Hope poems
/ page 341 of 439 /
The Brave Days To Be.
© Arthur Henry Adams
I looked far in the future; down the dim
Echoless avenue of silent years,
And through the cold grey haze of Time I saw
The fair fulfilment of my spacious dream.
Tears
© Robert Fuller Murray
Mourn that which will not come again,
The joy, the strength of early years.
Bow down thy head, and let thy tears
Water the grave where hope lies slain.
Our Mother Pocahontas
© Vachel Lindsay
She sings of lilacs, maples, wheat,
Her own soil sings beneath her feet,
Of springtime
And Virginia,
Our Mother, Pocahontas.
The Adieu
© George Gordon Byron
Written Under The Impression That The Author Would Soon Die.
Adieu, thou Hill! where early joy
Spread roses o'er my brow;
How a Little Girl Danced
© Vachel Lindsay
Oh, thrice-painted dancer, vaudeville dancer,
Sad in your spangles, with soul all astrain,
I know a dancer, I know a dancer,
Whose laughter and weeping are spiritual gain,
A pure-hearted, high-hearted maiden evangel,
With strength the dark cynical earth to disdain.
The Hope of the Resurrection
© Vachel Lindsay
Though I have watched so many mourners weep
O'er the real dead, in dull earth laid asleep
Those dead seemed but the shadows of my days
That passed and left me in the sun's bright rays.
Heroism
© William Cowper
There was a time when Ætna's silent fire
Slept unperceived, the mountain yet entire;
The Ideal
© Charles Harpur
Spirit of Dreams! When many a toilsome height
Shut paradise from exiled Adams sight,
The Perfect Marriage
© Vachel Lindsay
I hate this yoke; for the world's sake here put it on:
Knowing 'twill weigh as much on you till life is gone.
Knowing you love your freedom dear, as I love mine
Knowing that love unchained has been our life's great wine:
Our one great wine (yet spent too soon, and serving none;
Of the two cups free love at last the deadly one).
The Passions. An Ode to Music
© William Taylor Collins
First Fear his hand, its skill to try,
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid,
And back recoil'd, he knew not why,
Ev'n at the sound himself had made.
The Congo: A Study of the Negro Race
© Vachel Lindsay
I. THEIR BASIC SAVAGERYFat black bucks in a wine-barrel room,
Barrel-house kings, with feet unstable,
Sagged and reeled and pounded on the table,
A deep rolling bass.
This Section is a Christmas Tree
© Vachel Lindsay
THIS section is a Christmas tree:
Loaded with pretty toys for you.
Behold the blocks, the Noah's arks,
The popguns painted red and blue.
To Richard Wagner.
© Sidney Lanier
"I saw a sky of stars that rolled in grime.
All glory twinkled through some sweat of fight,
To J.R.
© Robert Fuller Murray
Last Sunday night I read the saddening story
Of the unanswered love of fair Elaine,
The `faith unfaithful' and the joyless glory
Of Lancelot, `groaning in remorseful pain.'
Abraham Lincoln Walks at Midnight
© Vachel Lindsay
IT is portentious, 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.
Daimon
© Aline Murray Kilmer
I SAW her after many years.
The blue-black hair that had swept to her knees
Was dull and grey. No one would turn
To look at her thin face worn with tears.
I felt my own wet eyelids burn,
For she had been queen of my memories.
An Exotic
© Henry Timrod
Not in a climate near the sun
Did the cloud with its trailing fringes float,
Whence, white as the down of an angel's plume,
Fell the snow of her brow and throat.
On This Day Of Sky-Blue Bears
© Velimir Khlebnikov
On this day of sky-blue bears
Running across quiet eyelashes,
I divine beyond the blue waters
In the cup of my eyes an order to wake.
The Winners
© Rudyard Kipling
What the moral? Who rides may read.
When the night is thick and the tracks are blind
A friend at a pinch is a friend, indeed,
But a fool to wait for the laggard behind.
Down to Gehenna or up to the Throne,
He travels the fastest who travels alone.
