Fear poems
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© George Essex Evans
THE BOY went out from the ranges grim,
And the breath of the mountains went with him;
Morituri Salutamus: Poem for the Fiftieth Anniversary of the Class of 1825 in Bowdoin College
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Tempora labuntur, tacitisque senescimus annis,
Et fugiunt freno non remorante dies.
Ovid, Fastorum, Lib. vi.
"O Cæsar, we who are about to die
Salute you!" was the gladiators' cry
In the arena, standing face to face
With death and with the Roman populace.
Address To Thought
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
OH thou! the musing, wakeful pow'r,
That lov'st the silent, midnight hour,
Thy lonely vigils then to keep,
And banish far the angel, sleep,
Nature, Betrothed and Wedded
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
HAVE you not noted how in early spring,
From out the forests, past the murmuring brooks,
O'er the hillsides, Nature, with airy grace,
Like some fair virgin, touched by lights and shades,
The Grand Canyon
© Henry Van Dyke
How still it is! Dear God, I hardly dare
To breathe, for fear the fathomless abyss
Will draw me down into eternal sleep.
Passage over Water
© Robert Duncan
We have gone out in boats upon the sea at night,
lost, and the vast waters close traps of fear about us.
The boats are driven apart, and we are alone at last
under the incalculable sky, listless, diseased with stars.
The Death Of The Pauper Child
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Hush, mourning mother, wan and pale!
No sobsno grieving now:
Ode To Sara, In Answer To A Letter From Bristol
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Nor travels my meand'ring eye
The starry wilderness on high;
Nor now with curious sight
I mark the glow-worm as I pass,
Move with 'green radiance' thro' the grass,
An emerald of light.
Balloon
© John Kinsella
It didn’t happen in that order—
the endless growl of what will turn out to be
Gareth And Lynette
© Alfred Tennyson
To whom the mother said,
'True love, sweet son, had risked himself and climbed,
And handed down the golden treasure to him.'
Dead Man’s Dump
© Isaac Rosenberg
The plunging limbers over the shattered track
Racketed with their rusty freight,
Stuck out like many crowns of thorns,
And the rusty stakes like sceptres old
To stay the flood of brutish men
Upon our brothers dear.
Trade
© John Le Gay Brereton
It rushed upon them and it passed
Leaving a ghost of pain and fear
To haunt the ruin it had made.
But surely they have learnt at last?
What far faint murmur can we hear
Of frantic howling? Listen! . . . TRADE.
For That He Looked Not upon Her
© George Gascoigne
You must not wonder, though you think it strange,
To see me hold my louring head so low,
Hope
© Emily Jane Brontë
Hope was but a timid friend-
She sat without my grated den
Watching how my fate would tend
Even as selfish-hearted men.
The Country Clown
© John Trumbull
Bred in distant woods, the clown
Brings all his country airs to town;
Song Of The Orphan
© Rainer Maria Rilke
I am no one and never will be anyone,
for I am far too small to claim to be;
not even later.
Faringdon Hill. Book II
© Henry James Pye
The sultry hours are past, and Phbus now
Spreads yellower rays along the mountain's brow: