Truth poems
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The Present Crisis
© James Russell Lowell
When a deed is done for Freedom, through the broad earth's aching breast
Runs a thrill of joy prophetic, trembling on from east to west,
And the slave, where'er he cowers, feels the soul within him climb
To the awful verge of manhood, as the energy sublime
Of a century bursts full-blossomed on the thorny stem of Time.
Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: VI
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Lyons fair! In truth it was a Heaven
For idlers' eyes, a feast of curious things,
Swings, roundabouts, and shows, the Champions Seven,
Dramas of battles and the deaths of kings,
Life is too short
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Life is too short for any vain regretting;
Let dead delight bury its dead, I say,
And let us go upon our way forgetting
The joys and sorrows of each yesterday
The Lady of the Lake: Canto I. - The Chase
© Sir Walter Scott
Introduction.
Harp of the North! that mouldering long hast hung
The White Doe Of Rylstone, Or, The Fate Of The Nortons - Canto Second
© William Wordsworth
THE Harp in lowliness obeyed;
And first we sang of the greenwood shade
And a solitary Maid;
Beginning, where the song must end,
The Lonely Fight
© Edgar Albert Guest
IT'S easy to be right when the multitude is cheering,
It is easy to have courage when you're fighting with the throng;
But it's altogether different when the multitude is sneering
To fight for what you know is right with no one else along.
Enoch Arden
© Alfred Tennyson
At length she spoke `O Enoch, you are wise;
And yet for all your wisdom well know I
That I shall look upon your face no more.'
Ode To Apollo
© James Lister Cuthbertson
"Tandem venias precamur
Nube candentes humeros amictus
Augur Apollo."
Disenchanted
© Augusta Davies Webster
Alas, I thought this forest must be true,
And would not change because of my changed eyes;
An Account Of The Greatest English Poets
© Joseph Addison
Blest Man! whose spotless Life and Charming Lays
Employ'd the Tuneful Prelate in thy Praise:
Blest Man! who now shall be for ever known
In Sprat's successful Labours and thy own.
By occasion of the Young Prince his happy birth
© Henry King
At this glad Triumph, when most Poets use
Their quill, I did not bridle up my Muse
For sloth or less devotion. I am one
That can well keep my Holy-dayes at home;
The House Of Dust: Part 03: 10:
© Conrad Aiken
From time to time, lifting his eyes, he sees
The soft blue starlight through the one small window,
The moon above black trees, and clouds, and Venus,
And turns to write . . . The clock, behind ticks softly.
Breakers
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
When you launch your bark for sailing
On the sea of life, O youth!
Clothe your heart and soul and spirit
In the blessèd garb of Truth.
A Rebel
© John Gould Fletcher
Tie a bandage over his eyes,
And at his feet
Let rifles drearily patter
Their death-prayers of defeat.
The Old Manor House
© Ada Cambridge
An old house, crumbling half away, all barnacled and lichen-grown,
Of saddest, mellowest, softest grey,-with a grand history of its own-
Grand with the work and strife and tears of more than half a thousand years.
Elegy Written At Hotwells, Bristol
© William Lisle Bowles
The morning wakes in shadowy mantle gray,
The darksome woods their glimmering skirts unfold,
Prone from the cliff the falcon wheels her way,
And long and loud the bell's slow chime is tolled.
To Massachusetts
© John Greenleaf Whittier
WHAT though around thee blazes
No fiery rallying sign?
From all thy own high places,
Give heaven the light of thine!
