Sympathy poems

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Sonnet XVIII

© Caroline Norton

ON HEARING OF THE DEATH OF THE COUNTESS OF BURLINGTON.
[Inscribed, with deep and earnest sympathy, to her Mother, The Countess of Carlisle.]
SINCE in the pleasant time of opening flowers
That flow'r, Her life, was doom'd to fade away,--

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Uriel: (In Memory of William Vaughn Moody)

© Percy MacKaye

I

URIEL, you that in the ageless sun

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The Last Bison

© Charles Mair

A gentle vale, with rippling aspens clad,
Yet open to the breeze, invited rest.
So there I lay, and watched the sun's fierce beams
Reverberate in wreathed ethereal flame;
Or gazed upon the leaves which buzzed o'erhead,
Like tiny wings in simulated flight.

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A Book Of Strife In The Form Of The Diary Of An Old Soul - November

© George MacDonald

1.

THOU art of this world, Christ. Thou know'st it all;

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In Memoriam A. H. H.

© Alfred Tennyson

 Thou seemest human and divine,
 The highest, holiest manhood, thou.
 Our wills are ours, we know not how;
 Our wills are ours, to make them thine.

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Charity

© William Cowper

Fairest and foremost of the train that wait

On man's most dignified and happiest state,

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Paracelsus: Part III: Paracelsus

© Robert Browning


Paracelsus.
Heap logs and let the blaze laugh out!

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The Prayer Of A Lonely Heart

© Frances Anne Kemble

I am alone—oh be thou near to me,

  Great God! from whom the meanest are not far.

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The Bagman's Dog: Mr. Peters's Story

© Richard Harris Barham

It was a litter, a litter of five,
Four are drown'd and one left alive,
He was thought worthy alone to survive;
And the Bagman resolved upon bringing him up,
To eat of his bread, and to drink of his cup,
He was such a dear little cock-tail'd pup.

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The Men Who Live It Down

© Henry Lawson

I have sinned, but as a man might; like a man I’ll rise again
From long nights of mental torture, from long days of care and pain.
Pass me by with eyes averted, with a shrug or with a frown,
But their heads shall bow in ashes long ere my head shall go down!

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When You’re Bad in Your Inside

© Henry Lawson

I REMARKED that man is saddest, and his heart is filled with woe,
When he hasn’t any money, and his pants begin to go;
But I think I was mistaken, and there are many times I find
When you do not care a candle if your pants are gone behind;
For a fellow mostly loses all ambition, hope, and pride,
When—to put the matter mildly—he is bad in his inside.

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The Little Left Hand - Act I

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt


Place
A Country Town in England.

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OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII (Entire)

© Alfred Tennyson

Thou wilt not leave us in the dust:
 Thou madest man, he knows not why,
 He thinks he was not made to die;
And thou hast made him: thou art just.

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Sympathy

© Edgar Albert Guest

One came to the house with a pretty speech:
  "It's all for the best," said he,
  And I know that he sought my heart to reach,
  And I know that he grieved with me.

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With An Armchair

© James Russell Lowell

I.

About the oak that framed this chair, of old

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To The Dead Cardinal Of Westminster

© Francis Thompson

I will not perturbate
Thy Paradisal state
With praise
Of thy dead days;

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In an Almshouse

© Augusta Davies Webster

They said you were not pretty, owed your charm
to choice of ribbons from your father's shop,
but, as for me, I saw not if you wore
too many ribbons or too few, nor sought
what charms you had beyond that one I knew,
the kind and honest look in your grey eyes.

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The Lay of the Last Minstrel: Canto V.

© Sir Walter Scott

Lord Dacre
"Forward, brave champions, to the fight!
Sound trumpets!" -

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The Hired Man And Floretty

© James Whitcomb Riley

The Hired Man's supper, which he sat before,
In near reach of the wood-box, the stove-door
And one leaf of the kitchen-table, was
Somewhat belated, and in lifted pause
His dextrous knife was balancing a bit
Of fried mush near the port awaiting it.

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The Invitation

© Robert Bloomfield

O for the strength to paint my joy once more!

That joy I feel when Winter's reign is o'er;