Patience poems

/ page 40 of 54 /

Order by :

1
. . .
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
. . .
54

To Robert Batty, M.D., on His Giving Me a Lock of Milton's Hair

© James Henry Leigh Hunt

There seems a love in hair, though it be dead.
It is the gentlest, yet the strongest thread
Of our frail plant,--a blossom from the tree
Surviving the proud trunk; as if it said,
Patience and gentleness in power. In me
Behold affectionate eternity.

Autumn in the Garden

© Henry Van Dyke

When the frosty kiss of Autumn in the dark

Makes its mark

Dionysus

© Vlanes (Vladislav Nekliaev)

Somewhere, suspended in facetless space,
the vine is spiralling, shown in the distance, with loosened hair:
the farther the eye is, the quicker, the faster it is moving,
as if all this length is bestowing on it the result
and the encouraging memory of the way, done and forgotten for good.

The Wanderings Of Oisin: Book III

© William Butler Yeats

Fled foam underneath us, and round us, a wandering and milky smoke,
High as the Saddle-girth, covering away from our glances the tide;
And those that fled, and that followed, from the foam-pale distance broke;
The immortal desire of Immortals we saw in their faces, and sighed.

The Lay Of St. Odille

© Richard Harris Barham

Odille was a maid of a dignified race;

Her father, Count Otto, was lord of Alsace;

A Dialogue between Old England and New

© Anne Bradstreet

New England. 1 Alas, dear Mother, fairest Queen and best,
2 With honour, wealth, and peace happy and blest,
3 What ails thee hang thy head, and cross thine arms,
4 And sit i' the dust to sigh these sad alarms?

Sir Curt's Wedding-journey.

© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

WITH a bridegroom's joyous bearing,Mounts Sir Curt his noble beast,
To his mistress' home repairing,There to hold his wedding feast;
When a threatening foe advancesFrom a desert, rocky spot;
For the fray they couch their lances,Not delaying, speaking not.Long the doubtful fight continues,Victory then for Curt declares;

The Spagnoletto. Act IV

© Emma Lazarus

Night. RIBERA'S bedroom. RIBERA discovered in his dressing-gown,
seated reading beside a table, with a light upon it. Enter from
an open door at the back of the stage, MARIA. She stands
irresolute for a moment on the threshold behind her father,
watching him, passes her hand rapidly over her brow and eyes,
and then knocks.

The Vanity of Human Wishes: The Tenth Satire of Juvenal, Imitated by Samuel Johnson

© Samuel Johnson

Yet still the 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.

The Sea-voyage.

© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

MANY a day and night my bark stood ready laden;
Waiting fav'ring winds, I sat with true friends round me,
Pledging me to patience and to courage,
In the haven.

Patience

© Thomas Dekker

Patience! why, 'tis the soul of peace:
OF all the virtues, 'tis nearest kin to heaven:
It makes men look like gods. The best of men
That e'er wore earth about Him was a sufferer;
A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit;
The first true gentleman that ever breathed.

A Quarrel With Love

© Nicholas Breton

Oh that I could write a story
Of love's dealing with affection!
How he makes the spirit sorry
That is touch'd with his infection.

Later life

© Christina Georgina Rossetti

Something this foggy day, a something which
Is neither of this fog nor of today,
Has set me dreaming of the winds that play
Past certain cliffs, along one certain beach,

The Youth of England To Garibaldi's Legend

© Sydney Thompson Dobell

O ye who by the gaping earth
Where, faint with resurrection, lay
An empire struggling into birth,
Her storm-strown beauty cold with clay,
The free winds round her flowery head,
Her feet still rooted with the dead,

Hermann And Dorothea - V. Polyhymnia

THE COSMOPOLITE.

BUT the Three, as before, were still sitting and talking together,

The Candidate

A POETICAL EPISTLE TO THE AUTHORS OF THE MONTHLY

REVIEW.

Offering

I offer you my forests and my street-cries
With hands of double-patience under the clock,
The antiseptic arguments and lies
Uttered before the flood, the submerged rock.
The sack of meal pierced by the handsome fencer,
The flowers dying for a great adventure.

Last night my soul cried O exalted sphere of Heaven

Last night my soul cried, O exalted sphere of Heaven, you hang indeed inverted, with flames in your belly.
Without sin and crime, eternally revolving upon your body in its complaining is the indigo of mourning;
Now happy, now unhappy, like Abraham in the fire; at once king and beggar like Ebrahim-e Adham.
In your form you are terrifying, yet your state is full of anguish: you turn round like a millstone and writhe like a snake.