Hope poems

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439

In Equal Sacrifice

© Robert Frost

Thus of old the Douglas did:

He left his land as he was bid

Throughout the country for many a mile
There is not a nobler, statelier pile
Than ivy crowned Rathmore Hall;
And the giant oaks that shadow the wold,
Though hollowed by time, are not as old
As its Norman turrets tall.

Meditation At Perugia

© Duncan Campbell Scott

The sunset colours mingle in the sky,

And over all the Umbrian valleys flow;

The Foredawn Hour

© John Payne

I

BETWEEN the night-end and the break of day

From Omar Khayyam

© Edward Fitzgerald

A BOOK of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread-and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness-
O, Wilderness were Paradise enow!

Autumn Evening

© Viggo Stuckenberg

The sun has set. Around the tower creeps night's forest of darkness.

My Lady

© Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz

(Español)
Perdite, señora, quiero
de mi silencio perdón,
si lo que ha sido atención
le hace parecer grosero.

The Cloud Messenger - Part 04

© Kalidasa

The slender young woman who is there would be the premier creation by the
Creator in the sphere of women, with fine teeth, lips like a ripe bimba fruit, a
slim waist, eyes like a startled gazelles, a deep navel, a gait slow on account
of the weight of her hips, and who is somewhat bowed down by her breasts.

Coplas De Manrique (From The Spanish)

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

O let the soul her slumbers break,
Let thought be quickened, and awake;
Awake to see
How soon this life is past and gone,
And death comes softly stealing on,
How silently!

A Ballad Of Baseball Burdens

© Franklin Pierce Adams

Ah, Fans, let not the Quarry but the Chase
Be that to which most fondly we aspire!
For us not Stake, but Game; not Goal, but Race -

A Prayer

© Robert Laurence Binyon

O Thou who seekest me
Through the day's heartless hurry and uproar,
Who followest me to my thought's farthest shore--
Nay, who art gone before--

Assurance

© George Herbert

O Spitefull bitter thought!
Bitterly spitefull thought! Couldst thou invent
So high a torture? Is such poyson boguht?
Doubtlesse, but in the way of punishment,
When wit contrives to meet with thee,
No such rank poyson can there be.

Woman's Love

© Alaric Alexander Watts

'Tis morn: o'er Kyburg's castled crag day's first faint streak appears,

Like the ray of Truth through Error's mists, or the smile through Woman's tears;

The Secret Of The Stars

Is man's the only throbbing heart that hides
The silent spring that feeds its whispering tides?
Speak from thy caverns, mystery-breeding Earth,
Tell the half-hinted story of thy birth,
And calm the noisy champions who have thrown
The book of types against the book of stone!