Hope poems

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Rinaldo.*

© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

[This Cantata was written for Prince Frederick
of Gotha, and set to music by Winter, the Prince singing the part
of Rinaldo.--See the Annalen.]

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How A Fair One No Hope To His Highness Accorded

© Guy Wetmore Carryl


  The Moral: The people across the brine
  Are exceedingly strong on Auld Lang Syne,
  But they're lost in the push when they strike a gang
  That is strong on American new line slang!

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The Bride of a Year

© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon

She stands in front of her mirror

  With bright and joyous air,

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Trilogy of Passion: II. ELEGY.

© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

WHAT hope of once more meeting is there now
In the still-closed blossoms of this day?
Both heaven and hell thrown open seest thou;
What wav'ring thoughts within the bosom play
No longer doubt! Descending from the sky,
She lifts thee in her arms to realms on high.

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Louvain 19

© Robert Laurence Binyon

ii
But from that blood, those ashes there arose
Not hoped-for terror cowering as it ran,
But divine anger flaming upon those
Defamers of the very name of man,

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Hans Sachs' Poetical Mission.

© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Soon as the spring-sun meets his view,
Repose begets him labour anew;
He feels that he holds within his brain
A little world, that broods there amain,
And that begins to act and to live,
Which he to others would gladly give.

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From An Album Of 1604.

© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

HOPE provides wings to thought, and love to hope.
Rise up to Cynthia, love, when night is clearest,
And say, that as on high her figure changeth,
So, upon earth, my joy decays and grows.

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To The Countess Granville.

© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Believe me, with great truth,
Very faithfully yours,
EDGAR A. BOWRING.
London, April, 1853.

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Dead Leaves

© James Whitcomb Riley

DAWN

As though a gipsy maiden with dim look,

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The Beauteous Flower.

© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Were I not prison'd here.
My sorrow sore oppresses me,
For when I was at liberty,

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The Orphan Boy's Tale

© Amelia Opie

Stay, lady, stay, for mercy's sake,
And hear a helpless orphan's tale,
Ah! sure my looks must pity wake,
'Tis want that makes my cheek so pale.

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The Spagnoletto. Act IV

© Emma Lazarus

  Night. RIBERA'S bedroom.  RIBERA discovered in his dressing-gown,
  seated reading beside a table, with a light upon it. Enter from
  an open door at the back of the stage, MARIA. She stands
  irresolute for a moment on the threshold behind her father,
  watching him, passes her hand rapidly over her brow and eyes,
  and then knocks.

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The Spring Oracle.

© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

OH prophetic bird so bright,
Blossom-songster, cuckoo bight!
In the fairest time of year,
Dearest bird, oh! deign to hear

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My Goddess.

© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

But unto us he
Hath his most versatile,
Most cherished daughter
Granted,--what joy!

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Lily's Menagerie.

© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

[Goethe describes this much-admired Poem, which
he wrote in honour of his love Lily, as being "designed to change
his surrender of her into despair, by drolly-fretful images."]

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To Charlotte.

© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

'MIDST the noise of merriment and glee,'Midst full many a sorrow, many a care,
Charlotte, I remember, we remember thee,How, at evening's hour so fair,
Thou a kindly hand didst reach us,When thou, in some happy placeWhere more fair is Nature s face,Many a lightly-hidden trace
Of a spirit loved didst teach us.Well 'tis that thy worth I rightly knew,--That I, in the hour when first we met,While the first impression fill'd me yet,

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The Optimist.

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

The fields were bleak and sodden. Not a wing

Or note enlivened the depressing wood,

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Johanna Sebus.

© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

[To the memory of an excellent and beautiful
girl of 17, belonging to the village of Brienen, who perished on
the 13th of January, 1809, whilst giving help on the occasion of
the breaking up of the ice on the Rhine, and the bursting of the
dam of Cleverham.]

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Hymn to the God of War

© John Le Gay Brereton

  From every quarter we,
  Who bent the trembling knee
  And cowered or grovelled prostrate day and night,
  Now come once more to sing
  A dirge before thee, King,
  Once more with earnest heart to do thee right.