10 Best Famous Consoles Poems

Here is a collection of the top 10 all-time best famous Consoles poems. This is a select list of the best famous Consoles poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Consoles poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of consoles poems.

• All Famous Consoles Poems

 Part One


The power of charity sows deep in my heart, and I reap and gather the wheat in bundles and give them to the hungry. 

My soul gives life to the grapevine and I press its bunches and give the juice to the thirsty. 

Heaven fills my lamp with oil and I place it at my window to direct the stranger through the dark. 

I do all these things because I live in them; and if destiny should tie my hands and prevent me from so doing, then death would be my only desire. For I am a poet, and if I cannot give, I shall refuse to receive. 

Humanity rages like a tempest, but I sigh in silence for I know the storm must pass away while a sigh goes to God. 

Human kinds cling to earthly things, but I seek ever to embrace the torch of love so it will purify me by its fire and sear inhumanity from my heart. 

Substantial things deaden a man without suffering; love awakens him with enlivening pains. 

Humans are divided into different clans and tribes, and belong to countries and towns. But I find myself a stranger to all communities and belong to no settlement. The universe is my country and the human family is my tribe. 

Men are weak, and it is sad that they divide amongst themselves. The world is narrow and it is unwise to cleave it into kingdoms, empires, and provinces. 

Human kinds unite themselves one to destroy the temples of the soul, and they join hands to build edifices for earthly bodies. I stand alone listening to the voice of hope in my deep self saying, "As love enlivens a man's heart with pain, so ignorance teaches him the way of knowledge." Pain and ignorance lead to great joy and knowledge because the Supreme Being has created nothing vain under the sun. 



Part Two


I have a yearning for my beautiful country, and I love its people because of their misery. But if my people rose, stimulated by plunder and motivated by what they call "patriotic spirit" to murder, and invaded my neighbor's country, then upon the committing of any human atrocity I would hate my people and my country. 

I sing the praise of my birthplace and long to see the home of my children; but if the people in that home refused to shelter and feed the needy wayfarer, I would convert my praise into anger and my longing to forgetfulness. My inner voice would say, "The house that does not comfort the need is worthy of naught by destruction." 

I love my native village with some of my love for my country; and I love my country with part of my love for the earth, all of which is my country; and I love the earth will all of myself because it is the haven of humanity, the manifest spirit of God. 

Humanity is the spirit of the Supreme Being on earth, and that humanity is standing amidst ruins, hiding its nakedness behind tattered rags, shedding tears upon hollow cheeks, and calling for its children with pitiful voice. But the children are busy singing their clan's anthem; they are busy sharpening the swords and cannot hear the cry of their mothers. 

Humanity appeals to its people but they listen not. Were one to listen, and console a mother by wiping her tears, other would say, "He is weak, affected by sentiment." 

Humanity is the spirit of the Supreme Being on earth, and that Supreme Being preaches love and good-will. But the people ridicule such teachings. The Nazarene Jesus listened, and crucifixion was his lot; Socrates heard the voice and followed it, and he too fell victim in body. The followers of The Nazarene and Socrates are the followers of Deity, and since people will not kill them, they deride them, saying, "Ridicule is more bitter than killing." 

Jerusalem could not kill The Nazarene, nor Athens Socrates; they are living yet and shall live eternally. Ridicule cannot triumph over the followers of Deity. They live and grow forever. 



Part Three


Thou art my brother because you are a human, and we both are sons of one Holy Spirit; we are equal and made of the same earth. 

You are here as my companion along the path of life, and my aid in understanding the meaning of hidden Truth. You are a human, and, that fact sufficing, I love you as a brother. You may speak of me as you choose, for Tomorrow shall take you away and will use your talk as evidence for his judgment, and you shall receive justice. 

You may deprive me of whatever I possess, for my greed instigated the amassing of wealth and you are entitled to my lot if it will satisfy you. 

You may do unto me whatever you wish, but you shall not be able to touch my Truth. 

