Hope poems
/ page 37 of 439 /
Life And Immortality
© James Beattie
"O ye wild groves, oh, where is now your bloom!"
(The muse interprets thus his tender thought)
Your flowers, your verdure, and your balmy gloom,
Of late so grateful in the hour of drought?
A Sweet Pastoral
© Nicholas Breton
Good Muse, rock me asleep
With some sweet harmony;
The weary eye is not to keep
Thy wary company.
How Graces Are To Be Obtained
© John Bunyan
The next word that I would unto thee say,
Is how thou mayst attain without delay,
Sonnet
© Luigi Alamanni
Therefore, proud Italy, I, by Gods grace,
After six years come back to gaze on thee,
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part III: Gods And False Gods: LXXV
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
THE SAME CONTINUED
And then fate strikes us. First our joys decay.
Youth, with its pleasures, is a tale soon told.
We grow a little poorer day by day.
A Girls Day Dream And Its Fulfilment
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Ah! mother it once sufficed thy child
To cherish a bird or flowret wild;
To see the moonbeams the waters kiss,
Was enough to fill her heart with bliss;
Or oer the bright woodland stream to bow,
But these things may not suffice her now.
On the Memory of Mr. Edward King, Drown'd in the Irish Seas
© John Cleveland
I like not tears in tune, nor do I prize
His artificial grief that scans his eyes;
Sir Hornbook
© Thomas Love Peacock
O'er bush and briar Childe Launcelot sprung
With ardent hopes elate,
And loudly blew the horn that hung
Before Sir Hornbook's gate.
Verses I
© Charlotte Turner Smith
INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN PREFIXED TO THE NOVEL
OF EMMELINE, BUT THEN SUPPRESSED.
O'ERWHELM'D with sorrow, and sustaining long
"The proud man's contumely, th' oppressor's wrong,"
Courage, Courage, Courage!
© Edgar Albert Guest
When the burden grows heavy, and rough is the way,
When you falter and slip, and it isn't your day,
And your best doesn't measure to what is required,
When you know in your heart that you're fast growing tired,
With the odds all against you, there's one thing to do:
That is, call on your courage and see the thing through.
This Morning
© Raymond Carver
This morning was something. A little snow
lay on the ground. The sun floated in a clear
Moses On The Nile
© Victor Marie Hugo
"Sisters! the wave is freshest in the ray
Of the young morning; the reapers are asleep;
The One Certain Thing by Peter Cooley : American Life in Poetry #268 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate
© Ted Kooser
If writers are both skilled and lucky, they may write something that will carry their words into the future, past the hour of their own deaths. I’d guess all writers hope for this, and the following poem by Peter Cooley, who lives in New Orleans and teaches creative writing at Tulane, beautifully expresses his hope, and theirs.
The One Certain Thing
A day will come I’ll watch you reading this.
Moore
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
He sings the heroic tales of old
When Ireland yet was free,
Of many a fight and foray bold,
And raid beyond the sea.
Vields In The Light
© William Barnes
Woone's heart mid leäp wi' thoughts o' jaÿ
In comèn manhood light an' gaÿ
War And PeaceA Poem
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Thou, whose lov'd presence and benignant smile
Has beam'd effulgence on this favour'd isle;
Thou! the fair seraph, in immortal state,
Thron'd on the rainbow, heaven's emblazon'd gate;
Thou! whose mild whispers in the summer-breeze
Control the storm, and undulate the seas;
