Hope poems
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Song: Soul's Joy, now I am gone
© John Donne
Soul's joy, now I am gone,
And you alone,
Which cannot be,
Since I must leave myself with thee,
Meet Me At Sunset
© Alaric Alexander Watts
Meet me at sunset, the hour we love best,
Ere day's last crimson blushes have died in the west;
The Awaking
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
A lady came to a snow-white bier,
Where a youth lay pale and dead:
She took the veil from her widowed head,
And, bending low, in his ear she said:
"Awaken! for I am here."
The Emigrant's Vision
© Charles Harpur
As his bark dashed away on the night-shrouded deep,
And out towards the South he was gazing,
True Love
© Judith Viorst
It is true love because
I put on eyeliner and a concerto and make pungent observations about the great issues of the day
The Fisher
© Roderic Quinn
ALL night a noise of leaping fish
Went round the bay,
And up and down the shallow sands
Sang waters at their play.
He Led Them By A Right Way
© John Newton
When Israel was from Egypt freed,
The Lord, who brought them out,
Helped them in every time of need,
But led them round about.
Sisyphus
© Alfred Austin
But when, asudden, swift on angry flash,
Rumbled imperious thunder overhead,
At the commanding mandate, Sisyphus,
Bulkily rising, straightened limbs relaxed,
And turned him yet again unto his task,
Mumbling the while habitual lament.
Pour Qui Sait Attendre
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
All things, they say, come home to those that wait,
Riches, power, fame, lost fortune, hope deferred,
Health to our friends, ill hap to those we hate,
Even love, that glorious paradisal bird,
The Birth Of Spring
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
O Kathleen, my darling, I've dreamt such a dream,
'Tis as hopeful and bright as the summer's first beam:
Husband And Wife
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
The world had chafed his spirit proud
By its wearing, crushing strife,
The censure of the thoughtless crowd
Had touched a blameless life;
Like the dove of old, from the waters foam,
He wearily turned to the ark of home.
A Prayer for the Past: All sights and sounds of day and yea
© George MacDonald
All sights and sounds of day and year,
All groups and forms, each leaf and gem,
Are thine, O God, nor will I fear
To talk to thee of them.
Viva Perpetua
© Archibald Lampman
The night is passing. In a few short hours
I too shall suffer for the name of Christ.
A boundless exaltation lifts my soul!
I know that they who left us, Saturus,
Perpetua, and the other blessed ones,
Await me at the opening gates of heaven.
Sonnet LXIV
© Charlotte Turner Smith
HERE from the restless bed of lingering pain
The languid sufferer seeks the tepid wave,
And feels returning health and hope again
Disperse 'the gathering shadows of the grave!'
The Missionary - Canto Fifth
© William Lisle Bowles
Three years have passed since a fond husband left
Me and this infant, of his love bereft;
Him I have followed; need I tell thee more,
Cast helpless, friendless, hopeless, on this shore.
The Ghost-Seer
© James Russell Lowell
Ye who, passing graves by night,
Glance not to the left or right,
Hymns to the Night : 1
© Novalis
Before all the wondrous shows of the widespread space around him, what living, sentient thing loves not the all-joyous light - with its colors, its rays and undulations, its gentle omnipresence in the form of the wakening Day? The giant-world of the unresting constellations inhales it as the innermost soul of life, and floats dancing in its blue flood - the sparkling, ever-tranquil stone, the thoughtful, imbibing plant, and the wild, burning multiform beast inhales it - but more than all, the lordly stranger with the sense-filled eyes, the swaying walk, and the sweetly closed, melodious lips. Like a king over earthly nature, it rouses every force to countless transformations, binds and unbinds innumerable alliances, hangs its heavenly form around every earthly substance. - Its presence alone reveals the marvelous splendor of the kingdoms of the world.
Aside I turn to the holy, unspeakable, mysterious Night. Afar lies the world - sunk in a deep grave - waste and lonely is its place. In the chords of the bosom blows a deep sadness. I am ready to sink away in drops of dew, and mingle with the ashes. - The distances of memory, the wishes of youth, the dreams of childhood, the brief joys and vain hopes of a whole long life, arise in gray garments, like an evening vapor after the sunset. In other regions the light has pitched its joyous tents. What if it should never return to its children, who wait for it with the faith of innocence?
"As Psyche-Life goes down to the shades"
© Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
As Psyche-Life goes down to the shades
In a translucent forest in Persephone's tracks,
A blind swallow falls at her feet
With Stygian tenderness and a green branch.