You may shed my blood and burn my body, but you cannot kill or hurt my spirit. 

You may tie my hands with chains and my feet with shackles, and put me in the dark prison, but who shall not enslave my thinking, for it is free, like the breeze in the spacious sky. 

You are my brother and I love you. I love you worshipping in your church, kneeling in your temple, and praying in your mosque. You and I and all are children of one religion, for the varied paths of religion are but the fingers of the loving hand of the Supreme Being, extended to all, offering completeness of spirit to all, anxious to receive all. 

I love you for your Truth, derived from your knowledge; that Truth which I cannot see because of my ignorance. But I respect it as a divine thing, for it is the deed of the spirit. Your Truth shall meet my Truth in the coming world and blend together like the fragrance of flowers and becoming one whole and eternal Truth, perpetuating and living in the eternity of Love and Beauty. 

I love you because you are weak before the strong oppressor, and poor before the greedy rich. For these reasons I shed tears and comfort you; and from behind my tears I see you embraced in the arms of Justice, smiling and forgiving your persecutors. You are my brother and I love you. 



Part Four


You are my brother, but why are you quarreling with me? Why do you invade my country and try to subjugate me for the sake of pleasing those who are seeking glory and authority? 

Why do you leave your wife and children and follow Death to the distant land for the sake of those who buy glory with your blood, and high honor with your mother's tears? 

Is it an honor for a man to kill his brother man? If you deem it an honor, let it be an act of worship, and erect a temple to Cain who slew his brother Abel. 

Is self-preservation the first law of Nature? Why, then, does Greed urge you to self-sacrifice in order only to achieve his aim in hurting your brothers? Beware, my brother, of the leader who says, "Love of existence obliges us to deprive the people of their rights!" I say unto you but this: protecting others' rights is the noblest and most beautiful human act; if my existence requires that I kill others, then death is more honorable to me, and if I cannot find someone to kill me for the protection of my honor, I will not hesitate to take my life by my own hands for the sake of Eternity before Eternity comes. 

Selfishness, my brother, is the cause of blind superiority, and superiority creates clanship, and clanship creates authority which leads to discord and subjugation. 

The soul believes in the power of knowledge and justice over dark ignorance; it denies the authority that supplies the swords to defend and strengthen ignorance and oppression - that authority which destroyed Babylon and shook the foundation of Jerusalem and left Rome in ruins. It is that which made people call criminals great mean; made writers respect their names; made historians relate the stories of their inhumanity in manner of praise. 

The only authority I obey is the knowledge of guarding and acquiescing in the Natural Law of Justice. 

What justice does authority display when it kills the killer? When it imprisons the robber? When it descends on a neighborhood country and slays its people? What does justice think of the authority under which a killer punishes the one who kills, and a thief sentences the one who steals? 

You are my brother, and I love you; and Love is justice with its full intensity and dignity. If justice did not support my love for you, regardless of your tribe and community, I would be a deceiver concealing the ugliness of selfishness behind the outer garment of pure love. 



Conclusion


My soul is my friend who consoles me in misery and distress of life. He who does not befriend his soul is an enemy of humanity, and he who does not find human guidance within himself will perish desperately. Life emerges from within, and derives not from environs. 

I came to say a word and I shall say it now. But if death prevents its uttering, it will be said tomorrow, for tomorrow never leaves a secret in the book of eternity.

I came to live in the glory of love and the light of beauty, which are the reflections of God. I am here living, and the people are unable to exile me from the domain of life for they know I will live in death. If they pluck my eyes I will hearken to the murmers of love and the songs of beauty.

If they close my ears I will enjoy the touch of the breeze mixed with the incebse of love and the fragrance of beauty.

If they place me in a vacuum, I will live together with my soul, the child of love and beauty.

I came here to be for all and with all, and what I do today in my solitude will be echoed by tomorrow to the people.

