Trust poems
/ page 133 of 157 /
Horace. Book II. Ode X.
© William Cowper
Receive, dear friend, the truths I teach,
So shalt thou live beyond the reach
Of adverse fortune's power;
Not always tempt the distant deep,
Nor always timorously creep
Along the treacherous shore.
On Pain
© Khalil Gibran
And could you keep your heart in wonder at the
daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem
less wondrous than your joy;
The Affliction Of Richard
© Robert Seymour Bridges
Love not too much. But how,
When thou hast made me such,
A Letter To Dr. Helsham
© Jonathan Swift
The dullest beast, and gentleman's liquor,
When young is often due to the vicar,[1]
The Pietous Complainte Of The Soule.
© Thomas Hoccleve
I meanë thus: if ony part of grace Reserued be, in tresoure or ellës where,That thu, for me purveyë and purchaseWolde vouchësaff, gret wondere but there wereI-nowgh for me: nought ellës I require; Do somwhat, than, aftir thi propirte,And schewe whi thu art cleped charite.
But now, allas, ful weel I may recorde, Whil I had myght and space of tyme I-nowgh,Of this mattere, towchid I no word,Ne, to seint, I tho my self[ë] drowgh,
That in myne nede for me may spekë now, As for no service that I have to him do:Wot I not, whom to make my monë to.
Scarlet Flowers
© Margaret Elizabeth Sangster
A tired shop girl hurries by;
Their color seems to catch her eye;
She pauses, starts, and wistfully
She gazes up. It seems to me
That I can hear her longing sigh. . . .
A little shop girl hurries by.
The Falcon
© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore
Who would not be Sir Hubert, for his birth and bearing fine,
His rich sky-skirted woodlands, valleys flowing oil and wine;
A Petition
© Frances Anne Kemble
Lady, whom my beloved loves so well!
When on his clasping arm thy head reclineth,
When on thy lips his ardent kisses dwell,
And the bright flood of burning light that shineth
Reminiscence
© Sukasah Syahdan
I am reminiscing you; and the little boy who often stole some change from the left pocket of your pants that would hang behind the door in the front room; his pride in bringing home for Mom, his three brothers and as many sisters, a plastic bagful of bananas or oranges from the money hed stolen; the one afternoon you once asked him about the vanishing money; how he could bring home oleh-oleh for the family; the childish lies and made-up stories; and the relief he felt when you did not pursue the truth hidden in his pinkish heart
On A Portrait
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
A widower muses over the likeness of his dead wife.
THE face, the beautiful face,
In its living flush and glow,
The perfect face in its peerless grace
To a Friend, on the Death of a Relative.
© Mather Byles
I.
Great GOD, thy Works our Wonder raise,
To thee our swelling Notes belong;
While Skies, and Winds, and Rocks, and Seas,
Around shall echo to our Song.
The Tryst Of The Sachems Daughter
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
In the far green depths of the forest glade,
Where the hunters footsteps but rarely strayed,
Was a darksome dell, possessed, twas said,
By an evil spirit, dark and dread,
Whose weird voice spoke in the whisperings low
Of that haunted wood, and the torrents flow.
How I Consulted The Oracle Of The Goldfishes
© James Russell Lowell
What know we of the world immense
Beyond the narrow ring of sense?
From: An Evening Revery
© William Cullen Bryant
FROM AN UNFINISHED POEM
The summer day is closed--the sun is set:
Grandmothers Teaching
© Alfred Austin
``Grandmother dear, you do not know; you have lived the old-world life,
Under the twittering eaves of home, sheltered from storm and strife;
Rocking cradles, and covering jams, knitting socks for baby feet,
Or piecing together lavender bags for keeping the linen sweet:
Daughter, wife, and mother in turn, and each with a blameless breast,
Then saying your prayers when the nightfall came, and quietly dropping to rest.
The Workman's Dream
© Edgar Albert Guest
To-day it's dirt and dust and steam,
To-morrow it will be the same,
