Strength poems
/ page 64 of 186 /Unser Gott
© Karle Wilson Baker
(Yea, "Unser Gott! Our strength is Unser Gott!
Not that light-minded Bon Dieu of France!")
An Evening Song To She Who Exists By My Name
© Daniil Ivanovich Kharms
Daughter of the daughter of the daughters of the daughter Pe
foreto the apple you ate of yee
The Bacchanal Of Alexander
© Robert Laurence Binyon
I
A wondrous rumour fills and stirs
The wide Carmanian Vale;
On leafy hills the sunburnt vintagers
Numbers
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Trefoil and Quatrefoil!
What shaped those destinied small silent leaves
A Dream Of Resurrection
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
SO heavenly beautiful it lay,
It was less like a human corse
Than that fair shape in which perforce
A lost hope clothes itself alway.
The Wrongs Of Africa, A Poem. Part The First
© William Roscoe
OFFSPRING of love divine, Humanity!
To who, his eldest born, th'Eternal gave
A Fair Melody: To Be Sung By Good Christians
© Hans Sachs
Awake, my heart's delight, awake
Thou Christian host, and hear
The Lion's Whelps
© George Essex Evans
There is scarlet on his forehead,
There are scars across his face,
Dawnlight On The Sea
© Ada Cambridge
When I kneel down the dawn is only breaking;
Sleep fetters still the brown wings of the lark;
The wind blows pure and cool, for day is waking,
But stars are scattered still about the dark.
The Wild Huntsman
© Sir Walter Scott
The Wildgrave winds his bugle-horn,
To horse, to horse! halloo, halloo!
His fiery courser snuffs the morn,
And thronging serfs their lord pursue.
Guilt And Sorrow, Or, Incidents Upon Salisbury Plain
© William Wordsworth
I
A TRAVELLER on the skirt of Sarum's Plain
Pursued his vagrant way, with feet half bare;
Stooping his gait, but not as if to gain
The Peaceful Warriors
© Edgar Albert Guest
Let others sing their songs of war
And chant their hymns of splendid death,
Idylls of the King: The Last Tournament (excerpt)
© Alfred Tennyson
To whom the King, "Peace to thine eagle-borne
Dead nestling, and this honour after death,
Following thy will! but, O my Queen, I muse
Why ye not wear on arm, or neck, or zone
Those diamonds that I rescued from the tarn,
And Lancelot won, methought, for thee to wear."