Poems begining by H

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Hear What The Mournful Linnets Say

© Christina Georgina Rossetti

Hear what the mournful linnets say:

‘We built our nest compact and warm,

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How Soon The Servant Sun

© Dylan Thomas

A leg as long as trees,
This inward sir,
Mister and master, darkness for his eyes,
The womb-eyed, cries,
And all sweet hell, deaf as an hour's ear,
Blasts back the trumpet voice.

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Hymn VIII: What Could Your Redeemer Do

© Charles Wesley

What could your Redeemer do

More than he hath done for you?

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Hyperion. Book II

© John Keats

Just at the self-same beat of Time's wide wings

Hyperion slid into the rustled air,

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Hope Deferred

© Robert Fuller Murray

When the weary night is fled,
And the morning sky is red,
Then my heart doth rise and say,
`Surely she will come to-day.'

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Human Failings

© Edgar Albert Guest

RECKON when our days are done

And God takes up our record sheets, And sees the battles we have won, He'll want to read of our defeats.

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Hannibal's Oath

© Letitia Elizabeth Landon

AND the night was dark and calm,
There was not a breath of air,
The leaves of the grove were still,
As the presence of death were there;

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How Little Red Riding Hood Came To Be Eaten

© Guy Wetmore Carryl

The Moral: There's nothing much glummer
Than children whose talents appall:
One much prefers those who are dumber,
But as for the paragons small,
If a swallow cannot make a summer
It can bring on a summary fall!

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Heliodorus In The Temple

© Felicia Dorothea Hemans

A sound of woe in Salem! - mournful cries
Rose from her dwellings - youthful cheeks were pale,
Tears flowing fast from dim and aged eyes,
And voices mingling in tumultuous wail;
Hands raised to heaven in agony of prayer,
And powerless wrath, and terror, and despair.

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Hymn For The Two Hundredth Anniversary Of King’s Chapel

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

O'ERSHADOWED by the walls that climb,
Piled up in air by living hands,
A rock amid the waves of time,
Our gray old house of worship stands.

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Hop, Skip And Jump: A Queer Trio Personified.

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

O! HOP is a sailor used up in the war,
With a single good leg to stand on;
And a face as dingy almost as the tar
He was wont to rest his hand on:

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Hesper

© John Le Gay Brereton

  Not till the sun, that brings to birth

  The myriad marvels of the earth

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Hymn For The Opening Of Plymouth Church, St. Paul, Minnesota

© John Greenleaf Whittier

All things are Thine: no gift have we,
Lord of all gifts, to offer Thee;
And hence with grateful hearts to-day,
Thy own before Thy feet we lay.

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Hawarden

© George Meredith

When comes the lighted day for men to read

Life's meaning, with the work before their hands

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Hacking Home

© William Henry Ogilvie

When your homing carloads swing

Past us down the crisping lanes,

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How sick—to wait—in any place—but thine

© Emily Dickinson

How sick—to wait—in any place—but thine—
I knew last night—when someone tried to twine—
Thinking—perhaps—that I looked tired—or alone—
Or breaking—almost—with unspoken pain—

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Hyperion. Book III

© John Keats

Thus in altemate uproar and sad peace,

Amazed were those Titans utterly.

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His Dream Of Skyland

© Li Po

The seafarers tell of the Eastern Isle of Bliss,

It is lost in a wilderness of misty sea waves.

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Hazel Blossoms

© John Greenleaf Whittier

THE SUMMER warmth has left the sky,
  The summer songs have died away;
And, withered, in the footpaths lie
  The fallen leaves, but yesterday
  With ruby and with topaz gay.

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Hellenistics

© Robinson Jeffers

I look at the Greek-derived design that nourished my infancy
this Wedgwood copy of the Portland vase:
Someone had given it to my father my eyes at five years old
used to devour it by the hour.