Hope poems
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Speaking Of Hunting
© Franklin Pierce Adams
My paste pot escapes almost daily;
My scissors I never can find;
And I am the rotter who loses a blotter
More often than if he were blind.
The Resurrection
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
The day of wintry wrath is o'er,
The whirlwind and the storm have pass'd,
The whiten'd ashes of the snow
Enwrap the ruined world no more;
Nor keenly from the orient blow
The venom'd hissings of the blast.
Freedom's Star
© Anonymous
On thee he depends when he threads the dark woods
Ere the bloodhounds have hunted him back;
Thou leadest him on over mountains and floods,
With thy beams shining full on his track.
Shine on, &c.
On The Death Of Damon. (Translated From Milton)
© William Cowper
Ye Nymphs of Himera (for ye have shed
Erewhile for Daphnis and for Hylas dead,
Upon Eckington Bridge, River Avon
© Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch
O pastoral heart of England! like a psalm
Of green days telling with a quiet beat-
Love Disarmed
© Matthew Prior
Still lay the God: The Nymph surpriz'd,
Yet Mistress of her self, devis'd,
How She the Vagrant might inthral,
And Captive Him, who Captives All.
My Friend, Come In These Rains -- English Translation
© Rabindranath Tagore
On this misty overclouded rainy day
Evading all
The Door Of Humility
© Alfred Austin
ENGLAND
We lead the blind by voice and hand,
And not by light they cannot see;
We are not framed to understand
The How and Why of such as He;
Victory
© Aline Murray Kilmer
I SHEATH my sword. In mercy go.
Turn back from me your hopeless eyes,
For in them all my anger dies:
I cannot face a beaten foe.
How A Princess Was Wooed From Habitual Sadness
© Guy Wetmore Carryl
In days of old the King of Saxe
Had singular opinions,
A Haunted Room
© John Hay
In the dim chamber whence but yesterday
Passed my beloved, filled with awe I stand;
When The Rain Is On The Roof
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
Lord, I am poor, and know not how to speak,
But since Thou art so great,
Thou needest not that I should speak to Thee well.
All angels speak unto Thee well.
To Ianthe
© Walter Savage Landor
YOU smild, you spoke, and I believd,
By every word and smile deceivd.
Another man would hope no more;
Christmas Day
© John Keble
What sudden blaze of song
Spreads o'er th' expanse of Heaven?
In waves of light it thrills along,
Th' angelic signal given -
"Glory to God!" from yonder central fire
Flows out the echoing lay beyond the starry choir;
Lord Of Himself
© Sir Henry Wotton
How happy is he born and taught
That serveth not another's will;
Whose armor is his honest thought,
And simple truth his utmost skill.
Sonnet XXXVI.
© Charlotte Turner Smith
SHOULD the lone wanderer, fainting on his way,
Rest for a moment of the sultry hours,
And though his path through thorns and roughness lay,
Pluck the wild rose, or woodbine's gadding flowers,
Farewell to Italy
© Walter Savage Landor
I LEAVE thee, beauteous Italy! no more
From the high terraces, at even-tide,
To look supine into thy depths of sky,
Thy golden moon between the cliff and me,
Willie's Question
© George MacDonald
I.
Willie speaks.
Is it wrong, the wish to be great,
For I do wish it so?
I have asked already my sister Kate;
She says she does not know.
