Hope poems
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On the Death of Dr. Robert Levet
© Samuel Johnson
Condemn'd to Hope's delusive mine,
As on we toil from day to day,
By sudden blasts or slow decline,
Our social comforts drop away.
I Have A Rendezvous With Life
© Countee Cullen
I have a rendezvous with Life,
In days I hope will come,
Sonnet: Lift Not The Painted Veil Which Those Who Live
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Lift not the painted veil which those who live
Call Life: though unreal shapes be pictured there,
And it but mimic all we would believe
With colours idly spread,-behind, lurk Fear
Recollections Of A Faded Beauty
© Caroline Norton
There was a certain Irishman, indeed,
Who borrowed Cupid's darts to make me bleed.
My aunt said he was vulgar; he was poor,
And his boots creaked, and dirtied her smooth floor.
She hated him; and when he went away,
He wrote--I have the verses to this day:--
Judy
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
The waitress with the orange hair keeps motionin' me to hurry up and leave
I gulp my coffee - burn my mouth - grab up my coat and slippin' out
I smear a streak of mustard down my sleeve
And the guy behind the register takes my bread and shakes his head
In Collins Street
© George Essex Evans
I stood in the heart of the city street,
I felt the throb of her pulses beat,
Mons Angelorum
© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
Joshua O father of my soul, I cannot tell.
The burden of the Lord is heavy on me,
And I am broken beneath it.
The Stranger's Friend
© Henry Lawson
It is true to the region of adjectives when I say that the spree was grim,
For to go on the spree was a sacred rite, or a heathen rite, to him,
To shout for the travellers passing through to the land where the lost soul bakes
Till they all seemed devils of different breeds, and his pockets were filled with snakes.
Safe
© Augusta Davies Webster
Wild wintry wind, storm through the night,
Dash the black clouds against the sky,
Hiss through the billows seething white,
Fling the rock-surf in spray on high.
Economy, A Rhapsody, Addressed to Young Poets
© William Shenstone
Insanis; omnes gelidis quaecunqne lacernis
Sunt tibi, Nasones Virgiliosque vides. ~Mart.
Imitation.
--Thou know'st not what thou say'st;
In garments that scarce fence them from the cold
Our Ovids and our Virgils you behold.
The Secret Whisky Cure
© Henry Lawson
Twas a common sordid marriage, and theres little new to tell
Save the pub to him was Heaven and his own home was a hell:
With the office in between thempurgatory to be sure
And, as far as Jones could make outwell, there wasnt any cure.
Epilogue To The Breakfast-Table Series
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
AUTOCRAT-PROFESSOR-POET
AT A BOOKSTORE
Ode XII: On Recovering From A Fit Of Sickness, In the Country
© Mark Akenside
I.
Thy verdant scenes, O Goulder's hill,
Lewti, Or The Circassian Love-Chaunt
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
At midnight by the stream I roved,
To forget the form I loved.
Image of Lewti! from my mind
Depart; for Lewti is not kind.
Rhymed Plea For Tolerance - Dialogue II.
© John Kenyon
A.
By no faint shame withheld from general gaze,
'Tis thus, my friend, we bask us in the blaze;
Where deeds, more surface-smooth than inly bright,
Snatch up a transient lustre from the light.
