Hope poems
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The Man Who Saw
© William Watson
The master weavers at the enchanted loom
Of Legend, weaving long ago those tales
Lord Of Unnumbered Hopes
© Govinda Krishna Chettur
Make grow our comprehension till we see
Through life's bewildering complexity
The touch by which inscrutably is wrought
Thy will: and shape each word, each act, each thought,
Until we learn to read Thy will aright
And pass from shadow to Eternal Light.
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt. Canto III.
© George Gordon Byron
I.
Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child!
In The Harbour: The Children's Crusade
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
O the simple, child-like trust!
O the faith that could believe
What the harnessed, iron-mailed
Knights of Christendom had failed,
By their prowess, to achieve,
They, the children, could and must!
Sitting On The Shore
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
THE tide has ebbed away:
No more wild dashings 'gainst the adamant rocks,
Nor swayings amidst sea-weed false that mocks
The hues of gardens gay:
The Captive Knight
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
"I am here, with my heavy chain!
And I look on a torrent sweeping by,
And an eagle rushing to the sky,
And a host, to its battle-plain!
Cease awhile, clarion! Clarion, wild and shrill,
Cease! let them hear the captive's voiceâbe still!
Arisen At Last
© John Greenleaf Whittier
I SAID I stood upon thy grave,
My Mother State, when last the moon
Of blossoms clomb the skies of June.
And, scattering ashes on my head,
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XXII
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Unblest discovery of an age too real!
They needed not the beauty of the Earth,
Who held Heaven's hope for their supreme ideal,
And found in worlds unseen a better birth.
La Piquante
© John Kenyon
If when deeplier we would look
Into that half-open book,
Thou dost close it, Slyest Saint!
More to tempt us by restraint;
Is'nt this, Flavilla!grant
Is'nt this to be piquant?
The Princes Quest - Part the Sixth
© William Watson
Even as one voice the great sea sang. From out
The green heart of the waters round about,
Sonnet XXII: To The Same. (Cyriac Skinner)
© John Milton
Cyriac, this three years' day these eyes, though clear
To outward view of blemish or of spot,
Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot;
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear
Ego
© John Greenleaf Whittier
On page of thine I cannot trace
The cold and heartless commonplace,
A statue's fixed and marble grace.
An Epistle to a Lady
© Mary Leapor
In vain, dear Madam, yes in vain you strive;
Alas! to make your luckless Mira thrive,
For Tycho and Copernicus agree,
No golden Planet bent its Rays on me.
The Burnie
© George MacDonald
The water ran doon frae the heich hope-heid,
Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin;
It wimpled, an' waggled, an' sang a screed
O' nonsense, an' wadna blin
Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin.
Yorktown Centennial Lyric
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
HARK, hark! down the century's long reaching slope
To those transports of triumph, those raptures of hope,
The voices of main and of mountain combined
In glad resonance borne on the wings of the wind,
On The Death Of Thomas Bailey Aldrich
© William Stanley Braithwaite
There is a pause in meeting before speech
Between men who have fed their souls with song;
The strangeness of an echo beyond reach
Cleaves silence deep for speech to pass along.
There are no words to tell the loss, but each
Of our hearts feels the sorrow deep and strong.
The Way To Arcady
© Henry Cuyler Bunner
OH, what's the way to Arcady,
To Arcady, To Arcady;
Oh, what's the way to Arcady,
Where all the leaves are merry?
God; Not Gift
© George MacDonald
Gray clouds my heaven have covered o'er;
My sea ebbs fast, no more to flow;
Ghastly and dry, my desert shore
Parched, bare, unsightly things doth show.
