Hope poems
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If You Should Pass
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
For if thy charity be overstrained
And would bring slander where it cannot bless,
Give me but silence where good friendship waned,
Grant me the mercy of forgetfulness.
Darrynane
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
Where foams the white torrent, and rushes the rill,
Down the murmuring slopes of the echoing hill-
The Bush Beyond the Range
© Henry Lawson
FROM Crows Nest here by Sydney town
Where crows had nests of old
The Burial March Of Dundee
© William Edmondstoune Aytoun
Sound the fife, and cry the slogan-
Let the pibroch shake the air
Ashtaroth: A Dramatic Lyric
© Adam Lindsay Gordon
Orion: But an understanding tacit.
You have prospered much since the day we met;
You were then a landless knight;
You now have honour and wealth, and yet
I never can serve you right.
The Ballad[e] Of The Bore
© Henry Austin Dobson
Prince Phoebus, all must die,
Or well- or evil-starred,
Or whole of heart or scarred;
But why in this way-why?
Defend us from The Bard!
The Voyage
© Charles Baudelaire
À Maxime du Camp
I
For the child, in love with globe, and stamps,
the universe equals his vast appetite.
The Tram (In The Midlands)
© Robert Laurence Binyon
III
A boy with a bunch of primroses!
He sits uneasy, flushed of cheek,
With wandering eyes and does not speak:
His hands are hot; the flowers are his.
The North Star
© Robert Laurence Binyon
I was contented with the warm silence,
Sitting by the fire, book on knee;
And fancy uncentred, afloat and astray,
Idled from thought to thought
Sonnet XXXVI: Raising My Hopes
© Samuel Daniel
Raising my hopes on hills of high desire,
Thinking to scale the heaven of her heart,
The Spirit Of Navigation
© William Lisle Bowles
Stern Father of the storm! who dost abide
Amid the solitude of the vast deep,
The Day Of Days
© William Morris
Each eve earth falleth down the dark,
As though its hope were oer;
Yet lurks the sun when day is done
Behind to-morrows door.
Book Eleventh: France [concluded]
© William Wordsworth
But indignation works where hope is not,
And thou, O Friend! wilt be refreshed. There is
One great society alone on earth:
The noble Living and the noble Dead.
The Author to the Reader
© Francis Beaumont
I sing the fortune of a luckless pair,
Whose spotless souls now in one body be;
A Song Of A Spring-Time
© Augusta Davies Webster
TOO rash, sweet birds, spring is not spring;
Sharp winds are fell in east and north;
Late blossoms die for peeping forth; Rains numb, frost blights;
Days are unsunned, storms tear the nights;
The tree-buds wilt before they swell.
Frosts in the buds, and frost-winds fell: And you, you sing.
