Patience poems
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Recollections Of A Dreamland
© James Clerk Maxwell
Rouse ye! torpid daylight-dreamers, cast your carking cares away!
As calm air to troubled water, so my night is to your day;
All the dreary day you labour, groping after common sense,
And your eyes ye will not open on the night's magnificence.
Ye would scow were I to tell you how a guiding radiance gleams
On the outer world of action from my inner world of dreams.
Tannhauser
© Emma Lazarus
Far into Wartburg, through all Italy,
In every town the Pope sent messengers,
Riding in furious haste; among them, one
Who bore a branch of dry wood burst in bloom;
The pastoral rod had borne green shoots of spring,
And leaf and blossom. God is merciful.
The Will
© John Donne
Before I sigh my last gasp, let me breathe,
Great Love, some legacies ; I here bequeath
The True Evangel
© Peter McArthur
BECAUSE that men were deaf, and man to man
I could not speak, but inarticulate
Don Juan: Canto The Sixth
© George Gordon Byron
'There is a tide in the affairs of men
Which,--taken at the flood,'--you know the rest,
The Four Seasons : Autumn
© James Thomson
Crown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf,
While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain,
Comes jovial on; the Doric reed once more,
Well pleased, I tune. Whate'er the wintry frost
Doctor B. Of Tears
© Sir Henry Wotton
Who would have thought, there could have bin
Such joy in tears, wept for our sin?
Beer
© Charles Stuart Calverley
In those old days which poets say were golden -
(Perhaps they laid the gilding on themselves:
Wind-Clouds And Star-Drifts
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
Here am I, bound upon this pillared rock,
Prey to the vulture of a vast desire
That feeds upon my life. I burst my bands
And steal a moment's freedom from the beak,
The clinging talons and the shadowing plumes;
Then comes the false enchantress, with her song;
Lines To The Memory Of A Very Amiable Young Lady, Who Died At The Age Of Eighteen
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
AT length, departed saint! thy pangs are o'er,
And earthly suff'ring shall be thine no more;
Like some young rose-bud, blighted in its May,
Thy virtues bloom'd, to wither soon away!
'The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 5
© Publius Vergilius Maro
MEANTIME the Trojan cuts his watry way,
Fixd on his voyage, thro the curling sea;
The Little Left Hand - Act II
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Lady Marian. Send
For others then. I see a girl at the street's end
Selling some mignonette. What do you say?
(Putting on a bow.) This bow,
Is it too bright for the rest?
To A Young Ass, Its Mother Being Tethered Near It
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Poor little Foal of an oppressed race!
I love the languid patience of thy face:
Astraea: The Balance Of Illusions
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
Dear to his age were memories such as these,
Leaves of his June in life's autumnal breeze;
Such were the tales that won my boyish ear,
Told in low tones that evening loves to hear.
A Book Of Strife In The Form Of The Diary Of An Old Soul - December
© George MacDonald
1.
I AM a little weary of my life-
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part II: To Juliet: XXXII
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
EXHORTING HER TO PATIENCE
Why do we fret at the inconstancy
Of our frail hearts, which cannot always love?
Time rushes onward, and we mortals move
The Empty Purse--A Sermon To Our Later Prodigal Son
© George Meredith
Thy knowledge of women might be surpassed:
As any sad dog's of sweet flesh when he quits
The wayside wandering bone!
No revilings of comrades as ingrates: thee
The tempter, misleader, and criminal (screened
By laws yet barbarous) own.
