Freedom poems
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Eureka poem
© Anonymous
As I lay sleeping
on Bakery Hill
I heard her calling:
The leaves were still.
The Mystic Trumpeter
© Walt Whitman
I hear thee, trumpeter-listening, alert, I catch thy notes,
Now pouring, whirling like a tempest round me,
Now low, subdued-now in the distance lost.
The Conference
© Charles Churchill
Grace said in form, which sceptics must agree,
When they are told that grace was said by me;
A Character
© William Wordsworth
I marvel how Nature could ever find space
For so many strange contrasts in one human face:
There's thought and no thought, and there's paleness and bloom
And bustle and sluggishness, pleasure and gloom.
Sabbath, My Love
© Yehudah HaLevi
Six slaves the weekdays are; I share
With them a round of toil and care,
Yet light the burdens seem, I bear
For your sweet sake, Sabbath, my love!
A Captive Throstle
© Alfred Austin
Poor little mite with mottled breast,
Half-fledged, and fallen from the nest,
At A Dinner To Admiral Farragut
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
JULY 6, 1865
Now, smiling friends and shipmates all,
The Rendition
© John Greenleaf Whittier
I HEARD the train's shrill whistle call,
I saw an earnest look beseech,
And rather by that look than speech
My neighbor told me all.
Rhymed Plea For Tolerance - Dialogue I
© John Kenyon
Yet the heart vents still more indignant blame,
Where Lawgivers their sullen codes proclaim,
And idly would constrain the creed within,
As if Belief were Crime, and ToleranceSin.
The Bank Clerk
© Edgar Albert Guest
I'D LIKE to be a bank clerk, and sit inside a cage,
I'd like to take and hoard away the toiler's weekly wage;
I 'd like to sit behind a drawer with gold and greenbacks lined,
I 'd like to read the writing on the checks rich men have signed,
It must be nice to shut up shop at 3 and cease to fret,
And then I wish that I could have the holidays they get.
When Will It End?
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
O when will it end, this appalling strife,
With its reckless waste of human life,
Its riving of highest, holiest ties,
Its tears of anguish and harrowing sighs,
Its ruined homes from which hope has fled,
Its broken hearts and its countless dead?
The Power of Armies is a Visible Thing
© William Wordsworth
The power of Armies is a visible thing,
Formal and circumscribed in time and space;
Love
© James Russell Lowell
Our love is not a fading earthly flower:
Its wingèd seed dropped down from Paradise,
The Minstrel ; Or, The Progress Of Genius - Book II.
© James Beattie
I.
Of chance or change O let not man complain,
Else shall he never never cease to wail:
For, from the imperial dome, to where the swain
The Hunters Of Men
© John Greenleaf Whittier
HAVE ye heard of our hunting, o'er mountain and glen,
Through cane-brake and forest, the hunting of men?
The lords of our land to this hunting have gone,
As the fox-hunter follows the sound of the horn;
Freedom And Peace
© George Dyer
When long thick Tempests waste the Plain
And Lightnings cleave an angry Sky,
Sorrow invades each anxious Swain
And trembling Nymphs to shelter fly!
But let the Sun illume the skies,
They hail his beam with grateful eyes.
