Hope poems

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Ode To The Confederate Dead

© Allen Tate

You hear the shout, the crazy hemlocks point
With troubled fingers to the silence which
Smothers you, a mummy, in time.

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Laodamia

© William Wordsworth

  O terror! what hath she perceived?-O joy!
  What doth she look on?-whom doth she behold?
  Her Hero slain upon the beach of Troy?
  His vital presence? his corporeal mould?
  It is-if sense deceive her not-'tis He!
  And a God leads him, wingèd Mercury!

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Anagke

© Mathilde Blind

So sternly dost thou tower above us, Fate!
For still our eager hearts exultant beat,
Borne in the hurrying tide of life elate,
And dashing break against thy marble feet.
But would Hope's rainbow-aureole round us fleet,
Without these hurtling shocks of man's estate?

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The Bride Of The Nile - Act III

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

(Enter Barix and Boïlas conversing.)
Barix.  I always said it, Boïlas, it must come at last,
The day of annexation. Things have moved on fast,
Faster than we quite thought a week or two ago.
The mills of Rome grind slowly--quite absurdly slow.
It comes to the same thing.

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Selling The Old Home

© Edgar Albert Guest

The little house has grown too small, or rather we have grown
Too big to dwell within the walls where all our joys were known.
And so, obedient to the wish of her we love so well,
I have agreed for sordid gold the little home to sell.
Now strangers come to see the place, and secretly I sigh,
And deep within my breast I hope that they'll refuse to buy.

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The Sibyls

© Robert Laurence Binyon

Out of the seas that streamed
In ghostly turbulence moving and glimmering about me
I saw the rising of vast and visionary forms.

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Summer

© Conrad Aiken

Absolute zero: the locust sings:
summer’s caught in eternity’s rings:
the rock explodes, the planet dies,
we shovel up our verities.

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An Imperfect Revolution

© Dora Sigerson Shorter

They crowded weeping from the teacher's house,

Crying aloud their fear at what he taught,

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Transience

© Sarojini Naidu

Nay, do not grieve tho' life be full of sadness,
Dawn will not veil her splendour for your grief,
Nor spring deny their bright, appointed beauty
To lotus blossom and ashoka leaf.

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Otho The Great - Act V

© John Keats

SCENE I. A part of the Forest.

Enter CONRAD and AURANTHE.

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Alfred. Book II.

© Henry James Pye


  He ceased—but still the accents of his tongue
  Persuasive, on the attentive hearers hung:
  The monarch and his warlike thanes around
  Still listening sat, in silent wonder bound.

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An Horation Ode Upon Cromwell's Return From Ireland

© Andrew Marvell

The forward Youth that would appear
Must now forsake his Muses dear,
Nor in the Shadows sing
His Numbers languishing.

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The Two Lovers Of Heaven: Chrysanthus And Daria - Act I

© Denis Florence MacCarthy


Chrysanthus is seen seated near a writing table on which are several
books: he is reading a small volume with deep attention.

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The Turtle And Sparrow. An Elegiac Tale

© Matthew Prior

Stretch'd on the bier Columbo lies,
Pale are his cheeks, and closed his eyes;
Those eyes, where beauty smiling lay,
Those eyes, where Love was used to play;
Ah! cruel Fate, alas how soon
That beauty and those joys are flown!

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The Signs

© Henry Van Dyke

Dedicated to the Zodiac Club

Who knows how many thousand years ago

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Prejudice

© Jane Taylor

  It is not worth our while, but if it were,
We all could undertake to laugh at her ;
Since vulgar prejudice, the lowest kind,
Of course, has full possession of her mind ;
Here, therefore, let us leave her, and inquire
Wherein it differs as it rises higher.

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Madam Gabrina, Or the Ill-favourd Choice

© Henry King

Con mala Muger el remedio
Mucha Tierra por el medio.
I have oft wondred why thou didst elect
Thy Mistress of a stuff none could affect,

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To A Youthful Friend

© George Gordon Byron

Few years have pass'd since thou and I
  Were firmest friends, at least in name,
And childhood's gay sincerity
  Preserved our feelings long the same.

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The Bastard

© Richard Savage

Is chance a guilt? that my disastrous heart,
For mischief never meant; must ever smart?
Can self-defence be sin?-Ah, plead no more!
What though no purposed malice stained thee o'er?
Had Heaven befriended thy unhappy side,
Thou hadst not been provoked-or thou hadst died.

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The Contented Man

© Edgar Albert Guest

I'VE had a heap of fun and I've had a heap of sorrow,

I've had a heap of pleasure and I've had a heap of pain,