Hope poems
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The Horrid Voice Of Science
© Vachel Lindsay
"There's machinery in the butterfly;
There's a mainspring to the bee;
There's hydraulics to a daisy,
And contraptions to a tree.
The Fable of Dryope - Ovid's Metamorphoses Book 9, [v. 324-393]
© Alexander Pope
She said, and for her lost Calanthis sighs,
When the fair Consort of her son replies.
The Bitter Waters
© John Newton
Beside the gospel pool
Appointed for the poor;
From year to year, my helpless soul
Has waited for a cure.
Death Of Archbishop Turpin. (From The French)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Then Turpin died in service of Charlon,
In battle great and eke great orison;--
'Gainst Pagan host alway strong champion;
God grant to him His holy benison.
Tale IV
© George Crabbe
harm;
Give me thy pardon," and he look'd alarm:
Meantime the prudent Dinah had contrived
Her soul to question, and she then revived.
"See! my good friend," and then she raised her
A Wedding In War-Time
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Our God who made two lovers in a garden,
And smote them separate and set them free,
The Light That Is Felt
© John Greenleaf Whittier
A tender child of summers three,
Seeking her little bed at night,
Paused on the dark stair timidly.
"Oh, mother! Take my hand," said she,
"And then the dark will all be light."
For Your Boy And Mine
© Edgar Albert Guest
Your dream and my dream is not that we shall rest,
But that our children after us shall know life at its best;
For all we care about ourselvesa crust of bread or two,
A place to sleep and clothes to wear is all that we'd pursue.
We'd tramp the world on sunny days, both light of heart and mind,
And give no thought to days to come or days we leave behind.
Maha-Bharata, The Epic Of Ancient India - Book VIII -- Bhishma-Badha - (Fall of Bhishma)
© Romesh Chunder Dutt
All negotiations for a peaceful partition of the Kuru kingdom having
failed, both parties now prepared for a battle, perhaps the most
sanguinary that was fought on the plains of India in the ancient
times. It was a battle of nations, for all warlike races in Northern
India took a share in it.
Sonnet 43: Fair Eyes, Sweet Lips
© Sir Philip Sidney
Fair eyes, sweet lips, dear heart, that foolish I
Could hope by Cupid's help on you to prey;
Since to himself he doth your gifts apply,
As his main force, choice sport, and easeful stay.
Lines Suggested By The Fourteenth Of February - I
© Charles Stuart Calverley
Ere the morn the East has crimsoned,
When the stars are twinkling there,
(As they did in Watts's Hymns, and
Made him wonder what they were
Sonnet. "'Twas but a dream! and oh! what are they all"
© Frances Anne Kemble
'Twas but a dream! and oh! what are they all,
All the fond visions hope's bright finger traces,
Ten Types of Hospital Visitor
© Charles Causley
The second appears, a melancholy splurge
Of theological colours;
Taps heavily about like a healthy vulture
Distributing deep-frozen hope.
The Angel In The House. Book II. Canto IV.
© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore
III Valour misdirected
I'll hunt for dangers North and South,
To prove my love, which sloth maligns!
What seems to say her rosy mouth?
I'm not convinced by proofs but signs.
The Campaign, A Poem, To His Grace The Duke Of Marlborough
© Joseph Addison
While crowds of princes your deserts proclaim,
Proud in their number to enrol your name;
The Ruines of Time
© Edmund Spenser
But whie (vnhappie wight) doo I thus crie,
And grieue that my remembrance quite is raced
Out of the knowledge of posteritie,
And all my antique moniments defaced?
Sith I doo dailie see things highest placed,
So soone as fates their vitall thred haue neuer borne.
The Lamentations Of Jeremy, For The Most Part According To Tremellus
© John Donne
I. HOW sits this city, late most populous,
Thus solitary, and like a widow thus ?
Amplest of nations, queen of provinces
She was, who now thus tributary is ?
Rural Sports: A Georgic - Canto I.
© John Gay
But when the sun displays his glorious beams,
And shallow rivers flow with silver streams,
Then the deceit the scaly breed survey,
Bask in the sun, and look into the day.
You now a more delusive art must try,
And tempt their hunger with the curious fly.
An Evening Walk
© William Wordsworth
Addressed To A Young Lady
FAR from my dearest Friend, 'tis mine to rove
