Hope poems
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The Home of Taliessin
© Alaric Alexander Watts
I stood on the spot where the famed Taliessin,
âThe Prince of the Bards,â had his dwelling of old;
Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard
© Thomas Gray
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea,
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Echoes Of Love's House
© William Morris
Love gives every gift whereby we long to live
Love takes every gift, and nothing back doth give.
A Holocaust
© Francis Thompson
'No man ever attained supreme knowledge, unless his heart had been
torn up by the roots.'
Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 3. Finale
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
These are the tales those merry guests
Told to each other, well or ill;
Like summer birds that lift their crests
Above the borders of their nests
And twitter, and again are still.
A Greeting
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Thrice welcome from the Land of Flowers
And golden-fruited orange bowers
Stanzas To the Memory Of George III
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
'Among many nations was there no King like him.' Nehemiah, xiii, 26.
'Know ye not that there is a prince and a great man fallen this day in Israel?' 2 Samuel, iii, 38.
L'Envoi
© James Russell Lowell
Whether my heart hath wiser grown or not,
In these three years, since I to thee inscribed,
Meary-Anns Child
© William Barnes
Meary-Ann wer alwone wi' her beäby in eärms,
In her house wi' the trees over head,
Vor her husban' wer out in the night an' the storms,
In his business a-tweilèn vor bread;
An' she, as the wind in the elems did roar,
Did grievy vor Robert all night out o' door.
Balade
© Sir Henry Newbolt
Nay--for Narcissus, in the forest pond
Seeing his image, made entreaty fond,
"Beloved, comfort on my longing pour":
So for a while he soothed his passion sore;
So cannot I, for all too far is she---
The lady who is queen and love to me.
Complaint of the Absence of Her Love Being Upon the Sea
© Henry Howard
O happy dames, that may embrace
The fruit of your delight,
A Ballad of François Villon, Prince of All Ballad-Makers
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
Prince of sweet songs made out of tears and fire,
A harlot was thy nurse, a God thy sire;
Shame soiled thy song, and song assoiled thy shame.
But from thy feet now death has washed the mire,
Love reads out first at head of all our quire,
Villon, our sad bad glad mad brother's name.
Address For The Opening Of The Fifth Avenue Theatre
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
HANG out our banners on the stately tower
It dawns at last--the long-expected hour!
The steep is climbed, the star-lit summit won,
The builder's task, the artist's labor done;
Before the finished work the herald stands,
And asks the verdict of your lips and hands!
On Seeing the Wind at Hope Mansell
© Geoffrey Hill
Whether or not shadows are of the substance
such is the expectation I can
In The Pace
© Arthur Symons
This is the church of Peace.
Sibyls of the East and West,
Teach me your secret, to release
With ancient wisdom that old rest
Which is in heaven called peace.
Happiness
© Wilfred Owen
Yet heaven looks smaller than the old doll's-home,
No nestling place is left in bluebell bloom,
And the wide arms of trees have lost their scope.
The former happiness is unreturning:
Boys' griefs are not so grievous as our yearning,
Boys have no sadness sadder than our hope.
English Eclogues VI - The Ruined Cottage
© Robert Southey
I pass this ruin'd dwelling oftentimes
And think of other days. It wakes in me
A transient sadness, but the feelings Charles
That ever with these recollections rise,
I trust in God they will not pass away.
