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Best Famous Blighted Hope Poems

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Mirth And Mourning

 'O cast away your sorrow; --
A while, at least, be gay!
If grief must come tomorrow,
At least, be glad today! 
'How can you still be sighing
When smiles are everywhere?
The little birds are flying
So blithely through the air;

'The sunshine glows so brightly
O'er all the blooming earth;
And every heart beats lightly, --
Each face is full of mirth.'

'I always feel the deepest gloom
When day most brightly shines:
When Nature shows the fairest bloom,
My spirit most repines;

'For, in the brightest noontide glow,
The dungeon's light is dim;
Though freshest winds around us blow,
No breath can visit him.

'If he must sit in twilight gloom,
Can I enjoy the sight
Of mountains clad in purple bloom,
And rocks in sunshine bright? --

'My heart may well be desolate, --
These tears may well arise
While prison wall and iron grate
Oppress his weary eyes.'

'But think of him tomorrow,
And join your comrades now; --
That constant cloud of sorrow
Ill suits so young a brow.

'Hark, how their merry voices
Are sounding far and near!
While all the world rejoices
Can you sit moping here?'

'When others' hearts most lightly bound
Mine feels the most oppressed;
When smiling faces greet me round
My sorrow will not rest:

'I think of him whose faintest smile
Was sunshine to my heart,
Whose lightest word could care beguile
And blissful thoughts impart;

'I think how he would bless that sun,
And love this glorious scene;
I think of all that has been done,
And all that might have been.

'Those sparkling eyes, that blessed me so,
Are dim with weeping now;
And blighted hope and burning woe
Have ploughed that marble brow.

'What waste of youth, what hopes destroyed,
What days of pining care,
What weary nights of comfort void
Art thou condemned to bear!

'O! if my love must suffer so --
And wholly for my sake --
What marvel that my tears should flow, --
Or that my heart should break!'

Written by Francesco Petrarch |

Sonnet XLIII

SONNET XLIII.
 Se col cieco desir che 'l cor distrugge.
 BLIGHTED HOPE.
  Either that blind desire, which life destroysCounting the hours, deceives my misery,[Pg 58]Or, even while yet I speak, the moment flies,Promised at once to pity and to me.Alas! what baneful shade o'erhangs and driesThe seed so near its full maturity?'Twixt me and hope what brazen walls arise?From murderous wolves not even my fold is free.Ah, woe is me! Too clearly now I findThat felon Love, to aggravate my pain,Mine easy heart hath thus to hope inclined;And now the maxim sage I call to mind,That mortal bliss must doubtful still remainTill death from earthly bonds the soul unbind.
 Charlemont.  Counting the hours, lest I myself misleadBy blind desire wherewith my heart is torn,E'en while I speak away the moments speed,To me and pity which alike were sworn.What shade so cruel as to blight the seedWhence the wish'd fruitage should so soon be born?What beast within my fold has leap'd to feed?What wall is built between the hand and corn?Alas! I know not, but, if right I guess,Love to such joyful hope has only ledTo plunge my weary life in worse distress;And I remember now what once I read,Until the moment of his full releaseMan's bliss begins not, nor his troubles cease.
 Macgregor.