Truth poems
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A Stanza on Freedom
© James Russell Lowell
THEY are slaves who fear to speak
For the fallen and the weak;
Little Nellie In The Prison
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
The chaplain, with a father's gentlest grace,
Kissed the small ruffled brow, the pleading face:
"Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings still,
Praise is perfected," thought he; thus, his will
Blended with hers, and through those gates of sin,
Black, even at noontide, sire and child passed in.
The Three Horses
© George MacDonald
What shall I be?-I will be a knight
Walled up in armour black,
With a sword of sharpness, a hammer of might.
And a spear that will not crack-
So black, so blank, no glimmer of light
Will betray my darkling track.
Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. The Musician's Tale; The Saga of King Olaf XXII. -- The Nun Of Nida
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
In the convent of Drontheim,
Alone in her chamber
Knelt Astrid the Abbess,
At midnight, adoring,
Beseeching, entreating
The Virgin and Mother.
Moonsong At Morning
© Sylvia Plath
O moon of illusion,
enchanting men
with tinsel vision
along the vein,
Ormuzd And Ahriman. The Overture.
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
Ah, what are all the discords of all time
But stumbling steps of one persistent life
That struggles up through mists to heights sublime
Forefelt through all creation's lingering strife:
The deathless motion of one undertone,
Whose deep vibrations thrill from God to God alone!
An Hymne In Honour Of Love
© Edmund Spenser
Why then do I this honor unto thee,
Thus to ennoble thy victorious name,
Sith thou doest shew no favour unto mee,
Ne once move ruth in that rebellious dame,
Ad Astra
© George Essex Evans
Cleaving the blue abysmal without sound,
Pressed on my soul I felt the awful seals
Of that vast Cosmos without depth or bound,
Blazing with golden wheels.
Of The Nature Of Things: Book III - Part 03 - The Soul Is Mortal
© Lucretius
Now come: that thou mayst able be to know
That minds and the light souls of all that live
The Friend Of Humanity And The Rhymer
© Henry Austin Dobson
R. To hear you talk,
You'd make it easier to fly than walk.
You seem to think that rhyming is a thing
You can produce if you but touch a spring;
Natalias Resurrection: Sonnet XXII
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The thought of night consoled him. To his vision
Natalia was dead only in false death,
The sleeping treason of some false misprision,
Some silent mystery of shortened breath,
Concealment
© Abraham Cowley
No; to what purpose should I speak?
No, wretched heart! swell till you break.
Jacob Homniums Hoss
© William Makepeace Thackeray
One sees in Viteall Yard,
Vere pleacemen do resort,
A wenerable hinstitute,
'Tis call'd the Pallis Court.
A gent as got his i on it,
I think 'twill make some sport.
Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 3. Interlude IV.
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
"A pleasant and a winsome tale,"
The Student said, "though somewhat pale
On A Bust Of General Grant
© James Russell Lowell
Strong, simple, silent are the [steadfast] laws
That sway this universe, of none withstood,
Epilogue to Agamemnon
© James Thomson
Our bard, to modern epilogue a foe,
Thinks such mean mirth but deadens generous woe;
Dispels in idle air the moral sigh,
And wipes the tender tear from Pity's eye:
