Strength poems
/ page 138 of 186 /
The Art Of War. Book I.
© Henry James Pye
I'll paint the cruel arm from Bayonne nam'd,
Where savage art a new destruction fram'd,
Their powers combin'd where fire and steel impart,
And point a double wound at every heart.
In Reference to Her Children
© Anne Bradstreet
I had eight birds hatched in one nest,
Four cocks there were, and hens the rest.
I nursed them up with pain and care,
Nor cost, nor labour did I spare,
Contemplations
© Anne Bradstreet
1 Sometime now past in the Autumnal Tide,
2 When Ph{oe}bus wanted but one hour to bed,
3 The trees all richly clad, yet void of pride,
4 Were gilded o're by his rich golden head.
Here Follows Some Verses upon the Burning of Our House
© Anne Bradstreet
In silent night when rest I took
For sorrow near I did not look
I waked was with thund'ring noise
And piteous shrieks of dreadful voice.
Samuel Sewall
© Anthony Evan Hecht
And all the town admired for two full years
His excellent address, his gifts of fruit,
Her gracious ways and delicate white ears,
And held the course of nature abolute.
A Hymn To My God
© Sir Henry Wotton
OH thou great Power, in whom I move,
For whom I live, to whom I die,
Brother Jonathan's Lament for Sister Caroline
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
SHE has gone,- she has left us in passion and pride,-
Our stormy-browed sister, so long at our side!
She has torn her own star from our firmament's glow,
And turned on her brother the face of a foe!
A Storm In Summer
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Nature that day a woman was in weakness,
A woman in her impotent high wrath.
At the dawn we watched it, a low cloud half seen
Under the sun; an innocent child's face
Seddon
© George Essex Evans
Nature, that builds great minds for mighty tasks,
Sculptured his frame to match the soul within;
Taught him how wisdom wields the power it asks;
For each new conquest set him more to win.
The German Parnassus.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
With her modest pinions, see,
Philomel encircles me!
In these bushes, in yon grove,
The Death Of The Fly
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
WITH eagerness he drinks the treach'rous potion,Nor stops to rest, by the first taste misled;
Sweet is the draught, but soon all power of motionHe finds has from his tender members fled;
No longer has he strength to plume his wing,
No longer strength to raise his head, poor thing!
Trilogy of Passion: II. ELEGY.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
WHAT hope of once more meeting is there now
In the still-closed blossoms of this day?
Both heaven and hell thrown open seest thou;
What wav'ring thoughts within the bosom play
No longer doubt! Descending from the sky,
She lifts thee in her arms to realms on high.
On The New Year
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
------
What we sing in company
Soon from heart to heart will fly.
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Hans Sachs' Poetical Mission.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Soon as the spring-sun meets his view,
Repose begets him labour anew;
He feels that he holds within his brain
A little world, that broods there amain,
And that begins to act and to live,
Which he to others would gladly give.
Tame Xenia.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
THE Epigrams bearing the title of XENIA were written
by Goethe and Schiller together, having been first occasioned by
some violent attacks made on them by some insignificant writers.
They are extremely numerous, but scarcely any of them could be translated
into English. Those here given are merely presented as a specimen.
To The Countess Granville.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Believe me, with great truth,
Very faithfully yours,
EDGAR A. BOWRING.
London, April, 1853.
Such, Such Is He Who Pleaseth Me.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
In the wood where thou thy flight didst wing.
Fly, dearest, fly! He is not nigh!
Never rests the foot of evil spy.
The Spinner.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
As I calmly sat and span,Toiling with all zeal,
Lo! a young and handsome manPass'd my spinning-wheel.And he praised,--what harm was there?--Sweet the things he said--
Praised my flax-resembling hair,And the even thread.He with this was not content,But must needs do more;
And in twain the thread was rent,Though 'twas safe before.And the flax's stonelike weightNeeded to be told;
Christel.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
My senses ofttimes are oppress'd,Oft stagnant is my blood;
But when by Christel's sight I'm blest,I feel my strength renew'd.
I see her here, I see her there,And really cannot tell
The manner how, the when, the where,The why I love her well.If with the merest glance I viewHer black and roguish eyes,