What I say now with one heart will be said tomorrow by many hearts

 THE Demon, in my chamber high, 
This morning came to visit me, 
And, thinking he would find some fault, 
He whispered: "I would know of thee 

Among the many lovely things 
That make the magic of her face, 
Among the beauties, black and rose, 
That make her body's charm and grace, 

Which is most fair?" Thou didst reply 
To the Abhorred, O soul of mine: 
"No single beauty is the best 
When she is all one flower divine. 

When all things charm me I ignore 
Which one alone brings most delight; 
She shines before me like the dawn, 
And she consoles me like the night. 

The harmony is far too great, 
That governs all her body fair, 
For impotence to analyse 
And say which note is sweetest there. 

O mystic metamorphosis! 
My senses into one sense flow-- 
Her voice makes perfume when she speaks, 
Her breath is music faint and low!"

 "Friends, Romans, Countrymen, and Lovers."

Let such pure hate still underprop 
Our love, that we may be 
Each other's conscience, 
And have our sympathy 
Mainly from thence. 

We'll one another treat like gods, 
And all the faith we have 
In virtue and in truth, bestow 
On either, and suspicion leave 
To gods below. 

Two solitary stars-- 
Unmeasured systems far 
Between us roll; 
But by our conscious light we are 
Determined to one pole. 

What need confound the sphere?-- 
Love can afford to wait; 
For it no hour's too late 
That witnesseth one duty's end, 
Or to another doth beginning lend. 

It will subserve no use, 
More than the tints of flowers; 
Only the independent guest 
Frequents its bowers, 
Inherits its bequest. 

No speech, though kind, has it; 
But kinder silence doles 
Unto its mates; 
By night consoles, 
By day congratulates. 

What saith the tongue to tongue? 
What hearest ear of ear? 
By the decrees of fate 
From year to year, 
Does it communicate. 

Pathless the gulf of feeling yawns; 
No trivial bridge of words, 
Or arch of boldest span, 
Can leap the moat that girds 
The sincere man. 

No show of bolts and bars 
Can keep the foeman out, 
Or 'scape his secret mine, 
Who entered with the doubt 
That drew the line. 

No warder at the gate 
Can let the friendly in; 
But, like the sun, o'er all 
He will the castle win, 
And shine along the wall. 

There's nothing in the world I know 
That can escape from love, 
For every depth it goes below, 
And every height above. 
It waits, as waits the sky, 
Until the clouds go by, 
Yet shines serenely on 
With an eternal day, 
Alike when they are gone, 
And when they stay. 

Implacable is Love-- 
Foes may be bought or teased 
From their hostile intent, 
But he goes unappeased 
Who is on kindness bent.

 In the old Strauss waltz for the first time 
We had listened to your quiet call, 
Since then all the living things are alien 
And the knocking of the clock consoles. 

We, like you, are gladly greeting sunsets, 
And are drunk on nearness of the end. 
All, with which on better nights we're wealthy 
Is put in the hearts by your own hand. 

Bowing to a child's dreams with no tire. 
(Only crescent looked in them indeed 
Without you)! You have led your kids past 
Bitter lifetime of the thoughts and deeds. 

From the early age the sad one's close to us, 
Laughter bores and home we left behind.. 
Our ship not in good times left the harbor 
And it sails by will of every wind! 

Azure isle of childhood is paling, 
On the deck of ship we stand alone. 
It appears, oh mother, to your daughters 
You've left an inheritance of woe.

 ("Dérision! que cet amour boiteux.") 
 
