Hope poems
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The Parish Register - Part II: Marriages
© George Crabbe
made.
Yet now, would Phoebe her consent afford,
Her slave alone, again he'd mount the board;
With her should years of growing love be spent,
And growing wealth;--she sigh'd and look'd consent.
Now, through the lane, up hill, and 'cross the
The Offering Of The New Law, The One Oblation Once Offered
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Once I thought to sit so high
In the Palace of the sky;
Now, I thank God for His Grace,
If I may fill the lowest place.
If I Had Loved You More
© Aline Murray Kilmer
IF I had loved you more God would have had pity;
He would never have left me here in this desolate place,
Left me to go on my knees to the door of Heaven
Crying in vain for a little sight of your face.
Prometheus Unbound
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
First Voice.
But never bowed our snowy crest
As at the voice of thine unrest.
Paradise Regain'd : Book II.
© John Milton
Meanwhile the new-baptized, who yet remained
At Jordan with the Baptist, and had seen
The Poets Of The Tomb
© Henry Lawson
The world has had enough of bards who wish that they were dead,
'Tis time the people passed a law to knock 'em on the head,
For 'twould be lovely if their friends could grant the rest they crave -
Those bards of `tears' and `vanished hopes', those poets of the grave.
They say that life's an awful thing, and full of care and gloom,
They talk of peace and restfulness connected with the tomb.
The Scallop Shell
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
A scallop shell, loosed by the lifting tide,
Had left a friendly shore, the seas to brave;
Jerusalem Delivered - Book 01 - part 04
© Torquato Tasso
XLI
Guelpho next them the land and place possest,
Niobe
© Alfred Noyes
How like the sky she bends above her child,
One with the great horizon of her pain!
An Address to the Steam Washing Company and Letter of Remonstrance from Bridget Jones to the Nobleme
© Thomas Hood
An Address to the Steam Washing Company
"For shamelet the linen alone!" M. W. of Windsor.
Mr. ScrubMr. Slopor whoever you be!
The Reunion
© John Greenleaf Whittier
The gulf of seven and fifty years
We stretch our welcoming hands across;
The distance but a pebble's toss
Between us and our youth appears.
On the Building of Springfield
© Vachel Lindsay
Let not our town be large, remembering
That little Athens was the Muses' home,
That Oxford rules the heart of London still,
That Florence gave the Renaissance to Rome.
The Illinois Village
© Vachel Lindsay
O you who lose the art of hope,
Whose temples seem to shrine a lie,
Whose sidewalks are but stones of fear,
Who weep that Liberty must die,
Don Juan: Canto The Fifteenth
© George Gordon Byron
Ah!--What should follow slips from my reflection;
Whatever follows ne'ertheless may be
To the United States Senate
© Vachel Lindsay
And must the Senator from Illinois
Be this squat thing, with blinking, half-closed eyes?
This brazen gutter idol, reared to power
Upon a leering pyramid of lies?
