Patience poems

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from The Bridge: Quaker Hill

© Hart Crane

Above them old Mizzentop, palatial white 
Hostelry—floor by floor to cinquefoil dormer 
Portholes the ceilings stack their stoic height. 
Long tiers of windows staring out toward former 
Faces—loose panes crown the hill and gleam 
At sunset with a silent, cobwebbed patience . . . 

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The Broken Crutch: A Tale

© Robert Bloomfield

A burst of laughter rang throughout the hall,
And Peggy's tongue, though overborne by all,
Pour'd its warm blessings, for, without control
The sweet unbridled transport of her soul
Was obviously seen, till Herbert's kiss
Stole, as it were, the eloquence of bliss.

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August Afternoon

© Robert Laurence Binyon

Thump of a horse's hoof behind the hedge;
Long stripes of shadow, and green flame in the grass
Between them; discrowned, glaucous poppy--pods
On their tall stalks; a rose

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Commemoration

© Sir Henry Newbolt

I sat by the granite pillar, and sunlight fell
  Where the sunlight fell of old,
And the hour was the hour my heart remembered well,
  And the sermon rolled and rolled
As it used to roll when the place was still unhaunted,
And the strangest tale in the world was still untold.

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Calm

© Charles Baudelaire

Have patience, O my sorrow, and be still.
You asked for night: it falls: it is here.
A shadowy atmosphere enshrouds the hill,
to some men bringing peace, to others care.

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First turn to me. . . .

© Bernadette Mayer

First turn to me after a shower,

you come inside me sideways as always

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Above The Gaspereau

© Bliss William Carman

How still through the sweet summer sun, through the soft summer rain,
They have stood there awaiting the summons should bid them attain
The freedom of knowledge, the last touch of truth to explain
The great golden gist of their brooding, the marvellous train
Of thought they have followed so far, been so strong to sustain,—
The white gospel of sun and the long revelations of rain!

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After Frost

© Robert Creeley

He comes here
by whatever way he can, 
not too late,
not too soon.

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Drury-lane Prologue Spoken by Mr. Garrick at the Opening of the Theatre in Drury-Lane, 1747

© Henry James Pye

When Learning’s triumph o’er her barb’rous foes

First rear’d the stage, immortal Shakespear rose;

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The Wanderer: A Vision: Canto III

© Richard Savage


Ye traytors, tyrants, fear his stinging lay!
Ye pow'rs unlov'd, unpity'd in decay!
But know, to you sweet-blossom'd Fame he brings,
Ye heroes, patriots, and paternal kings!

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The Two Elizabeths

© John Greenleaf Whittier

AMIDST Thuringia's wooded hills she dwelt,
A high-born princess, servant of the poor,
Sweetening with gracious words the food she dealt
To starving throngs at Wartburg's blazoned door.

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When I Consider How My Light Is Spent

© Patrick Kavanagh

When I consider how my light is spent,

 Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,

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In The Pace

© Arthur Symons

This is the church of Peace.
Sibyls of the East and West,
Teach me your secret, to release
With ancient wisdom that old rest
Which is in heaven called peace.

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Magnets

© Robert Laurence Binyon

A far look in absorbed eyes, unaware

Of what some gazer thrills to gather there;

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Under The Rose

© Christina Georgina Rossetti

Oh the rose of keenest thorn!
One hidden summer morn
Under the rose I was born.

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Jim Crow Cars

© Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer

If within the cruel Southland you have chanced to take a ride,
You the Jim Crow cars have noticed, how they crush a Negro's pride,
How he pays a first class passage and a second class receives,
Gets the worst accommodations ev'ry friend of truth believes.

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Amen

© Christina Georgina Rossetti

It is over. What is over?
 Nay, now much is over truly!—
Harvest days we toiled to sow for;
 Now the sheaves are gathered newly,
 Now the wheat is garnered duly.

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How To Be a Poet

© Wendell Berry

(to remind myself)


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from The Vanity of Human Wishes

© Henry James Pye

  Yet still one gen’ral cry the skies assails,
And gain and grandeur load the tainted gales,
Few know the toiling statesman’s fear or care,
Th’ insidious rival and the gaping heir.