodies yield out of strength.
Waves of visual pleasure
wrap them in a sorrow previous to their impatience.
127. Stanzas on Naething
© Robert Burns
TO you, sir, this summons Ive sent,
Pray, whip till the pownie is freathing;
But if you demand what I want,
I honestly answer younaething.