Hope poems
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Chanteys
© Harry Kemp
These are the songs that we sing with crowding feet,
Heaving up the anchor chain,
Or walking down the deck in the wind and sleet
And in the drizzle and rain.
Unborn
© John Le Gay Brereton
Eyes that have never seen a mother's face,
Have you no mercy that you stare and stare,
Although I never felt the hope I slew?
Wide eyes, but when I kneel to God for grace,
Your steadfast pity deepens my despair;
The darkness I desire is full of you.
At The Birth Of An Age
© Robinson Jeffers
V
GUDRUN (standing this side of the closing curtains; 'with Chrysothemis.
Carling has left her, going
To A Blossoming Pear Tree
© James Wright
I flinched. Both terrified,
We slunk away,
Each in his own way dodging
The cruel darts of the cold.
The Wind Of Onset
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
WITH potent north winds rushing swiftly down,
Blended in glorious chant, on yester-night
Old Winter came with locks and beard of white.
The hoarfrost glittering on his ancient crown:
To Massachusetts
© John Greenleaf Whittier
WHAT though around thee blazes
No fiery rallying sign?
From all thy own high places,
Give heaven the light of thine!
Peter Rugg the Bostonian
© Louise Imogen Guiney
The mare is pawing by the oak,
The chaise is cool and wide
For Peter Rugg the Bostonian
With his little son beside;
The women loiter at the wheels
In the pleasant summer-tide.
From: A Poet's Hope
© William Ellery Channing
Lady, there is a hope that all men have,
Some mercy for their faults, a grassy place
To rest in, and a flower-strewn, gentle grave;
Another hope which purifies our race,
That when that fearful bourn forever past,
They may find rest, - and rest so long to last.
The Quaker Alumni
© John Greenleaf Whittier
From the well-springs of Hudson, the sea-cliffs of Maine,
Grave men, sober matrons, you gather again;
And, with hearts warmer grown as your heads grow more cool,
Play over the old game of going to school.
The Garden Of Dreams
© Madison Julius Cawein
Not while I live may I forget
That garden which my spirit trod!
Where dreams were flowers, wild and wet,
And beautiful as God.
Isolation
© Edward Booth Loughran
Man lives alone; star-like, each soul
In its own orbit circles ever;
Myriads may by or round it roll -
The ways may meet, but mingle never.
Sonnet LVIII: None Other Fame
© Samuel Daniel
None other fame mine unambitious Muse
Affected ever but t'eternize thee;
The Columbiad: Book V
© Joel Barlow
Sage Franklin next arose with cheerful mien,
And smiled unruffled o'er the solemn scene;
His locks of age a various wreath embraced,
Palm of all arts that e'er a mortal graced;
Beneath him lay the sceptre kings had borne,
And the tame thunder from the tempest torn.
Last Eve
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
birds, it is over and done, your last passion has paled;
The world has no place for your flight nor my heart for your screams.
O hopes that were hopeless, sweet dreams that were ever as dreams,
Let go! get back to your graves, you have fought and have failed.
The Four Wishes
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Father! a youthful hero said, bending his lofty brow
On the world wide I must go forththen bless me, bless me, now!
And, ere I shall return oh say, what goal must I have won
What is the aim, the prize, that most thou wishest for thy son?
Shakuntala Act VII (Final Act)
© Kalidasa
ACT VII
King Dushyant with Matali in the chariot of Indra (king of gods in heaven and also god of thunder), supposed to be above the clouds.
King Dushyant: I am sensible, O Matali, that, for having executed the commission which Indra gave me, I deserved not such a profusion of honours.
Eight Years Old
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
SUN, whom the faltering snow-cloud fears,
Rise, let the time of year be May,
'Dichterliebe'
© Gwen Harwood
So hungry-sensitive that he
craves day and night the pap of praise,
he'll ease his gripes or fingerpaint
in heartsblood on a public page.
The ordinary world must be
altered to circumvent his rage.
Ode On A Distant Prospect Of Clapham Academy
© Thomas Hood
Ah me! those old familiar bounds!
That classic house, those classic grounds
My pensive thought recalls!
What tender urchins now confine,
What little captives now repine,
Within yon irksome walls?
The Year-King
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
It is the last of all the days,
The day on which the Old Year dies.
Ah! yes, the fated hour is near;
I see upon his snow-white bier
Outstretched the weary wanderer lies,
And mark his dying gaze.
