Patience poems
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Requiescat In Pace
© Jean Ingelow
O my heart, my heart is sick awishing and awaiting:
The lad took up his knapsack, he went, he went his way;
And I looked on for his coming, as a prisoner through the grating
Looks and longs and longs and wishes for its opening day.
Tuesday In Easter Week
© John Keble
Thou first-born of the year's delight,
Pride of the dewy glade,
In vernal green and virgin white,
Thy vestal robes, arrayed:
Tale VII
© George Crabbe
view,
A useful lass,--you may have more to do."
Dreadful were these commands; but worse than
The Unattainable
© Madison Julius Cawein
Mark thou! a shadow crowned with fire of hell.
Man holds her in his heart as night doth hold
The moonlight memories of day's dead gold;
Or as a winter-withered asphodel
In its dead loveliness holds scents of old.
And looking on her, lo, he thinks 'tis well.
Patient Mercy Jones
© James Thomas Fields
Let us venerate the bones
Of patient Mercy Jones,
Who lies underneath these stones.
The Lady Of La Garaye - Part II
© Caroline Norton
A FIRST walk after sickness: the sweet breeze
That murmurs welcome in the bending trees,
When the cold shadowy foe of life departs,
And the warm blood flows freely through our hearts:
Nathan The Wise - Act III
© Gotthold Ephraim Lessing
And when this moment comes,
And when this warmest inmost of my wishes
Shall be fulfilled, what then? what then?
Where is my Ruined Life ?
© Shams al-Din Hafiz
WHERE is my ruined life, and where the fame
Of noble deeds?
Look on my long-drawn road, and whence it came,
And where it leads!
Metamorphoses: Book The Ninth
© Ovid
The End of the Ninth Book.
Translated into English verse under the direction of
Sir Samuel Garth by John Dryden, Alexander Pope, Joseph Addison,
William Congreve and other eminent hands
The Ring And The Book - Chapter IV - Tertium Quid
© Robert Browning
Is so far clear? You know Violante now,
Compute her capability of crime
By this authentic instance? Black hard cold
Crime like a stone you kick up with your foot
I the middle of a field?
The Dreams That Came True
© Jean Ingelow
I saw in a vision once, our mother-sphere
The world, her fixed foredooméd oval tracing,
Rolling and rolling on and resting never,
While like a phantom fell, behind her pacing
The unfurled flag of night, her shadow drear
Fled as she fled and hung to her forever.
At The Making Of Man
© Bliss William Carman
First all the host of Raphael
In liveries of gold,
Lifted the chorus on whose rhythm
The spinning spheres are rolled,
The Seraphs of the morning calm
Whose hearts are never cold.
The Song Of The Highest Tower
© Arthur Rimbaud
I told myself: wait
And let no one see:
And without the promise
Of true ecstasy.
Let nothing delay
This hiding away.
A Familiar Epistle To A Friend
© James Russell Lowell
Yes, this _is_ life! And so the bard
Through briny deserts, never scarred
Since Noah's keel, a subject seeks,
And lies upon the watch for weeks;
That once harpooned and helpless lying,
What follows is but weary trying.
The Peasant And His Angry Lord
© Jean de La Fontaine
'TWAS vain that Gregory a pardon prayed;
For trivial faults the peasant dearly paid;
His throat enflamed-his tender back well beat-
His money gone-and all to make complete,
Without the least deduction for the pain,
The blows and garlic gave the trembling swain.
The Cemetary Of Eylau
© Victor Marie Hugo
This to my elder brothers, schoolboys gay,
Was told by Uncle Louis on a day;
The Force Of Prayer, Or, The Founding Of Bolton, A Tradition
© William Wordsworth
"What is good for a bootless bene?"
With these dark words begins my Tale;
And their meaning is, whence can comfort spring
When Prayer is of no avail?
Phantasmagoria Canto VI ( Dyscomfyture )
© Lewis Carroll
As one who strives a hill to climb,
Who never climbed before:
Who finds it, in a little time,
Grow every moment less sublime,
And votes the thing a bore:
