Hope poems
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In the Depths
© Arthur Hugh Clough
It is not sweet content, be sure,
That moves the nobler Muse to song,
Yet when could truth come whole and pure
From hearts that inly writhe with wrong?
Say not the Struggle Naught availeth
© Arthur Hugh Clough
SAY not the struggle naught availeth,
The labour and the wounds are vain,
The enemy faints not, nor faileth,
And as things have been they remain.
Arrival At Santos
© Elizabeth Bishop
Here is a coast; here is a harbor;
here, after a meager diet of horizon, is some scenery:
impractically shaped and--who knows?--self-pitying mountains,
sad and harsh beneath their frivolous greenery,
The Burglar Of Babylon
© Elizabeth Bishop
On the fair green hills of Rio
There grows a fearful stain:
The poor who come to Rio
And can't go home again.
A Miracle For Breakfast
© Elizabeth Bishop
At six o'clock we were waiting for coffee,
waiting for coffee and the charitable crumb
that was going to be served from a certain balcony
like kings of old, or like a miracle.
It was still dark. One foot of the sun
steadied itself on a long ripple in the river.
Roosters
© Elizabeth Bishop
At four o'clock
in the gun-metal blue dark
we hear the first crow of the first cock
Wayside Flowers
© William Allingham
Pluck not the wayside flower,
It is the traveller's dower;
A thousand passers-by
Its beauties may espy,
Adieu to Belshanny
© William Allingham
Adieu to Belashanny! where I was bred and born;
Go where I may, I'll think of you, as sure as night and morn.
The kindly spot, the friendly town, where every one is known,
And not a face in all the place but partly seems my own;
Song 2
© Anne Brontë
Shout you that will, and you that can rejoice
To revel in the riches of your foes.
In praise of deadly vengeance lift you voice,
Gloat o'er your tyrants' blood, you victims' woes.
I'd rather listen to the skylarks' songs,
And think on Gondal's, and my Father's wrongs.
Severed and Gone
© Anne Brontë
I know the corner where it lies,
Is but a dreary place of rest:
The charnel moisture never dries
From the dark flagstones o'er its breast,
Self-Congratulation
© Anne Brontë
Ellen, you were thoughtless once
Of beauty or of grace,
Simple and homely in attire,
Careless of form and face;
Self Communion
© Anne Brontë
'So was it, and so will it be:
Thy God will guide and strengthen thee;
His goodness cannot fail.
The sun that on thy morning rose
Will light thee to the evening's close,
Whatever storms assail.'
Power of Love
© Anne Brontë
Often, in my wild impatience,
I have lost my trust in Heaven,
And my soul has tossed and struggled,
Like a vessel tempest-driven;
Past Days
© Anne Brontë
Were all unprized, uncourted then --
And all the joy one spirit showed,
The other deeply felt again;
And friendship like a river flowed,
Constant and strong its silent course,
For nought withstood its gentle force:
Oh, They have Robbed Me of The Hope
© Anne Brontë
Well, let them seize on all they can: --
One treasure still is mine, --
A heart that loves to think on thee,
And feels the worth of thine.
The North Wind
© Anne Brontë
Blow on, wild wind, thy solemn voice,
However sad and drear,
Is nothing to the gloomy silence
I have had to bear.
Night
© Anne Brontë
Cold in the grave for years has lain
The form it was my bliss to see,
And only dreams can bring again
The darling of my heart to me.
My God! O let me call Thee mine!
© Anne Brontë
I cannot say my faith is strong,
I dare not hope my love is great;
But strength and love to Thee belong,
O, do not leave me desolate!
O, do not leave me desolate!
Monday Night May 11th 1846 / Domestic Peace
© Anne Brontë
The moon without as pure and calm
Is shining as that night she shone;
but now, to us she brings no balm,
For something from our hearts is gone.
Mirth And Mourning
© Anne Brontë
'The sunshine glows so brightly
O'er all the blooming earth;
And every heart beats lightly, --
Each face is full of mirth.'
