Hope poems

/ page 296 of 439 /

Order by :

1
. . .
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
. . .
439

Karen

© Celia Thaxter

At her low quaint wheel she sits to spin,
Deftly drawing the long, light rolls
Of carded wool through her finders thin,
By the fireside at the Isles of Shoals.

The Beggar-Man

© Dora Sigerson Shorter

A beggar sat by the King's highway,

O, but the road was long!

Quia Nominor Leo: Sonnets

© Algernon Charles Swinburne

I.

WHAT part is left thee, lion? Ravenous beast,

Consummatum Est

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

I'VE done with all the world can give,
Whate'er its kind or measure.
(O Christ! what paltry lives we live
If toil be lord, or pleasure!).

On The Edge Of The Wilderness

© William Morris

Whence comest thou, and whither goest thou?
Abide! abide! longer the shadows grow;
What hopest thou the dark to thee will show?

The Hosting Of The Sidhe

© William Butler Yeats

THE host is riding from Knocknarea

And over the grave of Clooth-na-Bare;

To George, Earl Delwarr

© George Gordon Byron

Oh! yes, I will own we were dear to each other;
The friendships of childhood, though fleeting are true;
The love which you felt was the love of a brother,
Nor less the affection I cherish'd for you.

To a False Friend

© Louisa Stuart Costello

Adieu!'tis pastthe dream is over,
And we are friends no more;
And now my task shall be to smother
Thoughts prized too well before
That we have ever loved or met,
All, but our parting, to forget.

On The Death Of Lieutenant-Colonel Buller, Killed In Flanders In 1795

© Richard Brinsley Sheridan

Scarce hush'd the sigh, scarce dried the ling'ring

tear,

The Old Garden

© George MacDonald

I stood in an ancient garden
With high red walls around;
Over them grey and green lichens
In shadowy arabesque wound.

Vitae Summa Brevis Spem Nos Vetat Incohare Longam

© Ernest Christopher Dowson

They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
Love and desire and hate:
I think they have no portion in us after
We pass the gate.

The Triumph of Dead : Chap. 1

That gallant lady, gloriously bright,

The stately pillar once of worthiness,

A Funeral Poem On The Death Of C. E. An Infant Of Twelve Months

Through airy roads he wings his instant flight

To purer regions of celestial light;

Mother And Son

Now sleeps the land of houses,

and dead night holds the street,

'Tis in the mind that Beauty stands confess'd,
In all the noblest pride of glory dress'd,
Where virtue's rules the conscious bosom arm,
There to our eyes she spreads her brightest charm:
There all her rays, with force collected, shine,
Proclaim her worth, and speak her race divine.

The Towers of Time

(There is never a crack in the ivory tower
Or a hinge to groan in the house of gold
Or a leaf of the rose in the wind to wither
And she grows young as the world grows old.
A Woman clothed with the sun returning
to clothe the sun when the sun is cold.)