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Best Famous Peace Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Peace poems. This is a select list of the best famous Peace poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Peace poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of peace poems.

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by George (Lord) Byron | |

She Walks in Beauty

She walks in Beauty, like the night 
Of cloudless climes and starry skies; 
And all that's best of dark and bright 
Meet in her aspect and her eyes: 
Thus mellowed to that tender light 
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express, How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!


by Alexander Pope | |

Ode on Solitude

I.
How happy he, who free from care The rage of courts, and noise of towns; Contented breathes his native air, In his own grounds.
II.
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire, Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire.
III.
Blest! who can unconcern'dly find Hours, days, and years slide swift away, In health of body, peace of mind, Quiet by day, IV.
Sound sleep by night; study and ease Together mix'd; sweet recreation, And innocence, which most does please, With meditation.
V.
Thus let me live, unheard, unknown; Thus unlamented let me die; Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie.


by William Butler Yeats | |

The Lake Isle of Innisfree

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray, I hear it in the deep heart's core.


by Edward Estlin (E E) Cummings | |

enter no(silence is the blood whose flesh

enter no(silence is the blood whose flesh
is singing)silence:but unsinging.
In spectral such hugest how hush,one dead leaf stirring makes a crash -far away(as far as alive)lies april;and i breathe-move-and-seem some perpetually roaming whylessness- autumn has gone:will winter never come? o come,terrible anonymity;enfold phantom me with the murdering minus of cold -open this ghost with millionary knives of wind- scatter his nothing all over what angry skies and gently (very whiteness:absolute peace, never imaginable mystery) descend


by Christina Rossetti | |

Dream Land

 Where sunless rivers weep
Their waves into the deep,
She sleeps a charmed sleep:
Awake her not.
Led by a single star, She came from very far To seek where shadows are Her pleasant lot.
She left the rosy morn, She left the fields of corn, For twilight cold and lorn And water springs.
Through sleep, as through a veil, She sees the sky look pale, And hears the nightingale That sadly sings.
Rest, rest, a perfect rest Shed over brow and breast; Her face is toward the west, The purple land.
She cannot see the grain Ripening on hill and plain; She cannot feel the rain Upon her hand.
Rest, rest, for evermore Upon a mossy shore; Rest, rest at the heart's core Till time shall cease: Sleep that no pain shall wake; Night that no morn shall break Till joy shall overtake Her perfect peace.


by Christina Rossetti | |

Silent Noon

 Your hands lie open in the long fresh grass, - 
The finger-points look through like rosy blooms: 
Your eyes smile peace.
The pasture gleams and glooms 'Neath billowing skies that scatter and amass.
All round our nest, far as the eye can pass, Are golden kingcup-fields with silver edge Where the cow-parsley skirts the hawthorn-hedge.
'Tis visible silence, still as the hour-glass.
Deep in the sun-searched growths the dragon-fly Hangs like a blue thread loosened from the sky: - So this wing'd hour is dropt to us from above.
Oh! clasp we to our hearts, for deathless dower, This close-companioned inarticulate hour When twofold silence was the song of love.


by John Ruskin | |

Trust Thou Thy Love

 TRUST thou thy Love: if she be proud, is she not sweet? 
Trust thou thy Love: if she be mute, is she not pure? 
Lay thou thy soul full in her hands, low at her feet; 
Fail, Sun and Breath!--yet, for thy peace, She shall endure.


by Wang Wei | |

Remembrance

 THERE were many burning hours on the heartsweet tide,
 And we passed away from ourselves, forgetting all
The immortal moods that faded, the god who died,
 Hastening away to the King on a distant call.
There were ruby dews were shed when the heart was riven, And passionate pleading and prayers to the dead we had wronged; And we passed away, unremembering and unforgiven, Hastening away to the King for the peace we longed.
Love unremembered and heart-ache we left behind, We forsook them, unheeding, hastening away in our flight; We knew the hearts we had wronged of old we would find When we came to the fold of the King for rest in the night.


by Wang Wei | |

Bound Home to Mount Song

 The limpid river, past its bushes 
Running slowly as my chariot, 
Becomes a fellow voyager 
Returning home with the evening birds.
A ruined city-wall overtops an old ferry, Autumn sunset floods the peaks.
.
.
.
Far away, beside Mount Song, I shall close my door and be at peace.


by Wang Wei | |

In My Lodge at Wang Chuan(After a Long Rain.)

 The woods have stored the rain, and slow comes the smoke 
As rice is cooked on faggots and carried to the fields; 
Over the quiet marsh-land flies a white egret, 
And mango-birds are singing in the full summer trees.
.
.
.
I have learned to watch in peace the mountain morningglories, To eat split dewy sunflower-seeds under a bough of pine, To yield the post of honour to any boor at all.
.
.
.
Why should I frighten sea gulls, even with a thought?


by Wang Wei | |

Answering Vice-Prefect Zhang

 As the years go by, give me but peace, 
Freedom from ten thousand matters.
I ask myself and always answer: What can be better than coming home? A wind from the pine-trees blows my sash, And my lute is bright with the mountain moon.
You ask me about good and evil fortune?.
.
.
.
Hark, on the lake there's a fisherman singing!


by Wang Wei | |

Fields and Gardens by the River Qi

 I dwell apart by the River Qi,
Where the Eastern wilds stretch far without hills.
The sun darkens beyond the mulberry trees; The river glistens through the villages.
Shepherd boys depart, gazing back to their hamlets; Hunting dogs return following their men.
When a man's at peace, what business does he have? I shut fast my rustic door throughout the day.


