Truth poems

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Evangeline: Part The Second. II.

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

IT was the month of May. Far down the Beautiful River,

Past the Ohio shore and past the mouth of the Wabash,

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Walter And Jane: Or, The Poor Blacksmith

© Robert Bloomfield

'We brav'd Life's storm together; while that Drone,
'Your poor old Uncle, WALTER, liv'd alone.
'He died the other day: when round his bed
'No tender soothing tear Affection shed--
'Affection! 'twas a plant he never knew;--
'Why should he feast on fruits he never grew?'

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Gnothi Seauton

© Ralph Waldo Emerson

Then bear thyself, O man!
Up to the scale and compass of thy guest;
Soul of thy soul.
Be great as doth beseem
The ambassador who bears
The royal presence where he goes.

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The Poetry Of Southey

© George Meredith

Keen as an eagle whose flight towards the dim empyrean
Fearless of toil or fatigue ever royally wends!
Vast in the cloud-coloured robes of the balm-breathing Orient
Lo! the grand Epic advances, unfolding the humanest truth.

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Love's Last Adieu

© George Gordon Byron

The roses of love glad the garden of life,
  Though nurtured 'mid weeds dropping pestilent dew,
Till time crops the leaves with unmerciful knife,
  Or prunes them for ever, in love's last adieu!

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Abraham Lincoln

© Rose Terry Cooke

  Hundreds there have been, loftier than their kind,

  Heroes and victors in the world's great wars:

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In Memoriam 131: O Living Will That Shalt Endure

© Alfred Tennyson

O living will that shalt endure
When all that seems shall suffer shock,
Rise in the spiritual rock,
Flow thro' our deeds and make them pure,

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Damages, Two Hundred Pounds

© William Makepeace Thackeray

Special Jurymen of England! who admire your country's laws,
And proclaim a British Jury worthy of the realm's applause;
Gayly compliment each other at the issue of a cause
Which was tried at Guildford 'sizes, this day week as ever was.

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The London Lackpenny

© John Lydgate

  To London once my steps I bent,

  Where truth in no wise should be faint;

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If I Had Youth

© Edgar Albert Guest

If I had youth I'd bid the world to try me;

  I'd answer every challenge to my will.

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A Farmhouse Dirge

© Alfred Austin

Will you walk with me to the brow of the hill, to visit the farmer's wife,
Whose daughter lies in the churchyard now, eased of the ache of life?
Half a mile by the winding lane, another half to the top:
There you may lean o'er the gate and rest; she will want me awhile to stop,
Stop and talk of her girl that is gone and no more will wake or weep,
Or to listen rather, for sorrow loves to babble its pain to sleep.

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The Renewal

© John Kenyon

I knew her, when my youthful time

  Beyond the verge of manhood stood;

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Alma; or, The Progress of the Mind. In Three Cantos. - Canto II.

© Matthew Prior

Richard, quoth Matt, these words of thine
Speak something sly and something fine;
But I shall e'en resume my theme,
However thou may'st praise or blame.

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Charles The First

© Percy Bysshe Shelley


A Pursuivant.
Place, for the Marshal of the Masque!

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The Moat House

© Edith Nesbit

PART I

I

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To Damascus

© Henry Kendall

Where the sinister sun of the Syrians beat
On the brittle, bright stubble,
And the camels fell back from the swords of the heat,
Came Saul, with a fire in the soles of his feet,
And a forehead of trouble.

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The Abbreviated Fox And His Sceptical Comrades

© Guy Wetmore Carryl

  And another added these truthful words
  In the midst of the eager hush,
  "We can part our hair 'most anywhere
  So long as we keep the brush."

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Juana

© Felicia Dorothea Hemans

The night-wind shook the tapestry round an ancient palace-room,
And torches, as it rose and fell, waved thro' the gorgeous gloom,
And o'er a shadowy regal couch threw fitful gleams and red,
Where a woman with long raven hair sat watching by the dead.

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The Death of Morgan

© Anonymous

Throughout Australian History no tongue or pen can tell
 Of such preconcerted treachery - there is no parallel -
As the tragic deed of Morgan's death; without warning he was shot,
 On Peechelba Station it will never be forgot.

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Buddha And Brahma

© Henry Brooks Adams

Then gently, still in silence, lost in thought,
The Buddha raised the Lotus in his hand,
His eyes bent downward, fixed upon the flower.
No more! A moment so he held it only,
Then his hand sank into its former rest.