Fear poems

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The Convert's Love

© Thomas Parnell

Blessed Light of saints on high
Who fill the mansions of the sky,
Sure defence, whose mercy still
Preserves thy subjects here from ill,
O my Jesus! make me know
How to pay the thanks I owe.

On The Morning Of Christs Nativity. Compos'd 1629

© John Milton

I.
This is the month, and this the happy morn,
Wherein the Son of Heavens eternal King,
Of wedded maid and Virgin Mother born,

The Ring And The Book - Chapter XII - The Book And The Ring

© Robert Browning

HERE were the end, had anything an end:

Thus, lit and launched, up and up roared and soared

Black Mousquetaire: A Legend Of France

No triumphs flush that haughty brow,-
No proud exulting look is there,-
His eagle glance is humbled now,
As, earthward bent, in anxious care
It seeks the form whose stalwart pride
But yester-morn was by his side!

A Lamantation For The Death Of Sir Maurice Fitzgerald

© James Clarence Mangan

THERE was lifted up one voice of woe,

One lament of more than mortal grief,

Stepping Westward

© William Wordsworth

"What, you are stepping westward?""Yea."

'T would be a wildish destiny,

From Mount Ebal

© John Bunyan

Thus having heard from Gerizzim, I shall

Next come to Ebal, and you thither call,

The Shepherds Calendar - July

© John Clare

Daughter of pastoral smells and sights
And sultry days and dewy nights
July resumes her yearly place
Wi her milking maiden face

To My Friend - Ode II

© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

THOU go'st! I murmur-
Go! let me murmur.
Oh, worthy man,
Fly from this land!

'Most Anglers Are Very Humane' - Daily Paper

© Norman Rowland Gale

The kind-hearted angler was sadly pursuing
His calling unhallowed of choking the fishes;
He bitterly wept, for of course he was doing
An action most strongly opposed to his wishes!

I See Thee Not

© George MacDonald

Yes, Master, when thou comest thou shalt find
A little faith on earth, if I am here!
Thou know'st how oft I turn to thee my mind.
How sad I wait until thy face appear!

Farewell And Defiance To Love

© John Clare

Love and thy vain employs, away

From this too oft deluded breast!

The Brumbies

© William Henry Ogilvie

There are steeds upon many a Western plain

That have never bowed to a bit or rein,

Records

© Allen Tate

At nine years a sickly boy lay down
At bedtime on a cot by mother's bed
And as the two darks merged the room became
So strange it left the boy half dead:

The Old Burying-Ground

Our vales are sweet with fern and rose,
Our hills are maple-crowned;
But not from them our fathers chose
The village burying-ground.

The Cageing Of Ares

[Iliad, v. V. 385--Dedicated to the Council at The Hague.]

How big of breast our Mother Gaea laughed

Paradise Regain'd : Book III.

© John Milton

So spake the Son of God; and Satan stood
A while as mute, confounded what to say,
What to reply, confuted and convinced
Of his weak arguing and fallacious drift;

Italy : 32. National Prejudices

'Another Assassination! This venerable City,' I ex-
claimed, 'what is it, but as it began, a nest of robbers
and murderers? We must away at sunrise, Luigi.' --
But before sunrise I had reflected a little, and in the