Trust poems

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The Loves of the Angels

© Thomas Moore

Alas! that Passion should profane
Even then the morning of the earth!
That, sadder still, the fatal stain
Should fall on hearts of heavenly birth-
And that from Woman's love should fall
So dark a stain, most sad of all!

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In Quest

© John Greenleaf Whittier

Have I not voyaged, friend beloved, with thee

On the great waters of the unsounded sea,

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Trust

© John Greenleaf Whittier

The same old baffling questions! O my friend,

I cannot answer them. In vain I send

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To Ben Jonson Upon Occasion Of His Ode Of Defiance Annexed

© Thomas Carew

'Tis true, dear Ben, thy just chastising hand

  Hath fix'd upon the sotted age a brand

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Tale V

© George Crabbe

these,
All that on idle, ardent spirits seize;
Robbers at land and pirates on the main,
Enchanters foil'd, spells broken, giants slain;
Legends of love, with tales of halls and bowers,
Choice of rare songs, and garlands of choice

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The Hand In The Dark

© Ada Cambridge

How calm the spangled city spread below!
How cool the night! How fair the starry skies!
How sweet the dewy breezes! But I know
What, under all their seeming beauty, lies.

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Ode to Rae Wilson Esq.

© Thomas Hood

Mere verbiage,—it is not worth a carrot!
Why, Socrates—or Plato—where's the odds?—
Once taught a jay to supplicate the Gods,
And made a Polly-theist of a Parrot!

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The Princess (part 6)

© Alfred Tennyson

My dream had never died or lived again.
As in some mystic middle state I lay;
Seeing I saw not, hearing not I heard:
Though, if I saw not, yet they told me all
So often that I speak as having seen.

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Eclogue:--The Times

© William Barnes

  Aye, John, I have, John; an' I ben't afeärd
  To own it. Why, who woulden do the seäme?
  We shant goo on lik' this long, I can tell ye.
  Bread is so high an' wages be so low,
  That, after workèn lik' a hoss, you know,
  A man can't eärn enough to vill his belly.

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The Things That Count

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

Now, dear, it isn't the bold things,

Great deeds of valour and might,

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The Sleep of Sigismund

© Jean Ingelow

The doom'd king pacing all night through the windy fallow.
'Let me alone, mine enemy, let me alone,'
Never a Christian bell that dire thick gloom to hallow,
Or guide him, shelterless, succourless, thrust from his own.

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The Star-Spangled Banner

© Francis Scott Key

O! say can you see, by the dawn's early light,

  What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleaming,

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Fatherhood

© Edgar Albert Guest

How's the little chap to know

Just the proper roads to go

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Lines: "I Stooped from Star-Bright Regions"

© Henry Timrod

I stooped from star-bright regions, where
Thou canst not enter even in prayer;
And thought to light thy heart and hearth
With all the poesy of earth.

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After Heine: Countess Jutta

© John Hay

The Countess Jutta passed over the Rhine

In a light canoe by the moon's pale shine.

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The Fallen Elm

© Alfred Austin

The popinjay screamed from tree to tree,
Then was lost in the burnished leaves;
The sky was as blue as a southern sea,
And the swallow came back to the eaves.

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The Cypress-Tree Of Ceylon

© John Greenleaf Whittier

THEY sat in silent watchfulness
The sacred cypress-tree about,
And, from beneath old wrinkled brows,
Their failing eyes looked out.

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Elegy I

© Rainer Maria Rilke

Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels'

hierarchies? and even if one of them suddenly

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To----

© James Russell Lowell

We, too, have autumns, when our leaves
  Drop loosely through the dampened air,
When all our good seems bound in sheaves,
  And we stand reaped and bare.

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The Fate of the Explorers (A Fragment)

© Henry Kendall

Through that night he uttered little, rambling were the words he spoke:
And he turned and died in silence, when the tardy morning broke.
Many memories come together whilst in sight of death we dwell,
Much of sweet and sad reflection through the weary mind must well.
As those long hours glided past him, till the east with light was fraught,
Who may know the mournful secret — who can tell us what he thought?