Peace poems
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Contrasted Songs: A Lily And The Lute
© Jean Ingelow
“Nay! but thou a spirit art;
Men shall take thee in the mart
For the ghost of their best thought,
Raised at noon, and near them brought;
Or the prayer they made last night,
Set before them all in white.”
To A Young Ass, Its Mother Being Tethered Near It
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Poor little Foal of an oppressed race!
I love the languid patience of thy face:
The Vision Of The Maid Of Orleans - The Third Book
© Robert Southey
The Maiden, musing on the Warrior's words,
Turn'd from the Hall of Glory. Now they reach'd
The Grief Of Love
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Love, I am sick for thee, sick with an absolute grief,
Sick with the thought of thy eyes and lips and bosom.
All the beauty I saw, I see to my hurt revealed.
All that I felt I feel to--day for my pain and sorrow.
Oft For Our Own
© Margaret Elizabeth Sangster
How many go forth in the morning
and never come home at night,
and hearts have broken
for harsh words spoken
That sorrow can never set right.
Astraea: The Balance Of Illusions
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
Dear to his age were memories such as these,
Leaves of his June in life's autumnal breeze;
Such were the tales that won my boyish ear,
Told in low tones that evening loves to hear.
Ode Composed On A May Morning
© William Wordsworth
WHILE from the purpling east departs
The star that led the dawn,
Genesis BK XVIII
© Caedmon
(ll. 1082-1089) And there was also in that tribe another son of
Lamech, called Tubal Cain, a smith skilled in his craft. He was
the first of all men on the earth to fashion tools of husbandry;
and far and wide the city-dwelling sons of men made use of bronze
and iron.
Remorse
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
"What would you tell me, my child, my child, that once slept a babe on my breast?"
(Do the death bells toll for a passing soul?)
"O mother! my friend is dead, now I stand confessed.
I can strike the stone into flame, make the dark give light,
But I cannot give back to the tiniest bird its flight.
Afternoon
© Emma Lazarus
Small, shapeless drifts of cloud
Sail slowly northward in the soft-hued sky,
With blur half-tints and rolling summits bright,
By the late sun caressed; slight hazes shroud
All things afar; shineth each leaf anigh
With its own warmth and light.
Written For A Gentlewoman In Distress, To Her Grace Adelida, Dutchess Of Shrewsbury.
© Mary Barber
Might I inquire the Reasons of my Fate,
Or with my Maker dare expostulate;
Did I, in prosp'rous Days, despise the Poor,
Or drive the friendless Stranger from my Door?
Elegy V. He Compares the Turbulence of Love With the Tranquillity of Friendship
© William Shenstone
From Love, from angry Love's inclement reign
I pass awhile to Friendship's equal skies;
Thou, generous Maid! reliev'st my partial pain,
And cheer'st the victim of another's eyes.
Two Poems To Harriet Beecher Stowe
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
ON HER SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY, JUNE 14, 1882
On A Landscape Bt Rubens
© William Lisle Bowles
Nay, let us gaze, ev'n till the sense is full,
Upon the rich creation, shadowed so
A Book Of Strife In The Form Of The Diary Of An Old Soul - December
© George MacDonald
1.
I AM a little weary of my life-
Standing-Stone Creek
© Madison Julius Cawein
A weed-grown slope, whereon the rain
Has washed the brown rocks bare,
Leads tangled from a lonely lane
Down to a creek's broad stair
Of stone, that, through the solitude,
Winds onward to a quiet wood.
The Empty Purse--A Sermon To Our Later Prodigal Son
© George Meredith
Thy knowledge of women might be surpassed:
As any sad dog's of sweet flesh when he quits
The wayside wandering bone!
No revilings of comrades as ingrates: thee
The tempter, misleader, and criminal (screened
By laws yet barbarous) own.
