Trust poems

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Saint Maura: A.D. 304

© Charles Kingsley

Thank God! Those gazers' eyes are gone at last!

The guards are crouching underneath the rock;

God's Vengeance

© John Hay

Saith the Lord, "Vengeance is mine;
I will repay," saith the Lord;
Ours be the anger divine,
Lit by the flash of his word.

Time, Hope And Memory

© Thomas Hood

I heard a gentle maiden, in the spring,
Set her sweet sighs to music, and thus sing:
"Fly through the world, and I will follow thee,
Only for looks that may turn back on me;

Endymion: A Mystical Comment On Titian's 'Sacred And Profane Love'

Long she abode aloof there in her heaven,
Far as the grape-bunch of the Pleiad seven
Beyond my madness' utmost leap; but here
Mine eyes have feigned of late her rapture near,
Moulded of mind-mist that broad day dispels,
Here in these shadowy woods and brook-lulled dells.

The Miller's Maid

© Robert Bloomfield

Near the high road upon a winding stream
An honest Miller rose to Wealth and Fame:
The noblest Virtues cheer'd his lengthen'd days,
And all the Country echo'd with his praise:
His Wife, the Doctress of the neighb'ring Poor,
Drew constant pray'rs and blessings round his door.

The Ultimate Trust

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

THOUGH in the wine-press of thy wrath divine,
My crushed hopes droop, like crude and worthless must,
That love and mercy, Father! still are thine,
With reverent soul, I trust!

Written In A Seat At Stoke Park, Near The Vicararage-House, Then Inhabited By The Author, And Comman

© Henry James Pye

Not with more joy from the loud tempest's roar,

The dangerous billow, and more dangerous shore,

The Muses Threnodie: Fourth Muse

© Henry Adamson

This time our boat passing too nigh the land,

The whirling stream did make her run on sand;

The English Padlock

© Matthew Prior

Since This has been Authentick Truth,
By Age deliver'd down to Youth;
Tell us, mistaken Husband, tell us,
Why so Mysterious, why so Jealous?
Does the Restraint, the Bolt, the Bar
Make Us less Curious, Her less Fair?

A Lament for the Fairies

© Alaric Alexander Watts

O, ye have lost,

Mountains, and moors, and meads, the radiant throng

Australasia

© William Charles Wentworth

Hadst thou, old Cynic, seen this unclad crew
Stretch their bare bodies in the nightly dew,
Like hairy Satyrs, midst their Sylvan seats,
Endure both winter's frosts, and summer's heats;
Thy cloak and tub away thou wouldst have cast,
And tried, like them, to brave the piercing blast.

Paracelsus: Part IV: Paracelsus Aspires

Festus.
So strange
That I must hope, indeed, your messenger
Has mingled his own fancies with the words
Purporting to be yours.

Rokeby: Canto II.

I.

Far in the chambers of the west,

Alexander And Phillip

The cypress spread their gloom
Like a cloak from the noontide beam,
He flung back his dusty plume,
And plunged in the silver stream;
He plunged like the young steed, fierce and wild,
He was borne away like the feeble child.

The Wind And The Whirlwind

I have a thing to say. But how to say it?
I have a cause to plead. But to what ears?
How shall I move a world by lamentation,
A world which heeded not a Nation's tears?