Peace poems

 / page 272 of 319 /
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Faustus And Helen

© Arthur Symons

HELEN
Have I slept long? You waken me from sleep.
I have forgotten something: what is it?

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Bretton Wood

© Ivan Donn Carswell

It happened by Bretton Wood (although that
wasn’t it’s real name) and I recall a clear, grey dawn
and the tall sky fallow with torpid clouds;
we went on before to watch how they sundered out

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Almost taste the flavour

© Ivan Donn Carswell

It was a fat-tyred 4WD utility hard back,
the sort of ute you’d expect a contractor
to drive, except it was plastered with tacky
stickers, and no genuine subby does that.

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The Farewell to Clarimonde

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

Adieu, Romauld! But thou canst not forget me.
Although no more I haunt thy dreams at night,
Thy hungering heart forever must regret me,
And starve for those lost moments of delight.

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An excerpt from "Mass for the Day of St. Thomas Didymus"

© Denise Levertov

iiGloriaPraise the wet snow
falling early.
Praise the shadow
my neighor's chimney casts on the tile roof

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In Memory Of Charles Wentworth Upham, Jr.

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

HE was all sunshine; in his face
The very soul of sweetness shone;
Fairest and gentlest of his race;
None like him we can call our own.

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The Great Black Heron

© Denise Levertov

Since I stroll in the woods more often
than on this frequented path, it's usually
trees I observe; but among fellow humans
what I like best is to see an old woman

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Aware

© Denise Levertov

When I found the door
I found the vine leaves
speaking among themselves in abundant
whispers.

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Crumble-Hall

© Mary Leapor

When Friends or Fortune frown on Mira's Lay,
Or gloomy Vapours hide the Lamp of Day;
With low'ring Forehead, and with aching Limbs,
Oppress'd with Head-ach, and eternal Whims,
Sad Mira vows to quit the darling Crime:
Yet takes her Farewel, and Repents, in Rhyme.

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The Borough. Letter XVIII: The Poor And Their

© George Crabbe

applause:
To her own house is borne the week's supply;
There she in credit lives, there hopes in peace to

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To Gordon Leaving Khartoum

© George MacDonald

The silence of traitorous feet!
The silence of close-pent rage!
The roar, and the sudden heart-beat!
And the shot through the true heart going,
The truest heart of the age!
And the Nile serenely flowing!

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L’allegro

© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore

Felicity!

  Who ope'st to none that knocks, yet, laughing weak,

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Peace Proposal

© Sheldon Allan Silverstein

Said General Clay to General Gore really must we fight this silly war
To kill and die in such a bore I quite agree said General Gore
Said General Gore to General Clay we could go to the beach today
And have some icecream on the way a grand idea said General Clay

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What Were They Like?

© Denise Levertov

Did the people of Viet Nam
use lanterns of stone?
Did they hold ceremonies
to reverence the opening of buds?

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The Expert

© Rudyard Kipling

Youth that trafficked long with Death,
  And to second life returns,
Squanders little time or breath
  On his fellow-man's concerns.
Earned peace is all he asks
To fulfill his broken tasks.

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The Dream of Eugene Aram

© Thomas Hood

'Twas in the prime of summer-time
An evening calm and cool,
And four-and-twenty happy boys
Came bounding out of school:
There were some that ran and some that leapt,
Like troutlets in a pool.

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To His Son, Vincent Corbet

© Richard Corbet

What I shall leave thee none can tell,


 But all shall say I wish thee well:

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The Golden Legend: VI. The School Of Salerno

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  _Doctor Serafino._ I, with the Doctor Seraphic, maintain,
That a word which is only conceived in the brain
Is a type of eternal Generation;
The spoken word is the Incarnation.

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The Banks Of Wye - Book I

© Robert Bloomfield

No butler's proxies snore supine,
Where the old monarch kept his wine;
No Welch ox roasting, horns and all,
Adorns his throng'd and laughing hall;
But where he pray'd, and told his beads,
A thriving ash luxuriant spreads.

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Sixth Sunday After Epiphany

© John Keble

There are, who darkling and alone,

  Would wish the weary night were gone,