Peace poems
/ page 27 of 319 /
The Fall Of Richmond
© Frances Anne Kemble
Roll not a drumsend not a clarion note
Of haughty triumph to the silent sky!
Kwannon
© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
Camphor and wave-worn sandalwood for burning
They bring to me alone,
Shells that are veined like irises, and those
Curved like the clear bright petals of a rose.
Wherefore an hundredfold again returning
I render them their own -
Adam: A Sacred Drama. Act 3.
© William Cowper
Eve. Adam, my best beloved!
My guardian and my guide!
Thou source of all my comfort, all my joy!
Thee, thee alone I wish,
And in these pleasing shades
Thee only have I sought.
The Lady of the Lake: Canto V. - The Combat
© Sir Walter Scott
I.
Fair as the earliest beam of eastern light,
When first, by the bewildered pilgrim spied,
It smiles upon the dreary brow of night
A Description Of The Countreys Recreations
© Sir Henry Wotton
Quivering fears, Heart-tearing cares,
Anxious sighs, Untimely tears,
Oscar Of Alva: A Tale
© George Gordon Byron
How sweetly shines through azure skies,
The lamp of heaven on Lora's shore;
Where Alva's hoary turrets rise,
And hear the din of arms no more!
Pretence. Part I - Table-Talk
© John Kenyon
The youth, who long hath trod with trusting feet,
Starts from the flash which shows him life's deceit;
Then, with slow footstep, ponders, undeceived,
On all his heart, for many a year, believed;
But hence he eyes the world with sharpened view,
And learns, too soon, to separate false from true.
Montserrat
© Arthur Symons
Peace waits among the hills;
I have drunk peace,
Here, where the blue air fills
The great cup of the hills,
And fills with peace.
The Season
© Alfred Austin
So sings the river through the summer days,
And I, submissive, follow what I praise.
What if my boyish blood would rather stay
Where lawns invite, where bonnibels delay,
Though but a youth and not averse from these,
To conflict called, I abdicate my ease,
Elegy On The Death Of Dr. Channing
© James Russell Lowell
I do not come to weep above thy pall,
And mourn the dying-out of noble powers,
The poet's clearer eye should see, in all
Earth's seeming woe, seed of immortal flowers.
England And Spain
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Illustrious names! still, still united beam,
Be still the hero's boast, the poet's theme:
So when two radiant gems together shine,
And in one wreath their lucid light combine;
Each, as it sparkles with transcendant rays,
Adds to the lustre of its kindred blaze.
Giddinesse
© George Herbert
Oh, what a thing is man! how farre from power,
From setled peace and rest!
He is some twentie sev'rall men at least
Each sev'rall houre.
Miyajima
© Robert Laurence Binyon
All paths lead upward to the sky
In this green isle, which mounts on high
Through slumbrous valleys, veiled in light
From waters dancing blue and bright.
Night In The Valley
© Arthur Symons
Waves of the gentle waters of the healing night,
Flow over me with silent peace and golden dark,
Wash me of sound, wash me of colour, drown the day;
Light the tall golden candles and put out the day.
The Rhymers Reply. Incense And Splendor
© Vachel Lindsay
Incense and Splendor haunt me as I go.
Though my good works have been, alas, too few,
The Morning Of The Day Appointed For A General Thanksgiving. January 18, 1816
© William Wordsworth
I
HAIL, orient Conqueror of gloomy Night!
Thou that canst shed the bliss of gratitude
On hearts howe'er insensible or rude;
The Cotter's Saturday Night
© Robert Burns
"Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,
The short and simple annals of the poor."
Gray
Sonnet VII
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
But still, beyond, one lone mysterious cloud,
Steeped in the solemn sunset's fiery mist,
Strange semblance takes of Him whose visage bowed,
Divinely sweet, o'er all things, dark or bright,
Yet draws the darkness ever toward His light
The tender eyes and awful brow of Christ!
Regardin' Terry Hut
© James Whitcomb Riley
Sence I tuk holt o' Gibbses' Churn
And be'n a-handlin' the concern,
At A Birthday Festival
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
WE will not speak of years to-night,--
For what have years to bring
But larger floods of love and light,
And sweeter songs to sing?