 {HERNANI, Act III.} 


 O mockery! that this halting love 
 That fills the heart so full of flame and transport, 
 Forgets the body while it fires the soul! 
 If but a youthful shepherd cross my path, 
 He singing on the way—I sadly musing, 
 He in his fields, I in my darksome alleys— 
 Then my heart murmurs: "O, ye mouldering towers! 
 Thou olden ducal dungeon! O how gladly 
 Would I exchange ye, and my fields and forests, 
 Mine ancient name, mine ancient rank, my ruins— 
 My ancestors, with whom I soon shall lie, 
 For his thatched cottage and his youthful brow!" 
 His hair is black—his eyes shine forth like thine. 
 Him thou might'st look upon, and say, fair youth, 
 Then turn to me, and think that I am old. 
 And yet the light and giddy souls of cavaliers 
 Harbor no love so fervent as their words bespeak. 
 Let some poor maiden love them and believe them, 
 Then die for them—they smile. Aye! these young birds, 
 With gay and glittering wing and amorous song, 
 Can shed their love as lightly as their plumage. 
 The old, whose voice and colors age has dimmed, 
 Flatter no more, and, though less fair, are faithful. 
 When we love, we love true. Are our steps frail? 
 Our eyes dried up and withered? Are our brows 
 Wrinkled? There are no wrinkles in the heart. 
 Ah! when the graybeard loves, he should be spared; 
 The heart is young—that bleeds unto the last. 
 I love thee as a spouse,—and in a thousand 
 Other fashions,—as sire,—as we love 
 The morn, the flowers, the overhanging heavens. 
 Ah me! when day by day I gaze upon thee, 
 Thy graceful step, thy purely-polished brow, 
 Thine eyes' calm fire,—I feel my heart leap up, 
 And an eternal sunshine bathe my soul. 
 And think, too! Even the world admires, 
 When age, expiring, for a moment totters 
 Upon the marble margin of a tomb, 
 To see a wife—a pure and dove-like angel— 
 Watch over him, soothe him, and endure awhile 
 The useless old man, only fit to die; 
 A sacred task, and worthy of all honor, 
 This latest effort of a faithful heart; 
 Which, in his parting hour, consoles the dying, 
 And, without loving, wears the look of love. 
 Ah! thou wilt be to me this sheltering angel, 
 To cheer the old man's heart—to share with him 
 The burden of his evil years;—a daughter 
 In thy respect, a sister in thy pity. 
 
 DONNA SOL. My fate may be more to precede than follow. 
 My lord, it is no reason for long life 
 That we are young! Alas! I have seen too oft 
 The old clamped firm to life, the young torn thence; 
 And the lids close as sudden o'er their eyes 
 As gravestones sealing up the sepulchre. 
 
 G. MOIR. 


 

SONNET CLXXII.
 
Dolci ire, dolci sdegni e dolci paci.
 
HE CONSOLES HIMSELF WITH THE THOUGHT THAT HE WILL BE ENVIED BY POSTERITY.
 
 
Sweet scorn, sweet anger, and sweet misery,Forgiveness sweet, sweet burden, and sweet ill;Sweet accents that mine ear so sweetly thrill,That sweetly bland, now sweetly fierce can be.[Pg 183]Mourn not, my soul, but suffer silently;And those embitter'd sweets thy cup that fillWith the sweet honour blend of loving stillHer whom I told: "Thou only pleasest me."Hereafter, moved with envy, some may say:"For that high-boasted beauty of his dayEnough the bard has borne!" then heave a sigh.Others: "Oh! why, most hostile Fortune, whyCould not these eyes that lovely form survey?Why was she early born, or wherefore late was I?"
 
Nott. 
 
Sweet anger, sweet disdain, and peace as sweet,Sweet ill, sweet pain, sweet burthen that I bear,Sweet speech as sweetly heard; sweet speech, my fair!That now enflames my soul, now cools its heat.Patient, my soul! endure the wrongs you meet;And all th' embitter'd sweets you're doomed to shareBlend with that sweetest bliss, the maid to greetIn these soft words, "Thou only art my care!"Haply some youth shall sighing envious say,"Enough has borne the bard so fond, so true,For that bright beauty, brightest of his day!"While others cry, "Sad eyes! how hard your fate,Why could I ne'er this matchless beauty view?Why was she born so soon, or I so late?"
 
Anon. 1777.

