Peace poems
/ page 267 of 319 /
A Welcome To Dr. Benjamin Apthorp Gould
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
ON HIS RETURN FROM SOUTH AMERICA
AFTER FIFTEEN YEARS DEVOTED TO CATALOGUING THE
STARS OF THE SOUTHERN HEMISPHERE
In Hilly-Wood
© John Clare
How sweet to be thus nestling deep in boughs,
Upon an ashen stoven pillowing me;
Faintly are heard the ploughmen at their ploughs,
But not an eye can find its way to see.
Peace
© Margaret Widdemer
ALL my days are clear again and gentle with forgetting,
Mornings cool with graciousness of time passed stilly by.
Evening sweet with call of birds and lilac-rose sun-setting,
And starshine does not hurt my heart nor night-winds make me cry.
Why Blossoms Fall
© Alma Frances McCollum
Dear Mother Earth her children trees
Clad well in robes of white,
That they may rest in perfect peace
Through all the winter night.
In Fountain Court
© Arthur Symons
The fountain murmuring of sleep,
A drowsy tune;
The flickering green of leaves that keep
The light of June;
Peace, through a slumbering afternoon,
The peace of June.
What Is Life?
© John Clare
And what is Life? An hour-glass on the run,
A mist retreating from the morning sun,
A busy, bustling, still-repeated dream.
Its length? A minute's pause, a moment's thought.
And Happiness? A bubble on the stream,
That in the act of seizing shrinks to nought.
Ippolit Konovaloff
© Edgar Lee Masters
I was a gun-smith in Odessa.
One night the police broke in the room
Where a group of us were reading Spencer.
And seized our books and arrested us.
Tennessee Claflin Shope
© Edgar Lee Masters
I was the laughing-stock of the village,
Chiefly of the people of good sense, as they call themselves --
Also of the learned, like Rev. Peet, who read Greek
The same as English.
Elegy XX. He Compares His Humble Fortune With the Distress of Others
© William Shenstone
Why droops this heart with fancied woes forlorn?
Why sinks my soul beneath this wintry sky?
What pensive crowds, by ceaseless labours worn,
What myriads, wish to be as blessed as I!
Ballad of Reading Gaol II
© Oscar Wilde
He did not wear his scarlet coat,
For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine were on his hands
When they found him with the dead,
The poor dead woman whom he loved,
And murdered in her bed.
Mrs. Meyers
© Edgar Lee Masters
He protested all his life long
The newspapers lied about him villainously;
That he was not at fault for Minerva's fall,
But only tried to help her.
The Gift Of The Sea
© Rudyard Kipling
The dead child lay in the shroud,
And the widow watched beside;
And her mother slept, and the Channel swept
The gale in the teeth of the tide.
The Fly
© Karl Shapiro
O hideous little bat, the size of snot,
With polyhedral eye and shabby clothes,
Schroeder the Fisherman
© Edgar Lee Masters
I sat on the bank above Bernadotte
And dropped crumbs in the water,
Just to see the minnows bump each other,
Until the strongest got the prize.
Mary McNeely
© Edgar Lee Masters
Passer-by,
To love is to find your own soul
Through the soul of the beloved one.
When the beloved one withdraws itself from your soul
He Bids His Beloved Be At Peace
© William Butler Yeats
I HEAR the Shadowy Horses, their long manes a-shake,
Their hoofs heavy with tumult, their eyes glimmering
Ariel And Caliban
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
I.
Before PROSPERO'S cell. Moonlight.
ARIEL.
So Prospero is gone and I am free
Archibald Higbie
© Edgar Lee Masters
I loathed you, Spoon River. I tried to rise above you,
I was ashamed of you. I despised you
As the place of my nativity.
And there in Rome, among the artists,
Jack McGuire
© Edgar Lee Masters
They would have lynched me
Had I not been secretly hurried away
To the jail at Peoria.
And yet I was going peacefully home,
O Glorious France
© Edgar Lee Masters
You have become a forge of snow-white fire,
A crucible of molten steel, O France!
Your sons are stars who cluster to a dawn
And fade in light for you, O glorious France!
