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Best Famous High Hope Poems

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Written by Robert William Service | Create an image from this poem

Sunshine

 I

Flat as a drum-head stretch the haggard snows;
The mighty skies are palisades of light;
The stars are blurred; the silence grows and grows;
Vaster and vaster vaults the icy night.
Here in my sleeping-bag I cower and pray: "Silence and night, have pity! stoop and slay.
" I have not slept for many, many days.
I close my eyes with weariness -- that's all.
I still have strength to feed the drift-wood blaze, That flickers weirdly on the icy wall.
I still have strength to pray: "God rest her soul, Here in the awful shadow of the Pole.
" There in the cabin's alcove low she lies, Still candles gleaming at her head and feet; All snow-drop white, ash-cold, with closed eyes, Lips smiling, hands at rest -- O God, how sweet! How all unutterably sweet she seems.
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Not dead, not dead indeed -- she dreams, she dreams.
II "Sunshine", I called her, and she brought, I vow, God's blessed sunshine to this life of mine.
I was a rover, of the breed who plough Life's furrow in a far-flung, lonely line; The wilderness my home, my fortune cast In a wild land of dearth, barbaric, vast.
When did I see her first? Long had I lain Groping my way to life through fevered gloom.
Sudden the cloud of darkness left my brain; A velvet bar of sunshine pierced the room, And in that mellow glory aureoled She stood, she stood, all golden in its gold.
Sunshine! O miracle! the earth grew glad; Radiant each blade of grass, each living thing.
What a huge strength, high hope, proud will I had! All the wide world with rapture seemed to ring.
Would she but wed me? YES: then fared we forth Into the vast, unvintageable North.
III In Muskrat Land the conies leap, The wavies linger in their flight; The jewelled, snakelike rivers creep; The sun, sad rogue, is out all night; The great wood bison paws the sand, In Muskrat Land, in Muskrat Land.
In Muskrat Land dim streams divide The tundras belted by the sky.
How sweet in slim canoe to glide, And dream, and let the world go by! Build gay camp-fires on greening strand! In Muskrat Land, in Muskrat Land.
IV And so we dreamed and drifted, she and I; And how she loved that free, unfathomed life! There in the peach-bloom of the midnight sky, The silence welded us, true man and wife.
Then North and North invincibly we pressed Beyond the Circle, to the world's white crest.
And on the wind-flailed Arctic waste we stayed, Dwelt with the Huskies by the Polar sea.
Fur had they, white fox, marten, mink to trade, And we had food-stuff, bacon, flour and tea.
So we made snug, chummed up with all the band: Sudden the Winter swooped on Husky Land.
V What was that ill so sinister and dread, Smiting the tribe with sickness to the bone? So that we waked one morn to find them fled; So that we stood and stared, alone, alone.
Bravely she smiled and looked into my eyes; Laughed at their troubled, stern, foreboding pain; Gaily she mocked the menace of the skies, Turned to our cheery cabin once again, Saying: "'Twill soon be over, dearest one, The long, long night: then O the sun, the sun!" VI God made a heart of gold, of gold, Shining and sweet and true; Gave it a home of fairest mould, Blest it, and called it -- You.
God gave the rose its grace of glow, And the lark its radiant glee; But, better than all, I know, I know God gave you, Heart, to me.
VII She was all sunshine in those dubious days; Our cabin beaconed with defiant light; We chattered by the friendly drift-wood blaze; Closer and closer cowered the hag-like night.
A wolf-howl would have been a welcome sound, And there was none in all that stricken land; Yet with such silence, darkness, death around, Learned we to love as few can understand.
Spirit with spirit fused, and soul with soul, There in the sullen shadow of the Pole.
VIII What was that haunting horror of the night? Brave was she; buoyant, full of sunny cheer.
Why was her face so small, so strangely white? Then did I turn from her, heart-sick with fear; Sought in my agony the outcast snows; Prayed in my pain to that insensate sky; Grovelled and sobbed and cursed, and then arose: "Sunshine! O heart of gold! to die! to die!" IX She died on Christmas day -- it seems so sad That one you love should die on Christmas day.
