Hope poems

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The Hearts

© Robert Pinsky

The legendary muscle that wants and grieves,
The organ of attachment, the pump of thrills
And troubles, clinging in stubborn colonies

To A Wounded Bird

© Dora Sigerson Shorter

Thou shalt feel no more the wind on thy wing,

Nor float on the breath of the breeze;

Too Late

© Madison Julius Cawein

I looked upon a dead girl's face and heard

What seemed the voice of Love call unto me

Sweetest love, I do not go,

© John Donne

Sweetest love, I do not go,

For weariness of thee,

T o W.H.H.

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

How like a mighty picture, tint by tint,
This marvellous world is opening to thy view!
Wonders of earth and heaven; shapes bright and new,
Strength, radiance, beauty, and all things that hint

Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing

© James Weldon Johnson

Lift ev’ry voice and sing,

Till earth and heaven ring,

Eden bower

© Dante Gabriel Rossetti

It was Lilith the wife of Adam:

(Sing Eden Bower!)

All My Heart Is Stirring Lightly

© Mathilde Blind

All my heart is stirring lightly
Like dim violets winter-bound,
Quickening as they feel the brightly
Glowing sunlight underground.

Oh happy was that humorist - the first that made a pun at all -
Who when a joke occurred to him, however poor and mean,
Was absolutely certain that it never had been done at all -
How popular at dinners must that humorist have been!

The Troubadour. Canto 1

© Letitia Elizabeth Landon

There is a light step passing by
Like the distant sound of music's sigh;
It is that fair and gentle child,
Whose sweetness has so oft beguiled,
Like sunlight on a stormy day,
His almost sullenness away.

Roses And Sunshine

© Edgar Albert Guest

Rough is the road I am journeying now,

Heavy the burden I'm bearing to-day;

Sonnet LI: I Must Not Grieve My Love

© Samuel Daniel

I must not grieve my Love, whose eyes would read

Lines of delight, whereon her youth might smile;

Division Of An Estate

© George Moses Horton

It well bespeaks a man beheaded, quite
Divested of the laurel robe of life,
When every member struggles for its base,
The head; the power of order now recedes,

Narcissus

Encircled by her arms as by a shell,
she hears her being murmur,
while forever he endures
the outrage of his too pure image…

To -- -- --. Ulalume: A Ballad

The skies they were ashen and sober;

The leaves they were crispéd and sere—

Abraham Lincoln Walks at Midnight

© Roald Dahl

(In Springfield, Illinois)
It is portentous, and a thing of state
That here at midnight, in our little town
A mourning figure walks, and will not rest,
Near the old court-house pacing up and down.

Grace

© Joy Harjo

Like Coyote, like Rabbit, we could not contain our terror and clowned our way through a season of false midnights. We had to swallow that town with laughter, so it would go down easy as honey. And one morning as the sun struggled to break ice, and our dreams had found us with coffee and pancakes in a truck stop along Highway 80, we found grace.

I could say grace was a woman with time on her hands, or a white buffalo escaped from memory. But in that dingy light it was a promise of balance. We once again understood the talk of animals, and spring was lean and hungry with the hope of children and corn.

I would like to say, with grace, we picked ourselves up and walked into the spring thaw. We didn’t; the next season was worse. You went home to Leech Lake to work with the tribe and I went south. And, Wind, I am still crazy. I know there is something larger than the memory of a dispossessed people. We have seen it.