Faith poems
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Through Liberty To Light
© Alfred Austin
Fixed is my Faith, the lingering dawn despite,
That still we move through Liberty to Light.
The Human Tragedy.
To A Jilted Lover
© Sylvia Plath
Cold on my narrow cot I lie
and in sorrow look
through my window-square of black:
Two Epochs
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
LOVERS by a dim sea strand
Looking wave-ward, hand in hand;
Silent, trembling with the bliss
Of their first betrothal kiss:
The Broken Circle
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
I STOOD On Sarum's treeless plain,
The waste that careless Nature owns;
Lone tenants of her bleak domain,
Loomed huge and gray the Druid stones.
At Long Last
© Ada Cambridge
Late, late, the prize is drawn, the goal attained,
The Heart's Desire fulfilled, Love's guerdon gained.
Wealth's use is past, Fame's crown of laurel mocks
The downward-drooping head and grizzled locks.
The end is reached-the end of toil and strife-
The end of life.
This World
© George MacDonald
Thy world is made to fit thine own,
A nursery for thy children small,
The playground-footstool of thy throne,
Thy solemn school-room, Father of all!
When day is done, in twilight's gloom,
We pass into thy presence-room.
The Knightly Guerdon
© William Makepeace Thackeray
Untrue to my Ulric I never could be,
I vow by the saints and the blessed Marie,
Since the desolate hour when we stood by the shore,
And your dark galley waited to carry you o'er:
My faith then I plighted, my love I confess'd,
As I gave you the BATTLE-AXE marked with your crest!
With A Copy of: "In Memoriam"
© George MacDonald
Dear friend, you love the poet's song,
And here is one for your regard.
You know the "melancholy bard,"
Whose grief is wise as well as strong;
The Lady Of La Garaye - Part III
© Caroline Norton
And either tries to hide the thoughts that wring
Their secret hearts; and both essay to bring
Some happy topic, some yet lingering dream,
Which they with cheerful words shall make their theme;
But fail,--and in their wistful eyes confess
All their words never own of hopelessness.
The Spirit Of The Ideal
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
Sweet sister spirits, ye whose starlight tresses
Stream on the night-winds as ye float along,
Missioned with hope to man-and with caresses
To M.I.P.
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
YOUR gracious words steal o'er like the breeze
That blows from far-off southland isles benign,--
All steeped in perfume, sweet as fairy wine,
Yet touched with salt keen breathings of the seas!
My Secret. (From The French Of Felix Arvers)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
My soul its secret hath, my life too hath its mystery,
A love eternal in a moment's space conceived;
The Farewell
© Konstantin Nikolaevich Batiushkov
BENT o'er his sabre, torrents starting
From his dim eyes, the bold hussar
Thus greets his cherish'd maid, while parting
For distant fields of war:
Fifth Sunday After Easter - Rogation Sunday
© John Keble
Now is there solemn pause in earth and heaven;
The Conqueror now
His bonds hath riven,
And Angels wonder why He stays below:
Yet hath not man his lesson learned,
How endless love should be returned.
To The Moon
© Pierre de Ronsard
Hide this one night thy crescent, kindly Moon;
So shall Endymion faithful prove, and rest
The Brus Book V
© John Barbour
The king goes to Carrick; he upbraids Cuthbert]
Thys wes in ver quhen wynter tid
Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: LV
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
We stayed at Lyons three days, only three,
In Esther's world of wonder and renown,
She, glorious star, each night immortally
Playing her Manons to the listening town.
On The Death Of Pushkin
© Mikhail Lermontov
"Hence is he, hence! His song out-rung,
The Singer even as the song he sung;
Who of a hot, heroic mood,
In death disgraceful shed his blood!"