Head-bowed I knelt by her; O God! I had No tears to shed, no moan, no prayer to pray.
I heard her whisper: "Call me, will you, dear? They say Death parts, but I won't go away.
I will be with you in the cabin here; Oh I will plead with God to let me stay! Stay till the Night is gone, till Spring is nigh, Till sunshine comes .
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be brave .
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I'm tired .
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good-bye.
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" X For weeks, for months I have not seen the sun; The minatory dawns are leprous pale; The felon days malinger one by one; How like a dream Life is! how vain! how stale! I, too, am faint; that vampire-like disease Has fallen on me; weak and cold am I, Hugging a tiny fire in fear I freeze: The cabin must be cold, and so I try To bear the frost, the frost that fights decay, The frost that keeps her beautiful alway.
XI She lies within an icy vault; It glitters like a cave of salt.
All marble-pure and angel-sweet With candles at her head and feet, Under an ermine robe she lies.
I kiss her hands, I kiss her eyes: "Come back, come back, O Love, I pray, Into this house, this house of clay! Answer my kisses soft and warm; Nestle again within my arm.
Come! for I know that you are near; Open your eyes and look, my dear.
Just for a moment break the mesh; Back from the spirit leap to flesh.
Weary I wait; the night is black; Love of my life, come back, come back!" XII Last night maybe I was a little mad, For as I prayed despairful by her side, Such a strange, antic visioning I had: Lo! it did seem her eyes were open wide.
Surely I must have dreamed! I stared once more.
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No, 'twas a candle's trick, a shadow cast.
There were her lashes locking as before.
(Oh, but it filled me with a joy so vast!) No, 'twas a freak, a fancy of the brain, (Oh, but to-night I'll try again, again!) XIII It was no dream; now do I know that Love Leapt from the starry battlements of Death; For in my vigil as I bent above, Calling her name with eager, burning breath, Sudden there came a change: again I saw The radiance of the rose-leaf stain her cheek; Rivers of rapture thrilled in sunny thaw; Cleft were her coral lips as if to speak; Curved were her tender arms as if to cling; Open the flower-like eyes of lucent blue, Looking at me with love so pitying That I could fancy Heaven shining through.
"Sunshine," I faltered, "stay with me, oh, stay!" Yet ere I finished, in a moment's flight, There in her angel purity she lay -- Ah! but I know she'll come again to-night.
Even as radiant sword leaps from the sheath Soul from the body leaps--we call it Death.
XIV Even as this line I write, Do I know that she is near; Happy am I, every night Comes she back to bid me cheer; Kissing her, I hold her fast; Win her into life at last.
Did I dream that yesterday On yon mountain ridge a glow Soft as moonstone paled away, Leaving less forlorn the snow? Could it be the sun? Oh, fain Would I see the sun again! Oh, to see a coral dawn Gladden to a crocus glow! Day's a spectre dim and wan, Dancing on the furtive snow; Night's a cloud upon my brain: Oh, to see the sun again! You who find us in this place, Have you pity in your breast; Let us in our last embrace, Under earth sun-hallowed rest.
Night's a claw upon my brain: Oh, to see the sun again! XV The Sun! at last the Sun! I write these lines, Here on my knees, with feeble, fumbling hand.
Look! in yon mountain cleft a radiance shines, Gleam of a primrose -- see it thrill, expand, Grow glorious.
Dear God be praised! it streams Into the cabin in a gush of gold.
Look! there she stands, the angel of my dreams, All in the radiant shimmer aureoled; First as I saw her from my bed of pain; First as I loved her when the darkness passed.
Now do I know that Life is not in vain; Now do I know God cares, at last, at last! Light outlives dark, joy grief, and Love's the sum: Heart of my heart! Sunshine! I come .
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I come.
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Written by John Berryman | Create an image from this poem

