Hope poems
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The Fox And The Huntsman
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
HARD 'tis on a fox's traces
To arrive, midst forest-glades;
Saul And David
© Richard Monckton Milnes
``An evil spirit lieth on our King!''
So went the wailful tale up Israel,
From Gilgal unto Gibeah; town and camp
Caught the sad fame that spread like pestilence,
Death. A Dialogue
© Henry Vaughan
Soul.
'TIS a sad Land, that in one day
Hath dull'd thee thus ; when death shall freeze
Thy blood to ice, and thou must stay
Tenant for years, and centuries ;
How wilt thou brook't ?
Too Big A Price
© Edgar Albert Guest
"They say my boy is bad," she said to me,
A tired old woman, thin and very frail.
A Tale, Founded On A Fact, Which Happened In January, 1779
© William Cowper
Where Humber pours his rich commercial stream,
There dwelt a wretch, who breathed but to blaspheme.
Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 2. The Student's Tale; The Cobbler of Hagenau
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Outside his door, one afternoon,
This humble votary of the muse
Sat in the narrow strip of shade
By a projecting cornice made,
Mending the Burgomaster's shoes,
And singing a familiar tune:--
The King's Tragedy James I. Of Scots.20th February 1437
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
I Catherine am a Douglas born,
A name to all Scots dear;
Dead Hope
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Hope new born one pleasant morn
Died at even;
Hope dead lives nevermore.
No, not in heaven.
The False Laurel And The True
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
'What art thou, Presumptuous, who profanest
The wreath to mighty poets only due,
Even whilst like a forgotten moon thou wanest?
Touch not those leaves which for the eternal few
Upon The Sudden Restraint Of The Earl Of Somerset, Then Falling From Favour
© Sir Henry Wotton
Dazled thus with height of place,
Whilst our Hopes our wits Beguile,
No man marks the narrow space
'Twixt a Prison and a Smile.
The Oriental Nosegay. By Pickersgill
© Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Beautiful language! Love's peculiar, own,
But only to the spring and summer known.
Ah! little marvel in such clime and age
As that of our too earth-bound pilgrimage,
That we should daily hear that love is fled,
And hope grown pale, and lighted feelings dead.
The Saddest Fate
© Anonymous
To touch a broken lute,
To strike a jangled string,
To strive with tones forever mute
The dear old tunes to sing--
What sadder fate could any heart befall?
Alas! dear child, never to sing at all.
After Work by John Maloney: American Life in Poetry #184 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
© Ted Kooser
I hope it's not just a guy thing, a delight in the trappings of work. I love this poem by John Maloney, of Massachusetts, which gives us a close look behind the windshields of all those pickup trucks we see heading home from work.
After Work
The Midnight Mass
© Ada Cambridge
THE light lay trembling in a silver bar
Along the western borders of the sky;
From out the shadowy dome a little star
Stole forth to keep its patient watch on high;
And night came down, with solemn, soft embrace,
On storied Brittany.
Love's Rose
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
I.
Hopes, that swell in youthful breasts,
Live not through the waste of time!
Loves rose a host of thorns invests;
The Disciples At Sea
© John Newton
Constrained by their Lord to embark,
And venture, without him, to sea;
Poetry And Reality
© Jane Taylor
THE worldly minded, cast in common mould,
With all his might pursuing fame or gold,
