Hope poems
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The Glories Of The Present
© Edgar Albert Guest
WHAT of the glories after death,
When this frail form gives up its breath?
Love in the afternoon
© Ovid
It was very hot. The day had gone just past its noon.
I'd stretched out on a couch to take a nap.
One of the window-shutters was open, one was closed.
The light was like you'd see deep in the woods,
The Portrait
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
This is her picture as she was:
It seems a thing to wonder on,
To The Honourable Mrs. Spencer, On Her Removing From Windsor To Rookly In Hampshire.
© Mary Barber
How does thy Manner to thy Words impart
Some won'drous Pow'r to gain upon the Heart,
Engaging All!--Beneficence we see,
Tho' fair Herself, yet owing Charms to Thee:
O fitted Thou for Spencer's Race, who scorn
To think they only for Themselves were born!
The Sorrow of True Love ?
© Edward Thomas
The sorrow of true love is a great sorrow
And true love parting blackens a bright morrow:
The Storm
© Adam Mickiewicz
The rudder breaks, the sails are ripped, the roar
Of waters mingles with the ominous sound
The Supper
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Blind Roger
Set the glass in my hand. I'm blind and old,
But still I shun to be left in the cold.
A Promise. "By the pure spring, whose haunted waters flow"
© Frances Anne Kemble
By the pure spring, whose haunted waters flow
Through thy sequestered dell unto the sea,
Passing
© Toi Derricotte
A professor invites me to his “Black Lit” class; they’re
reading Larson’s Passing. One of the black
The Broken Crutch: A Tale
© Robert Bloomfield
A burst of laughter rang throughout the hall,
And Peggy's tongue, though overborne by all,
Pour'd its warm blessings, for, without control
The sweet unbridled transport of her soul
Was obviously seen, till Herbert's kiss
Stole, as it were, the eloquence of bliss.
"A child in nature, as a child in years"
© Robert Laurence Binyon
A child in nature, as a child in years,
If on past hours she turn remembering eyes,
She but beholds sweet joys or gentle tears,
Flower hiding flower in her pure memories.
On Parting
© Hristo Botev
1868
Don't cry, mother, don't grieve
that I grew up as an outlaw,
an outlaw, mother, a rebel,
The Dead Fox Hunter
© Robert Graves
We found the little captain at the head;
His men lay well-aligned.
We touched his hand &mdash stone cold &mdash and he was dead,
And they, all dead behind,
Had never reached their goal, but they died well;
They charged in line, and in the same line fell.
Lines Suggested By The Last Words Of Berengarius. Ob. Anno Dom. 1088
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
No more 'twixt conscience staggering and the Pope
Soon shall I now before my God appear,
By him to be acquitted, as I hope;
By him to be condemned, as I fear.--
Midsummer
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
After the May time and after the June time
Rare with blossoms and perfume sweet,
Cometh the round world's royal noon time,
The red midsummer of blazing heat,
