Hope poems

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The Rainy Day

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

Hold Hard, These Ancient Minutes In The Cuckoo's Month

Hold hard, these ancient minutes in the cuckoo's month,
Under the lank, fourth folly on Glamorgan's hill,
As the green blooms ride upward, to the drive of time;
Time, in a folly's rider, like a county man
Over the vault of ridings with his hound at heel,
Drives forth my men, my children, from the hanging south.

V

© Tony Harrison

Next millennium you'll have to search quite hard
to find my slab behind the family dead,
butcher, publican, and baker, now me, bard
adding poetry to their beef, beer and bread.

When I hoped, I recollect

© Emily Dickinson

When I hoped, I recollect
Just the place I stood --
At a Window facing West --
Roughest Air -- was good --

When I hoped I feared --

© Emily Dickinson

When I hoped I feared --
Since I hoped I dared
Everywhere alone
As a Church remain --

Up Life's Hill with my my little Bundle

© Emily Dickinson

Up Life's Hill with my my little Bundle
If I prove it steep --
If a Discouragement withhold me --
If my newest step

Undue Significance a starving man attaches

© Emily Dickinson

Undue Significance a starving man attaches
To Food --
Far off -- He sighs -- and therefore -- Hopeless --
And therefore -- Good --

Two Lengths has every Day --

© Emily Dickinson

Two Lengths has every Day --
Its absolute extent
And Area superior
By Hope or Horror lent --

Those fair -- fictitious People

© Emily Dickinson

Those fair -- fictitious People --
The Women -- plucked away
From our familiar Lifetime --
The Men of Ivory --

This is the place they hoped before,

© Emily Dickinson

This is the place they hoped before,
Where I am hoping now.
The seed of disappointment grew
Within a capsule gay,

This Bauble was preferred of Bees --

© Emily Dickinson

This Bauble was preferred of Bees --
By Butterflies admired
At Heavenly -- Hopeless Distances --
Was justified of Bird --

The way Hope builds his House

© Emily Dickinson

The way Hope builds his House
It is not with a sill --
Nor Rafter -- has that Edifice
But only Pinnacle --

The things we thought that we should do

© Emily Dickinson

The things we thought that we should do
We other things have done
But those peculiar industries
Have never been begun --

The Things that never can come back, are several --

© Emily Dickinson

The Things that never can come back, are several --
Childhood -- some forms of Hope -- the Dead --
Though Joys -- like Men -- may sometimes make a Journey --
And still abide --