Strength poems
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To Time
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Time, Time, who choosest
All in the end well;
Who severely refusest
Fames upon trumpets blown
Loud for a day, and alone
Makest truth to excel:
The Isle Of Voices
© Madison Julius Cawein
The wind blew free that morn that we,
High-hearted, sailed away;
Bound for Favonian islands blest,
Remote within the utmost West,
Beyond the golden day.
Here is my gift
© Anna Akhmatova
Here is my gift, not roses on your grave,
not sticks of burning incense.
You lived aloof, maintaining to the end
your magnificent disdain.
IV: To The World
© Benjamin Jonson
A farewell for a Gentlewoman, vertuous and noble
False world, good-night, since thou hast brought
That houre upon my morne of age,
Hence-forth I quit thee from my thought,
A Seamark
© Bliss William Carman
COLD, the dull cold! What ails the sun,
And takes the heart out of the day?
What makes the morning look so mean,
The Common so forlorn and gray?
Gertrude, Or Fidelity Till Death
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
HER hands were clasp'd, her dark eyes rais'd,
The breeze threw back her hair;
Up to the fearful wheel she gaz'd
All that she lov'd was there.
The Crisis
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
A man of low degree was sore oppressed,
Fate held him under iron-handed sway,
And ever, those who saw him thus distressed
Would bid him bend his stubborn will and pray.
But he, strong in himself and obdurate,
Waged, prayerless, on his losing fight with Fate.
A Day At Tivoli - Prologue
© John Kenyon
Yet, if All die, there are who die not All;
(So Flaccus hoped), and half escape the pall.
The Sacred Few! whom love of glory binds,
"That last infirmity of noble minds,
"To scorn delights, and live laborious days,"
A Tale
© Robert Browning
What a pretty tale you told me
Once upon a time
--Said you found it somewhere (scold me!)
Was it prose or was it rhyme,
Greek or Latin? Greek, you said,
While your shoulder propped my head.
Paradise Lost : Book I.
© John Milton
Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste
A Poet's Epitaph
© William Wordsworth
Art thou a Statist in the van
Of public conflicts trained and bred?
-First learn to love one living man;
'Then' may'st thou think upon the dead.
Fragments from 'Genius Lost'
© Charles Harpur
Prelude
I SEE the boy-bard neath lifes morning skies,
While hopes bright cohorts guess not of defeat,
And ardour lightens from his earnest eyes,
And faiths cherubic wings around his being beat.
The Hunting Horn Of Chalemagne
© Caroline Norton
Heard midst the rushing of the torrent's fall,
From castled crag to roofless ruin'd hall,
Down the ravine's precipitous descent,
Thro' the wild forest's rustling boughs it went,
Upon the lake's blue bosom linger'd fond,
And faintly answer'd from the hills beyond:
The Pathway Of The Living
© Edgar Albert Guest
The pathway of the living is our ever-present care.
Let us do our best to smooth it and to make it bright and fair;
Let us travel it with kindness, let's be careful as we tread,
And give unto the living what we'd offer to the dead.
Red Jacket
© Fitz-Greene Halleck
COOPER, whose name is with his country's woven,
First in her files, her PIONEER of mind
A wanderer now in other climes, has proven
His love for the young land he left behind;
Thoughts At A Vestibule
© Nikolay Alekseyevich Nekrasov
Heavenly thunder doesn't frighten you,
Earthly thunders you hold in your hands
That is why these unknown men must carry
Grief disconsolate within their hearts.
Laurance - [Part 3]
© Jean Ingelow
But when that other heard, "It is the end,"
His heart was sick, and he, as by a power
Far stronger than himself, was driven to her.
Reason rebelled against it, but his will
Required it of him with a craving strong
As life, and passionate though hopeless pain.
