Hope poems
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Sonnet XIX
© Caroline Norton
But since, in all that brief Life's narrow scope,
No day pass'd by without some gentle deed,
Let us not "mourn like them that have no hope,"
Though sharp the stroke,--and suddenly decreed;
Aforetime
© Thomas Sturge Moore
Thou findest parables;
With fond imagination
Adorning truth
For the successive
Unpersuaded
Generations.
Tale I
© George Crabbe
THE DUMB ORATORS; OR THE BENEFIT OF SOCIETY.
That all men would be cowards if they dare,
A Descriptive Ode
© Charlotte Turner Smith
Supposed to have been written under the Ruins of
Rufus's Castle, among the remains of the ancient
Church on the Isle of Portland.
CHAOTIC pile of barren stone,
The Vanities Of Life
© John Clare
Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.--_Solomon_
What are life's joys and gains?
Metrical Letter, Written From London.
© Robert Southey
Margaret! my Cousin!--nay, you must not smile;
I love the homely and familiar phrase;
My Secret. (From The French Of Felix Arvers)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
My soul its secret hath, my life too hath its mystery,
A love eternal in a moment's space conceived;
Tamerton Church-Tower, Or, First Love
© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore
III.
You paint a leaflet, here and there;
And not the blossom: tell
What mysteries of good and fair
These blazon'd letters spell.
But For The Tears
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
"The World were a place to play in," said the children,
"The playground of the present; all that is have we,
Before a Fall
© Geoffrey Grigson
And what was the big room he walked in?
The big room he walked in,
Over the smooth floor,
Under the sky light,
Was his own brain.
A Fragment, Supposed To Be Written Near The Temple, On The Night Before The Murder Of Louis The Sixt
© Mary Darby Robinson
Now Midnight spreads her sable vest
With starry rays light tissued o'er;
Now from the Desart's thistled breast
The chilling dews begin to soar;
The owl shrieks from the tott'ring tow'r,
Dread watch bird of the witching hour!
The Squatter's Man
© Anonymous
Come, all ye lads an' list to me,
That's left your homes an' crossed the sea,
Sonnet XXXIX. To Night. From The Same.
© Charlotte Turner Smith
I LOVE thee, mournful, sober-suited Night!
When the faint moon, yet lingering in her wane,
And veil'd in clouds, with pale uncertain light
Hangs o'er the waters of the restless main.
The Creed
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Whoever was begotten by pure love,
And came desired and welcome into life,
Is of immaculate conception. He
Whose heart is full of tenderness and truth,
On The Death Of Pushkin
© Mikhail Lermontov
"Hence is he, hence! His song out-rung,
The Singer even as the song he sung;
Who of a hot, heroic mood,
In death disgraceful shed his blood!"
The Garden-Chair
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
TWO PORTRAITS.
A PLEASANT picture, full of meanings deep,
Old age, calm sitting in the July sun,
On withered hands half-leaning--feeble hands,
A Musing On A Victory
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
Down by the Sutlej shore,
Where sound the trumpet and the wild tum-tum,
At winter's eve did come
A gaunt old northern lion, at whose roar
The myriad howlers of thy wilds are dumb,
Blood-stained Ferozepore!
