Truth poems
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The Vision Of Augustine And Monica
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Mother, because thine eyes are sealed in sleep,
And thy cheeks pale, and thy lips cold, and deep
In silence plunged, so fathomlessly still
Thou liest, and relaxest all thy will,
Il Y A Cent Ans
© George Meredith
That march of the funereal Past behold;
How Glory sat on Bondage for its throne;
How men, like dazzled insects, through the mould
Still worked their way, and bled to keep their own.
Visit Of Hope To Sydney Cove, Near Botany Bay
© Erasmus Darwin
Where Sydney Cove her lucid bosom swells,
And with wide arms the indignant storm repels;
The Improvisatore, Or, 'John Anderson, My Jo, John'
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Eliza. Ask our friend, the Improvisatore ; here he comes. Kate has a favour
to ask of you, Sir ; it is that you will repeat the ballad [Believe me if
all those endearing young charms.-EHC's ? note] that Mr. ____ sang so
sweetly.
I Told You So
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
I know a little fellow, his name I think is Jo,
But he is seldom called by that-he has a queer nick-name,
Wherever he goes the children cry, "There comes 'I-told-you-so.'"
For that is what he always says in playing any game,
"I told you so! I told you so!
You see I was right when I told you so."
Sonnet XLIII: Love and Hope
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Bless love and hope. Full many a withered year
Whirled past us, eddying to its chill doomsday;
The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 2
© Publius Vergilius Maro
ALL were attentive to the godlike man,
When from his lofty couch he thus began:
The Story of Prince Agib
© William Schwenck Gilbert
STRIKE the concertina's melancholy string!
Blow the spirit-stirring harp like anything!
Let the piano's martial blast
Rouse the Echoes of the Past,
For of AGIB, PRINCE OF TARTARY, I sing!
The Truth Teller
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
The Truth Teller lifts the curtain,
And shows us the people's plight;
The Centennial Cantata.
© Sidney Lanier
Mayflower, Mayflower, slowly hither flying,
Trembling westward o'er yon balking sea,
Hearts within `Farewell dear England' sighing,
Winds without `But dear in vain' replying,
Gray-lipp'd waves about thee shouted, crying
"No! It shall not be!"
A Prayer in Time of War
© Alfred Noyes
Thou, whose deep ways are in the sea,
Whose footsteps are not known,
To-night a world that turned from Thee
Is waiting - at Thy Throne.
Morn Like A Thousand Shining Spears
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Morn like a thousand shining spears
Terrible in the East appears.
O hide me, leaves of lovely gloom,
Where the young Dreams like lilies bloom!
Galileo
© George MacDonald
"And yet it moves!" Ah, Truth, where wert thou then
When all for thee they racked each piteous limb?
The Authors: A Satire
© Richard Savage
"HOLD, Criticks cry-Erroneous are your Lays,
"Your Field was Satire, your Pursuit is Praise."
True, you Profound!-I praise, but yet I sneer;
You're dark to Beauties, if to Errors clear!
Know my Lampoon's in Panegyric seen,
For just Applause turns Satire on your Spleen.
The Witch of Hebron
© Charles Harpur
Of golden lamps, showed many a treasure rare
Of Indian and Armenian workmanship
Which might have seemed a wonder of the world:
And trains of servitors of every clime,
Greeks, Persians, Indians, Ethiopians,
In richest raiment thronged the spacious halls.
The Spirit Of The Age
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
A wondrous light is filling the air,
And rimming the clouds of the old despair;
The Planting
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
PLANT it safe and sure, my child,
Then cease watching and cease weeping;
You have done your utmost part:
Leave it with a quiet heart:
It will grow while you are sleeping.
The Ring And The Book - Chapter V - Count Guido Franceschini
© Robert Browning
That is a way, thou whisperest in my ear!
I doubt, I will decide, then act, said I
Then beckoned my companions: Time is come!
To The Summer Night
© Robert Laurence Binyon
A sultry perfume of voluptuous June
Enchants the air still breathing of warm day;
But now the impassioned Night draws over, soon
To fold me, in this high hollow, quite away
A Prayer Of Time
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Move onward, Time, and bring us sooner free
From this self--clouding turmoil where we ply
On others' errands driven continually:
O lead us to our own souls, ere we die!