by Wang Wei | |

Stopping at Incense Storing Temple

 Not know incense store temple 
Few enter cloud peaks 
Ancient trees no person path 
Deep hills what place bell 
Spring sound choke sheer rock 
Sun colour cold green pines 
Dusk empty pool bend 
Peace meditation control fierce dragon 


I did not know the incense storing temple, 
I walked a few miles into the clouded peaks.
No man on the path between the ancient trees, A bell rang somewhere deep among the hills.
A spring sounded choked, running down steep rocks, The green pines chilled the sunlight's coloured rays.
Come dusk, at the bend of a deserted pool, Through meditation I controlled passion's dragon.


by Phillis Wheatley | |

To The Kings Most Excellent Majesty

 YOUR subjects hope, dread Sire--
The crown upon your brows may flourish long,
And that your arm may in your God be strong!
O may your sceptre num'rous nations sway,
And all with love and readiness obey!
But how shall we the British king reward!
Rule thou in peace, our father, and our lord!
Midst the remembrance of thy favours past,
The meanest peasants most admire the last*
May George, beloved by all the nations round,
Live with heav'ns choicest constant blessings crown'd!
Great God, direct, and guard him from on high,
And from his head let ev'ry evil fly!
And may each clime with equal gladness see
A monarch's smile can set his subjects free!

* The Repeal of the Stamp Act.


by Gerard Manley Hopkins | |

Peace

 When will you ever, Peace, wild wooddove, shy wings shut,
Your round me roaming end, and under be my boughs?
When, when, Peace, will you, Peace? I'll not play hypocrite
To own my heart: I yield you do come sometimes; but
That piecemeal peace is poor peace.
What pure peace allows Alarms of wars, the daunting wars, the death of it? O surely, reaving Peace, my Lord should leave in lieu Some good! And so he does leave Patience exquisite, That plumes to Peace thereafter.
And when Peace here does house He comes with work to do, he does not come to coo, He comes to brood and sit.


by Gerard Manley Hopkins | |

The Half-way House

 Love I was shewn upon the mountain-side
And bid to catch Him ere the dropp of day.
See, Love, I creep and Thou on wings dost ride: Love it is evening now and Thou away; Love, it grows darker here and Thou art above; Love, come down to me if Thy name be Love.
My national old Egyptian reed gave way; I took of vine a cross-barred rod or rood.
Then next I hungered: Love when here, they say, Or once or never took love's proper food; But I must yield the chase, or rest and eat.
- Peace and food cheered me where four rough ways meet.
Hear yet my paradox: Love, when all is given, To see Thee I must [see] Thee, to love, love; I must o'ertake Thee at once and under heaven If I shall overtake Thee at last above.
You have your wish; enter these walls, one said: He is with you in the breaking of the bread.


by Gerard Manley Hopkins | |

To Seem The Stranger Lies My Lot My Life

 To seem the stranger lies my lot, my life
Among strangers.
Father and mother dear, Brothers and sisters are in Christ not near And he my peace my parting, sword and strife.
England, whose honour O all my heart woos, wife To my creating thought, would neither hear Me, were I pleading, plead nor do I: I wear- y of idle a being but by where wars are rife.
I am in Ireland now; now I am at a thírd Remove.
Not but in all removes I can Kind love both give and get.
Only what word Wisest my heart breeds dark heaven's baffling ban Bars or hell's spell thwarts.
This to hoard unheard, Heard unheeded, leaves me a lonely began.


by Gerard Manley Hopkins | |

Duns Scotuss Oxford

 Towery city and branchy between towers;
Cuckoo-echoing, bell-swarmèd, lark-charmèd, rook-racked, river-rounded;
The dapple-eared lily below thee; that country and town did
Once encounter in, here coped and poisèd powers; 
Thou hast a base and brickish skirt there, sours
That neighbour-nature thy grey beauty is grounded
Best in; graceless growth, thou hast confounded
Rural rural keeping—folk, flocks, and flowers.
Yet ah! this air I gather and I release He lived on; these weeds and waters, these walls are what He haunted who of all men most sways my spirits to peace; Of realty the rarest-veinèd unraveller; a not Rivalled insight, be rival Italy or Greece; Who fired France for Mary without spot.


by Anne Kingsmill Finch | |

Moral Song

 Would we attain the happiest State, 
That is design'd us here; 
No Joy a Rapture must create, 
No Grief beget Despair.
No Injury fierce Anger raise, No Honour tempt to Pride; No vain Desires of empty Praise Must in the Soul abide.
No Charms of Youth, or Beauty move The constant, settl'd Breast: Who leaves a Passage free to Love, Shall let in, all the rest.
In such a Heart soft Peace will live, Where none of these abound; The greatest Blessing, Heav'n do's give, Or can on Earth be found.


by Walter Savage Landor | |

To Zo?

 Against the groaning mast I stand, 
The Atlantic surges swell, 
To bear me from my native land 
And Zo?'s wild farewell.
From billow upon billow hurl'd I can yet hear her say, `And is there nothing in the world Worth one short hour's delay?' `Alas, my Zo?! were it thus, I should not sail alone, Nor seas nor fates had parted us, But are you all my own?' Thus were it, never would burst forth My sighs, Heaven knows how true! But, though to me of little worth, The world is much to you.
`Yes,' you shall say, when once the dream (So hard to break!) is o'er, `My love was very dear to him, My fame and peace were more.
'