Dream Song 88: Op. posth. no. 11

 In slack times visit I the violent dead
and pick their awful brains.
Most seem to feel nothing is secret more to my disdain I find, when we who fled cherish the knowings of both worlds, conceal more, beat on the floor, where Bhain is stagnant, dear of Henry's friends, yellow with cancer, paper-thin, & bent even in the hospital bed racked with high hope, on whom death lay hands in weeks, or Yeats in the London spring half-spent, only the grand gift in his head going for him, a seated ruin of a man courteous to a junior, like one of the boarders, or Dylan, with more to say now there's no hurry, and we're all a clan.
You'd think off here one would be free from orders.
I didn't hear a single word.
I obeyed.
Written by Algernon Charles Swinburne | Create an image from this poem

The Pilgrims

 Who is your lady of love, O ye that pass
Singing? and is it for sorrow of that which was
That ye sing sadly, or dream of what shall be?
For gladly at once and sadly it seems ye sing.
--Our lady of love by you is unbeholden; For hands she hath none, nor eyes, nor lips, nor golden Treasure of hair, nor face nor form; but we That love, we know her more fair than anything.
--Is she a queen, having great gifts to give? --Yea, these; that whoso hath seen her shall not live Except he serve her sorrowing, with strange pain, Travail and bloodshedding and bitterer tears; And when she bids die he shall surely die.
And he shall leave all things under the sky And go forth naked under sun and rain And work and wait and watch out all his years.
--Hath she on earth no place of habitation? --Age to age calling, nation answering nation, Cries out, Where is she? and there is none to say; For if she be not in the spirit of men, For if in the inward soul she hath no place, In vain they cry unto her, seeking her face, In vain their mouths make much of her; for they Cry with vain tongues, till the heart lives again.
--O ye that follow, and have ye no repentance? For on your brows is written a mortal sentence, An hieroglyph of sorrow, a fiery sign, That in your lives ye shall not pause or rest, Nor have the sure sweet common love, nor keep Friends and safe days, nor joy of life nor sleep.
--These have we not, who have one thing, the divine Face and clear eyes of faith and fruitful breast.
--And ye shall die before your thrones be won.
--Yea, and the changed world and the liberal sun Shall move and shine without us, and we lie Dead; but if she too move on earth and live, But if the old world with all the old irons rent Laugh and give thanks, shall we be not content? Nay, we shall rather live, we shall not die, Life being so little and death so good to give.
--And these men shall forget you.
--Yea, but we Shall be a part of the earth and the ancient sea, And heaven-high air august, and awful fire, And all things good; and no man's heart shall beat But somewhat in it of our blood once shed Shall quiver and quicken, as now in us the dead Blood of men slain and the old same life's desire Plants in their fiery footprints our fresh feet.
--But ye that might be clothed with all things pleasant, Ye are foolish that put off the fair soft present, That clothe yourselves with the cold future air; When mother and father and tender sister and brother And the old live love that was shall be as ye, Dust, and no fruit of loving life shall be.
--She shall be yet who is more than all these were, Than sister or wife or father unto us or mother.
--Is this worth life, is this, to win for wages? Lo, the dead mouths of the awful grey-grown ages, The venerable, in the past that is their prison, In the outer darkness, in the unopening grave, Laugh, knowing how many as ye now say have said, How many, and all are fallen, are fallen and dead: Shall ye dead rise, and these dead have not risen? --Not we but she, who is tender and swift to save.
--Are ye not weary and faint not by the way, Seeing night by night devoured of day by day, Seeing hour by hour consumed in sleepless fire? Sleepless: and ye too, when shall ye too sleep? --We are weary in heart and head, in hands and feet, And surely more than all things sleep were sweet, Than all things save the inexorable desire Which whoso knoweth shall neither faint nor weep.
--Is this so sweet that one were fain to follow? Is this so sure where all men's hopes are hollow.
Even this your dream, that by much tribulation Ye shall make whole flawed hearts, and bowed necks straight? --Nay, though our life were blind, our death were fruitless, Not therefore were the whole world's high hope rootless; But man to man, nation would turn to nation, And the old life live, and the old great world be great.
--Pass on then and pass by us and let us be, For what light think ye after life to see? And if the world fare better will ye know? And if man triumph who shall seek you and say? --Enough of light is this for one life's span, That all men born are mortal, but not man: And we men bring death lives by night to sow, That man may reap and eat and live by day.

Book: Shattered Sighs