Courage poems
/ page 66 of 77 /
Jefferson Howard
© Edgar Lee Masters
My valiant fight! For I call it valiant,
With my father's beliefs from old Virginia:
Hating slavery, but no less war.
I, full of spirit, audacity, courage
Thursos Landing
© Robinson Jeffers
In the night Reave dreamed that Helen
Lay with him in the deep grave, he awoke loathing her,
But when the weak moment between sleep and waking
Was past, his need of her and his judgment of her
Knew their suspended duel; and he heard her breathing,
Irregularly, gently in the dark.
Rita Matlock Gruenberg
© Edgar Lee Masters
Grandmother! You who sang to green valleys,
And passed to a sweet repose at ninety-six,
Here is your little Rita at last
Grown old, grown forty-nine;
Petit, The Poet
© Edgar Lee Masters
Seeds in a dry pod, tick, tick, tick,
Tick, tick, tick, like mites in a quarrel--
Faint iambics that the full breeze wakens--
But the pine tree makes a symphony thereof.
The Sleepers
© Robert Laurence Binyon
As a swallow that sits on the roof,
I gaze on the world aloof;
In the silence, when men lie sleeping,
I hear the noise of weeping:
The Dance To Death. Act IV
© Emma Lazarus
The City Hall at Nordhausen. Deputies and Burghers assembling.
To the right, at a table near the President's chair, is seated
the Public Scrivener. Enter DIETRICH VON TETTENBORN, and HENRY
SCHNETZEN with an open letter in his hand.
Le Guignon (Ill-Starred)
© Charles Baudelaire
Pour soulever un poids si lourd,
Sisyphe, il faudrait ton courage!
Bien qu'on ait du coeur à l'ouvrage,
L'Art est long et le Temps est court.
Letter In Prose And Verse To Mrs. Bunbury
© Oliver Goldsmith
I read your letter with all that allowance which critical candour could
require, but after all find so much to object to, and so much to raise
my indignation, that I cannot help giving it a serious answer.
An Ode To The Hills
© Archibald Lampman
AEons ago ye were,
Before the struggling changeful race of man
Christophe Colomb
© Jacques Delille
Eh! qui du grand Colomb ne connaît point l'histoire,
Lui dont un nouveau monde éternisa la gloire?
When We Were Young
© Ivan Donn Carswell
As a child I played in the same frosty fields
barefoot as my no lesser loved classmates,
whom we challenged to show courage in the numbing cold,
then together we held our chilled fingers over the roaring stove
that warmed our prefabricated, asbestos-sided classroom.
The Workman's Dream
© Edgar Albert Guest
To-day it's dirt and dust and steam,
To-morrow it will be the same,
Men with trivial scars
© Ivan Donn Carswell
We wear scars from our youth, trifling things
reflecting those earnings from growing days,
of battles raised and wounds worn in simple
praise of a Spring of early learnings.
I Mark Your Courage
© Ivan Donn Carswell
I had no profound feelings of shock or surprise
to those matter-of-fact revelations
which spelled the end of this chapter of your life.
It was, as you put it, too late for recriminations,
and the horrendous realities could be no worse
for having faced them.
Courage is a motherless lamb
© Ivan Donn Carswell
For a small child crossing the pen alone was a courageous feat,
occasionally, with a maniacal bleat, the wether would burst from cover
and butt whomever graced his yard. He meant it in fun, something
he had done since his bottle-fed youth, he knew no other form of greeting.
The Spirit Of Great Joan
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Back of each soldier who fights for France,
Aye, back of each woman and man
The Golden Legend: VI. The School Of Salerno
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
_Doctor Serafino._ I, with the Doctor Seraphic, maintain,
That a word which is only conceived in the brain
Is a type of eternal Generation;
The spoken word is the Incarnation.
The Room
© Conrad Aiken
Through that windowall else being extinct
Except itself and meI saw the struggle
Of darkness against darkness. Within the room
It turned and turned, dived downward. Then I saw
