Hope poems
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The Petition for an Absolute Retreat
© Anne Finch - Countess of Winchilsea
(Inscribed to the Right Honourable Catharine Countess of Thanet, mentioned in the poem under the name of Arminda)
No Snake
© Annie Finch
Inside my Eden I can find no snake.There's not one I could look to and believe,obey and then be ruined by and leavebecause of, bearing children and an ache.
Ghazal For A Poetess
© Annie Finch
Many the nights that have passed,But I rememberThe river of pearls at FezAnd Seomar whom I loved.
The Doubt of Future Foes
© Elizabeth I
The doubt of future foes exiles my present joy,And wit me warns to shun such snares as threaten mine annoy;For falsehood now doth flow, and subjects' faith doth ebb,Which should not be if reason ruled or wisdom weaved the web
The Young Captive
© Toru Dutt
The budding shoot ripens unharmed by the scythe,Without fear of the press, on vine branches lithe, Through spring-tide the green clusters bloom
An Evening Contemplation in a College
© Duncombe John
The Curfew tolls the hour of closing gates,With jarring sound the porter turns the key,Then in his dreary mansion slumb'ring waits,And slowly, sternly quits it -- tho' for me.
Song: Phoebus Arise
© William Drummond (of Hawthornden)
Phœbus, arise,And paint the sable skiesWith azure, white, and red;Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tithon's bedThat she thy career may with roses spread;The nightingales thy coming each where sing;Make an eternal spring;Give life to this dark world which lieth dead
For the Baptist
© William Drummond (of Hawthornden)
The last and greatest herald of heaven's king,Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild,Among that savage brood the woods forth bring,Which he than man more harmless found and mild;His food was locusts and what young doth spring,With honey that from virgin hives distill'd;Parch'd body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thingMade him appear, long since from earth exil'd
The Guards Came Through
© Doyle Arthur Conan
Men of the Twenty-first Up by the Chalk Pit Wood,Weak with our wounds and our thirst, Wanting our sleep and our food,After a day and a night
To Mr. T. W. [Pregnant again with th'old twins, Hope and Fear...]
© John Donne
Pregnant again with th' old twins, Hope and Fear,Oft have I asked for thee, both how and whereThou wert, and what my hopes of letters were;
To Mr. S. B.
© John Donne
O thou which to search out the secret parts Of the India, or rather Paradise Of knowledge, hast with courage and adviceLately launch'd into the vast sea of arts,Disdain not in thy constant travelling To do as other voyagers, and make Some turns into less creeks, and wisely takeFresh water at the Heliconian spring;I sing not, siren-like, to tempt; for I Am harsh; nor as those schismatics with you, Which draw all wits of good hope to their crew;But seeing in you bright sparks of poetry, I, though I brought no fuel, had desire With these articulate blasts to blow the fire
[Recusancy]
© John Donne
Oh, let me not serve so, as those men serve,Whom honour's smokes at once fatten and starve,Poorly enrich't with great men's words or looks ;Nor so write my name in thy loving booksAs those idolatrous flatterers, which stillTheir princes' style with many realms fulfill,Whence they no tribute have, and where no sway
The Perfume
© John Donne
Once, and but once found in thy company,All thy suppos'd escapes are laid on me;And as a thief at bar is question'd thereBy all the men that have been robb'd that year,So am I, (by this traitorous means surpriz'd)By thy hydroptic father catechiz'd
On His Mistress
© John Donne
By our first strange and fatal interview,By all desires which thereof did ensue,By our long starving hopes, by that remorseWhich my words masculine persuasive forceBegot in thee, and by the memoryOf hurts, which spies and rivals threaten'd me,I calmly beg
A Hymne to Christ, at the Authors last going into Germany
© John Donne
In what torne ship soever I embarke,That ship shall be my embleme of thy Arke;What sea soever swallow mee, that floodShall be to mee an embleme of thy blood;Though thou with clouds of anger do disguiseThy face; yet through that maske I know those eyes, Which, though they turne away sometimes, They never will despise
The Bracelet
© John Donne
Not that in colour it was like thy hair,For armlets of that thou mayst let me wear;Nor that thy hand is oft embrac'd and kiss'd,For so it had that good which oft I miss'd;Not for that seely old morality,That as those links are tied our love should be;Nor for the luck sake; but the bitter cost
"Hope" is the thing with feathers (254)
© Emily Dickinson
"Hope" is the thing with feathersThat perches in the soulAnd sings the tune without the wordsAnd never stops at all,
