Peace poems
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Four Riddles
© Lewis Carroll
I
There was an ancient City, stricken down
With a strange frenzy, and for many a day
They paced from morn to eve the crowded town,
And danced the night away.
The Columbiad: Book VI
© Joel Barlow
But of all tales that war's black annals hold,
The darkest, foulest still remains untold;
New modes of torture wait the shameful strife,
And Britain wantons in the waste of life.
Autumn Wealth
© Kristijonas Donelaitis
Of course, there is no lack of faithful Christians ,too.
Most of Lithuanians are men of good character;
They love their families, obey the will of God.
Each day live saintly lives, steer clear of all misdeeds,
And rule their modest homes with kind parental care.
The Girl's Lamentation
© William Allingham
With grief and mourning I sit to spin;
My Love passed by, and he didn't come in;
He passes by me, both day and night,
And carries off my poor heart's delight.
Constable MCartys Investigations
© Henry Lawson
Most unpleasantly adjacent to the haunts of lower orders
Stood a terrace in the city when the current year began,
By A Norfolk Broad
© Ada Cambridge
One hour ago the crimson sun, that seemed so long a-drowning, sank.
The summer day is all but done. Our boat is moored beneath the bank.
I bask in peace, content, replete-my faithful comrade at my feet.
To M. S. G.
© George Gordon Byron
Whene'er I view those lips of thine,
Their hue invites my fervent kiss;
Yet, I forego that bliss divine,
Alas! it were unhallow'd bliss.
The Spagnoletto. Act II
© Emma Lazarus
Ball in the Palace of DON JOHN. Dance. DON JOHN and MARIA
together. DON TOMMASO, ANNICCA. LORDS and LADIES, dancing or
promenading.
The Firing-Line
© Henry Lawson
In the dreadful din of a ghastly fight they are shooting, murdering, men;
In the smothering silence of ghastly peace we murder with tongue and pen.
Where is heard the tap of the typewriterwhere the track of reform they mine
Where they stand to the frame or the linotypewe are all in the firingline.
The White Doe Of Rylstone, Or, The Fate Of The Nortons - Canto Seventh
© William Wordsworth
"Powers there are
That touch each other to the quick--in modes
Which the gross world no sense hath to perceive,
No soul to dream of."
The White Doe Of Rylstone, Or, The Fate Of The Nortons - Canto First
© William Wordsworth
FROM Bolton's old monastic tower
The bells ring loud with gladsome power;
The sun shines bright; the fields are gay
With people in their best array
The Watchers
© Katharine Tynan
THE cottages all lie asleep;
The sheep and lambs are folded in
Winged sentinels the vale will keep
Until the hours of life begin.
To a Friend
© William Lisle Bowles
Go, then, and join the murmuring city's throng!
Me thou dost leave to solitude and tears;
Requiem
© George Meredith
Where faces are hueless, where eyelids are dewless,
Where passion is silent and hearts never crave;
Where thought hath no theme, and where sleep hath no dream,
In patience and peace thou art gone-to thy grave!
Gone where no warning can wake thee to morning,
Dead tho' a thousand hands stretch'd out to save.
For Louis Pasteur
© Edgar Bowers
How shall a generation know its story
If it will know no other? When, among
The Golden Legend: II. A Farm In The Odenwald
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
_Elsie._ Here are flowers for you,
But they are not all for you.
Some of them are for the Virgin
And for Saint Cecilia.
To Idleness
© Harriet Monroe
Sweet Idleness, you linger at the door
To lead me down through meadows cool with shade
For Christmas Day
© Charles Wesley
Hark, how all the welkin rings,
"Glory to the King of kings;
Peace on earth, and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconcil'd!"
