Hope poems

/ page 412 of 439 /

Order by :

1
. . .
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
. . .
439

Death, To The Dead For Evermore

© Robert Louis Stevenson

DEATH, to the dead for evermore
A King, a God, the last, the best of friends -
Whene'er this mortal journey ends
Death, like a host, comes smiling to the door;

YOU fear, Ligurra - above all, you long -
That I should smite you with a stinging song.
This dreadful honour you both fear and hope -
Both all in vain: you fall below my scope.
The Lybian lion tears the roaring bull,
He does not harm the midge along the pool.

After Reading "Antony And Cleopatra"

© Robert Louis Stevenson

AS when the hunt by holt and field
Drives on with horn and strife,
Hunger of hopeless things pursues
Our spirits throughout life.

A Valentine's Song

© Robert Louis Stevenson

MOTLEY I count the only wear
That suits, in this mixed world, the truly wise,
Who boldly smile upon despair
And shake their bells in Grandam Grundy's eyes.

Song For Saint Cecilia's Day, 1687

© John Dryden

The soft complaining flute
In dying notes discovers
The woes of hopeless lovers,
Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute.

The Medal

© John Dryden

Thus inborn broils the factions would engage,
Or wars of exiled heirs, or foreign rage,
Till halting vengeance overtook our age,
And our wild labours, wearied into rest,
Reclined us on a rightful monarch's breast.

Religio Laici

© John Dryden

Dar'st thou, poor worm, offend Infinity?
And must the terms of peace be given by thee?
Then thou art justice in the last appeal;
Thy easy God instructs thee to rebel:
And, like a king remote, and weak, must take
What satisfaction thou art pleas'd to make.

Absalom And Achitophel

© John Dryden

Him staggering so when Hell's dire agent found,
While fainting virtue scarce maintain'd her ground,
He pours fresh forces in, and thus replies:

A Song From The Italian

© John Dryden

(LIMBERHAM: OR, THE KIND KEEPER)By a dismal cypress lying,
Damon cried, all pale and dying,
Kind is death that ends my pain,
But cruel she I lov'd in vain.

Mac Flecknoe

© John Dryden

All human things are subject to decay,
And, when Fate summons, monarchs must obey:
This Flecknoe found, who, like Augustus, young
Was call'd to empire, and had govern'd long:

Idler's Song

I sit in the twilight dim
At the close of an idle day,
And I list to the soft sweet hymn,
That rises far away,

Perished

I called to the summer sun,
Come over the hills to-day!
Unlock the rivers, and tell them to run,
And kiss the snow-drifts and melt them away.

Music In The Flat

The second morning I had been for half and hour or more
At work on Haydns masses, when a tap came at my door.
A nurse, who wore a dainty cap and apron, and a smile,
Ran down to ask if I would cease my music for awhile.
The lady in the flat above was very ill, she said,
And the sound of my piano was distracting to her head.