Men may sing of their Havanas, elevating to the stars
The real or fancied virtues of their foreign-made cigars;[Pg 130]
But I worship Nicotina at a different sort of shrine,
And she sits enthroned in glory in this corn-cob pipe of mine.
It 's as fragrant as the meadows when the clover is in bloom;
It 's as dainty as the essence of the daintiest perfume;
It 's as sweet as are the orchards when the fruit is hanging ripe,
With the sun's warm kiss upon them—is this corn-cob pipe.
Thro' the smoke about it clinging, I delight its form to trace,
Like an oriental beauty with a veil upon her face;
And my room is dim with vapour as a church when censers sway,
As I clasp it to my bosom—in a figurative way.
It consoles me in misfortune and it cheers me in distress,
And it proves a warm partaker of my pleasures in success;
So I hail it as a symbol, friendship's true and worthy type,
And I press my lips devoutly to my corn-cob pipe.

SONNET XXV.
 
Quanto più m' avvicino al giorno estremo.
 
HE CONSOLES HIMSELF THAT HIS LIFE IS ADVANCING TO ITS CLOSE.
 
 
Near and more near as life's last period draws,Which oft is hurried on by human woe,I see the passing hours more swiftly flow,And all my hopes in disappointment close.And to my heart I say, amidst its throes,"Not long shall we discourse of love below;For this my earthly load, like new-fall'n snowFast melting, soon shall leave us to repose.With it will sink in dust each towering hope,Cherish'd so long within my faithful breast;No more shall we resent, fear, smile, complain:Then shall we clearly trace why some are blest,Through deepest misery raised to Fortune's top,And why so many sighs so oft are heaved in vain."
 
Wrangham. 
 
[Pg 36] The nearer I approach my life's last day,The certain day that limits human woe,I better mark, in Time's swift silent flow,How the fond hopes he brought all pass'd away.Of love no longer—to myself I say—We now may commune, for, as virgin snow,The hard and heavy load we drag belowDissolves and dies, ere rest in heaven repay.And prostrate with it must each fair hope lieWhich here beguiled us and betray'd so long,And joy, grief, fear and pride alike shall cease:And then too shall we see with clearer eyeHow oft we trod in weary ways and wrong,And why so long in vain we sigh'd for peace.
 
Macgregor.

 I sometimes drop it, for a Quick --
The Thought to be alive --
Anonymous Delight to know --
And Madder -- to conceive --

Consoles a Woe so monstrous
That did it tear all Day,
Without an instant's Respite --
'Twould look too far -- to Die --

SONNET XLVIII.
 
Tempo era omai da trovar pace o tregua.
 
HE CONSOLES HIMSELF WITH THE BELIEF THAT SHE NOW AT LAST SYMPATHISES WITH HIM.
 
 
'Twas time at last from so long war to findSome peace or truce, and, haply, both were nigh,But Death their welcome feet has turn'd behind,Who levels all distinctions, low as high;And as a cloud dissolves before the wind,So she, who led me with her lustrous eye,Whom ever I pursue with faithful mind,Her fair life briefly ending, sought the sky.Had she but stay'd, as I grew changed and oldHer tone had changed, and no distrust had beenTo parley with me on my cherish'd ill:With what frank sighs and fond I then had toldMy lifelong toils, which now from heaven, I ween,She sees, and with me sympathises still.
 
Macgregor. 
 
My life's long warfare seem'd about to cease,Peace had my spirit's contest well nigh freed;But levelling Death, who doth to all concedeAn equal doom, clipp'd Time's blest wings of peace:As zephyrs chase the clouds of gathering fleece,So did her life from this world's breath recede,Their vision'd light could once my footsteps lead,But now my all, save thought, she doth release.Oh! would that she her flight awhile had stay'd,For Time had stamp'd on me his warning hand,And calmer I had told my storied love:To her in virtue's tone I had convey'dMy heart's long grief—now, she doth understand,And sympathises with that grief above.
 
Wollaston.