Peace poems
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New Chum And Old Monarch.
© James Brunton Stephens
CHIEFTAIN, enter my verandah;
Sit not in the blinding glare;
At Even
© Frederic Manning
Hush ye! Hush ye! My babe is sleeping.
Hush, ye winds, that are full of sorrow!
Conduct
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Heed how thou livest. Do no act by day
Which from the night shall drive thy peace away.
In months of sun so live that months of rain
Shall still be happy. Evermore restrain
Evil and cherish good, so shall there be
Another and a happier life for thee.
The Angel In The House. Book II. Canto V.
© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore
III The Heart's Prophecies
Be not amazed at life; 'tis still
The mode of God with His elect
Their hopes exactly to fulfil,
In times and ways they least expect.
The Dykes
© Rudyard Kipling
We have no heart for the fishing, we have no hand for the oar
All that our fathers taught us of old pleases us now no more;
All that our own hearts bid us believe we doubt where we do not deny
There is no proof in the bread we eat or rest in the toil we ply.
A Farmhouse Dirge
© Alfred Austin
Will you walk with me to the brow of the hill, to visit the farmer's wife,
Whose daughter lies in the churchyard now, eased of the ache of life?
Half a mile by the winding lane, another half to the top:
There you may lean o'er the gate and rest; she will want me awhile to stop,
Stop and talk of her girl that is gone and no more will wake or weep,
Or to listen rather, for sorrow loves to babble its pain to sleep.
We too shall Sleep
© Archibald Lampman
Not, not for thee,
Belovèd child, the burning grasp of life
Shall bruise the tender soul. The noise, and strife,
And clamor of midday thou shalt not see;
Alma; or, The Progress of the Mind. In Three Cantos. - Canto II.
© Matthew Prior
Richard, quoth Matt, these words of thine
Speak something sly and something fine;
But I shall e'en resume my theme,
However thou may'st praise or blame.
The Sympathetic Minister
© Edgar Albert Guest
MY father is a peaceful man,
He tries in every way he can
Senlin: A Biography Pt 02: His Futile Preoccupations
© Conrad Aiken
Vine leaves tap my window,
Dew-drops sing to the garden stones,
The robin chips in the chinaberry tree
Repeating three clear tones.
What I Call Living
© Edgar Albert Guest
The miser thinks he's living when he's hoarding up his gold;
The soldier calls it living when he's doing something bold;
The sailor thinks it living to be tossed upon the sea,
And upon this vital subject no two of us agree.
But I hold to the opinion, as I walk my way along,
That living's made of laughter and good-fellowship and song.
Hyperion. Book III
© John Keats
Thus in altemate uproar and sad peace,
Amazed were those Titans utterly.
Ajanta
© Muriel Rukeyser
CAME in my full youth to the midnight cave
nerves ringing; and this thing I did alone.
Greek Funeral Chant Or Myriologue
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
A WAIL was heard around the bed, the death-bed of the young,
Amidst her tears the Funeral Chant a mournful mother sung.
-"Ianthis! dost thou sleep?-Thou sleep'st!-but this is not the rest,
The breathing and the rosy calm, I have pillow'd on my breast!
The Wonder-Working Magician - Act III
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
DEMON. Why, how is this, that using your free-will
More than my precept meant,
Say for what end, what object, what intent,
Through ignorance or boldness can it be,
You thus come forth the sun's bright face to see?
Toussaint LOuverture
© John Greenleaf Whittier
'T WAS night. The tranquil moonlight smile
With which Heaven dreams of Earth, shed down
Its beauty on the Indian isle,
On broad green field and white-walled town;
