Hope poems
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The After-Comers
© Robert Traill Spence Lowell
Their daisy, oak and rose were new;
Fresh runnels down their valleys babbled;
New were red lip, true eyes, fresh dew;
All dells, all shores, had not been rabbled;
Nor yet the rhyming lovers crew
Tree-bark and casement-pane had scrabbled.
The Wanderers Return
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
An old heart's mourning is a hideous thing,
And weeds upon an aged weeper cling
Like night upon a grave. The city there,
Gaunt as a woman who has once been fair,
The Song Of Songs
© Madison Julius Cawein
I HEARD a Spirit singing as, beyond the morning winging,
Its radiant form went swinging like a star:
In its song prophetic voices mixed their sounds with trumpet-noises,
As when, loud, the World rejoices after war.
Rhymed Plea For Tolerance - Dialogue I
© John Kenyon
Yet the heart vents still more indignant blame,
Where Lawgivers their sullen codes proclaim,
And idly would constrain the creed within,
As if Belief were Crime, and ToleranceSin.
Wordsworth
© James Kenneth Stephen
Two voices are there: one is of the deep;
It learns the storm cloud's thunderous melody,
Now roars, now murmurs with the changing sea,
Now birdlike pipes, now closes soft in sleep;
A Dream Of Sappho
© Richard Monckton Milnes
``Stranger! the voice that trembles in your ear,
You would have placed, had you been fancy--free,
First in the chorus of the happiest sphere,
The home of deified mortality:
Song. Hope
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
And said I that all hope was fled,
That sorrow and despair were mine,
That each enthusiast wish was dead,
Had sank beneath pale Miserys shrine.--
The Glowworm
© Madison Julius Cawein
How long had I sat there and had not beheld
The gleam of the glow-worm till something compelled!...
If Only
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
If I might only love my God and die!
But now He bids me love Him and live on,
Calais, August 15, 1802
© William Wordsworth
FESTIVALS have I seen that were not names:
This is young Buonaparte's natal day,
The Portrait
© Madison Julius Cawein
In some quaint Nurnberg maler-atelier
Uprummaged. When and where was never clear
II: And As I Mused On All We Call Our Own
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
And as I mused on all we call our own,
And (in the words their passionate hope had taught
The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 4
© Publius Vergilius Maro
BUT anxious cares already seizd the queen:
She fed within her veins a flame unseen;
Rizpah
© William Cullen Bryant
And he delivered them into the hands of the Gibeonites, and they
hanged them in the hill before the Lord; and they fell all seven
together, and were put to death in the days of the harvest, in the
first days, in the beginning of barley-harvest.
When Will It End?
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
O when will it end, this appalling strife,
With its reckless waste of human life,
Its riving of highest, holiest ties,
Its tears of anguish and harrowing sighs,
Its ruined homes from which hope has fled,
Its broken hearts and its countless dead?
I've Lived To See Desire Vanish
© Alexander Pushkin
Ive lived to see desire vanish,
With hope Ive slowly come to part,
And I am left with only anguish,
The fruit of emptiness at heart.
The Beauteous Flower - Son Of The Imprisioned Count
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Were I not prison'd here.
My sorrow sore oppresses me,
For when I was at liberty,
The Looks Of A Lover Enamoured
© George Gascoigne
THOU, with thy looks, on whom I look full oft,
And find therein great cause of deep delight,
The Australiad
© Mary Hannay Foott
Meanwhile the hardy Dutchmen came,as ancient charts attest,
Hartog, and Nuyts, and Carpenter, and Tasman, and the rest,
But found not forests rich in spice, nor market for their wares,
Nor servile tribes to toil oertasked mid pestilential airs,
And deemed it scarce worth while to claim so poor a continent,
But with their slumberous tropic isles thenceforward were content.
