Peace poems

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Heartsease And Rue: Friendship

© James Russell Lowell

Natures benignly mixed of air and earth,
Now with the stars and now with equal zest
Tracing the eccentric orbit of a jest.

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In Sutton Woods

© Alfred Austin

There-peace once more; the restless roar
Of troubled cities dies away.
``Welcome to our broad shade once more,''
The dear old woodlands seem to say.

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The Hour And The Ghost

© Christina Georgina Rossetti

I have thee close, my dear,
No terror can come near;
Only far off the northern light shines clear.

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The Wood Carver's Wife

© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall

JEAN MARCHANT, the wood-carver.
DORETTE, his wife.
LOUIS DE LOTBINIERE.
SHAGONAS, an Indian lad.

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The Ship-Builders

© John Greenleaf Whittier

THE sky is ruddy in the east,
The earth is gray below,
And, spectral in the river-mist,
The ship's white timbers show.

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Renewel of Strength

© Frances Ellen Watkins Harper


And over the shadows of my life
Stole the light of a peace divine.

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Pennsylvania Hall

© John Greenleaf Whittier

NOT with the splendors of the days of old,
The spoil of nations, and barbaric gold;
No weapons wrested from the fields of blood,
Where dark and stern the unyielding Roman stood,

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The Thrush In February

© George Meredith

I know him, February's thrush,
And loud at eve he valentines
On sprays that paw the naked bush
Where soon will sprout the thorns and bines.

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Fainting by the Way

© Henry Kendall

Swarthy wastelands, wide and woodless, glittering miles and miles away,

Where the south wind seldom wanders and the winters will not stay;

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In Time Of War

© John Jay Chapman

SORROW, that watches while the body sleeps,

Parted the curtains of the cruel dawn

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The Wreck Of Rivermouth

© John Greenleaf Whittier

Rivermouth Rocks are fair to see,

By dawn or sunset shone across,

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The Windsor Prophecy

© Jonathan Swift

When a holy black Swede, the son of Bob,
With a saint at his chin and a seal at his fob,
Shall not see one New-Years-day in that year,
Then let old England make good cheer:

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Those Shadon Bells

© Denis Florence MacCarthy

Those Shandon bells, those Shandon bells!
Whose deep, sad tone now sobs, now swells-
Who comes to seek this hallowed ground,
And sleep within their sacred sound?

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The Dance To Death. Act III

© Emma Lazarus


LAY-BROTHER.
  Peace be thine, father!

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An Allegory

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

I.
A portal as of shadowy adamant
Stands yawning on the highway of the life
Which we all tread, a cavern huge and gaunt;

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To Sophronia.

© Mary Barber

Those who thy Favour once obtain,
Need not sollicit thee again;
Nor ever at Neglect repine:
Their Wishes and their Cares are thine:
Nor at the Grave thy Friendship ends;
But to Posterity descends.

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The Home of Peace

© Charles Harpur

In a bark of gentle motion
Sailing on the summer ocean?
There worst war the tempest wages,
And the hungry whirlpool rages.

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The Power Of God

© John Crowe Ransom


  But my pity would plague me still! In the fare of my state
  I would summon my ministers often to reprobate:

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November 1813

© William Wordsworth

Now that all hearts are glad, all faces bright,
Our aged Sovereign sits, to the ebb and flow
Of states and kingdoms, to their joy or woe,
Insensible. He sits deprived of sight,

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Plenty In A Time Of Dearth

© John Newton

My soul once had its plenteous years,
And throve, with peace and comfort filled,
Like the fat kine and ripened ears,
Which Pharaoh in his dream beheld.