Trust poems

 / page 93 of 157 /
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Golden State

© Frank Bidart

I
To see my father
lying in pink velvet, a rosary 
twined around his hands, rouged, 

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After Thomas Kempis

© George MacDonald

Who follows Jesus shall not walk
In darksome road with danger rife;
But in his heart the Truth will talk,
And on his way will shine the Life.

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Master And Man

© Sir Henry Newbolt

Do ye ken hoo to fush for the salmon?

  If ye'll listen I'll tell ye.

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Remarks Of Increase D. O'phace, Esquire

© James Russell Lowell

At An Extrumpery Caucus In State Street, Reported By Mr. H. Biglow

No? Hez he? He haint, though? Wut? Voted agin him?

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Pauline, A Fragment of a Question

© Robert Browning


And I can love nothing-and this dull truth
Has come the last: but sense supplies a love
Encircling me and mingling with my life.

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A Psalm of Freudian Life

© Edwin Morgan

Tell me not in mormonful numbers
 “Life is but an empty dream!”
To a student of the slumbers
 Things are never what they seem.

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The Healer

© John Greenleaf Whittier

So stood of old the holy Christ
Amidst the suffering throng;
With whom His lightest touch sufficed
To make the weakest strong.

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Schemhammphorasch

© Rose Terry Cooke

‘This is the key which was given by the angel Michael to Pali, and by Pali to Moses. If “thou canst read it, then shalt thou understand the words of men, … the whistling of birds, the language of date-trees, the unity of hearts, ... nay, even the thoughts of the rains.”’
Gleanings after the Talmud

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A private public space

© Richard Jones

to your party and they don’t come,
they’re too busy tending vaginal
flowers, hating football, walking their golden
and chocolate labs. X gave me a poem

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The Sparrow's Fall

© Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

And lifted the gloomy shadows
That overspread my life,
And flooding my home with gladness,
Made me a happy wife.

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To Sir George Howland Beaumont, Bart From the South-West Coast Or Cumberland 1811

© William Wordsworth

FAR from our home by Grasmere's quiet Lake,
From the Vale's peace which all her fields partake,
Here on the bleakest point of Cumbria's shore
We sojourn stunned by Ocean's ceaseless roar;

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Sonnet XXII. By The Same. To Solitude.

© Charlotte Turner Smith

OH, Solitude! to thy sequester'd vale
I come to hide my sorrow and my tears,
And to thy echoes tell the mournful tale
Which scarce I trust to pitying Friendship's ears.

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The Affliction (I)

© George Herbert

When first thou didst entice to thee my heart,
 I thought the service brave;
So many joys I writ down for my part,
 Besides what I might have
Out of my stock of natural delights,
Augmented with thy gracious benefits.

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An Ode on the Popular Superstitions of the Highlands of Scotland, Considered as the Subject of Poetry

© William Taylor Collins

Home, thou return'st from Thames, whose Naiads long

  Have seen thee ling'ring, with a fond delay,

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Aspromonte

© Alfred Austin

So you think he is defeated, O ye comfortably seated,
And that Victory is meted in your loaded huckster's scales?
O ye fools! though justice tarry, yet by heaven broad and starry,
Right, howe'er it may miscarry, ere the end arrive, prevails.

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Killing Him: A Radio Play

© John Wesley

LISTEN TO THE RADIO PLAY
JOE, a doctoral candidate in literature
RACHEL, his fiancée
POET/CRITIC

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The Child Of The Islands - Autumn

© Caroline Norton

I.
BROWN Autumn cometh, with her liberal hand
Binding the Harvest in a thousand sheaves:
A yellow glory brightens o'er the land,

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Lying

© Lola Ridge

To claim, at a dead party, to have spotted a grackle,

When in fact you haven’t of late, can do no harm.

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Locksley Hall

© Alfred Tennyson

Comrades, leave me here a little, while as yet 't is early morn:


Leave me here, and when you want me, sound upon the bugle-horn.

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Mabel Martin

© John Greenleaf Whittier

PROEM.
I CALL the old time back: I bring my lay
in tender memory of the summer day
When, where our native river lapsed away,