Here are the 67 best handpicked poems about hope categorized:
- Short poems about hope
- Poems about hope and faith
- Poems about hope for the future
- Poems about hope in hard times
- Poems about hope and love
So if you want the best collection of poems about hope, then you’re in the right place.
Let’s jump right in!
- 47 Endearing Poems About Acceptance
- 25 Soothing Poems About Calmness
- 67 Bittersweet Poems About Nostalgia
- 69 Best Poems About Happiness
- 43 Brilliant Poems About Smiles
Our Handpicked Poems About Hope
Step right into the realm of poetic wonder, where hope blooms like a thousand sunflowers, with our selection of poems all in one convenient location.
From concise morsels of inspiration to poems that weave together the threads of hope and affection, our selection will surely ignite the flames of optimism within your very being.
With our carefully curated selection, you can discover the best poems about hope all in one convenient location.
Ready to unleash your optimism?
Let’s dive right in!
My Favorite Poem About Hope
“Hope is the thing with feathers” by Emily Dickinson
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
Short Poems About Hope
“Fragment: ‘Such Hope, As Is The Sick Despair Of Good’.” by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Such hope, as is the sick despair of good,
Such fear, as is the certainty of ill,
Such doubt, as is pale Expectation’s food
Turned while she tastes to poison, when the will
Is powerless, and the spirit…
“Hope And Patience” by George MacDonald
An unborn bird lies crumpled and curled,
A-dreaming of the world.
Round it, for castle-wall, a shell
Is guarding it well.
Hope is the bird with its dim sensations;
The shell that keeps it alive is Patience.
“Hope” by Madison Julius Cawein
Within the world of every man’s desire
Two things have power to lift the soul above:
The first is Work, who dons a mean attire;
The other, Love, whose raiment is of fire.
Their child is Hope, and we the heirs thereof.
“Hope Heartens.” by Robert Herrick
None goes to warfare but with this intent –
The gains must dead the fears of detriment.
“Hope” by Joseph Addison
Our lives, discoloured with our present woes,
May still grow white and shine with happier hours.
So the pure limped stream, when foul with stains
Of rushing torrents and descending rains,
Works itself clear, and as it runs refines,
till by degrees the floating mirror shines;
Reflects each flower that on the border grows,
And a new heaven in it’s fair bosom shows.
“His Hope Or Sheet Anchor.” by Robert Herrick
Among these tempests great and manifold
My ship has here one only anchor-hold;
That is my hope, which if that slip, I’m one
Wildered in this vast wat’ry region.
“Hope” by Emily Dickinson
Hope is a subtle glutton;
He feeds upon the fair;
And yet, inspected closely,
What abstinence is there!
His is the halcyon table
That never seats but one,
And whatsoever is consumed
The same amounts remain.
“The Lover hopeth of better Chance” by Sir Thomas Wyatt
He is not dead, that sometime had a fall,
The sun returns, that hid was under cloud,
And when fortune hath spit out all her gall,
I trust, good luck to me shall be allowed:
For I have seen a ship in haven fall,
After that storm hath broke both mast and shroud:
The willow eke, that stoopeth with the wind,
Doth rise again, and greater wood doth bind.
“When I Hoped I Feared,” by Emily Dickinson
Whe I hoped I feared,
Since I hoped I dared;
As a church remain;
Spectre cannot harm,
Serpent cannot charm;
He deposes doom,
Who hath suffered him.
“Hope” by John Langhorne
Sun of the Soul! whose cheerful ray
Darts o’er this gloom of life a smile;
Sweet Hope, yet further gild my way,
Yet light my weary steps awhile,
Till thy fair lamp dissolve in endless day.
From “Hope” by Emma Lazarus
Her languid pulses thrill with sudden hope,
That will not be forgot nor cast aside,
And life in statelier vistas seems to ope,
Illimitably lofty, long, and wide.
What doth she know? She is subdued and mild,
Quiet and docile ‘as a weanèd child’.
“My Hope a Counsel” by Anonymous
My hope a counsel with my heart
Hath long desired to be,
And marvels much so dear a friend
Is not retained by me.
She doth condemn my haste
In passing the estate
Of my whole life into their hands,
Who nought repays but hate:
And not sufficed with this, she says,
I did release the right
Of my enjoyèd liberties
Unto your beauteous sight.
“He or She That Hopes to Gain” by Anonymous
He or she that hopes to gain
Love’s best sweet without some pain,
Hopes in vain.
Cupid’s livery no one wears
But must put on hopes and fears,
Smiles and tears,
And, like to April weather,
Rain and shine both together,
Both or neither.
“Hopes Painted by the Autumn Cold” by Sergei Yesenin
Hopes, painted by the autumn cold, are shining,
My steady horse plods on, like quiet fate,
His moist dun lip is catching at the lining
When the coat, flapping, flutters and falls straight.
On a far road the unseen traces, leading
Neither to rest nor battle, lure and fade;
The golden heel of day will flash, receding,
And labors in the chest of years be laid.
“Hope” by Mary Leapor
(Where it may reasonably be cherished)
If trifling Hope has any room to plead,
’Tis that where Nature’s simple dictates lead:
So the wet hind, who travels o’er the plain
Through the cold mire and the afflicting rain;
Tho’ his low roofs with trickling showers run,
May hope next morn to see the chearful sun:
Or when keen hunger at the evening tide
Drives home the shepherd to his rustick bride,
His honest reason haply might not stray,
Tho’ he should dream of dumpling all the way.
“Fickle Hope” by Harrison Smith Morris
Hope, is this thy hand
Lies warm as life in mine?
Is this thy sign
Of peace none understand?
What! art thou not steadfast?
From off the blue air’s beach
Wilt lean and reach
The price of pity past?
I know not if I may
Believe thee, Hope, or doubt:
With pretty pout
Wilt flee, or wilt thou stay?
From “Neuriade” by Emanuel Carnevali
Tomorrow will be beautiful,
For tomorrow comes out of the lake.
Poems About Hope and Faith
“Hope holds to Christ the mind’s own mirror out” by Gerard Manley Hopkins
Hope holds to Christ the mind’s own mirror out
To take His lovely likeness more and more.
It will not well, so she would bring about
An ever brighter burnish than before
And turns to wash it from her welling eyes
And breathes the blots off all with sighs on sighs.
Her glass is blest but she as good as blind
Holds till hand aches and wonders what is there;
Her glass drinks light, she darkles down behind,
All of her glorious gainings unaware.
From “Anima Mundi” by Richard Monckton Milnes, Lord Houghton
God is good,
And flight is destined for the callow wing,
And the high appetite implies the food,
And souls most reach the level whence they spring;
O Life of very life! set free our powers,
Hasten the travail of the yearning hours.
Thou, to whom old Philosophy bent low,
To the wise few mysteriously revealed;
Thou, whom each humble Christian worships now,
In the poor hamlet and the open field:
Once an idea, now Comforter and Friend,
Hope of the human heart, descend, descend!
“The Hope Of My Heart” by John McCrae
I left, to earth, a little maiden fair,
With locks of gold, and eyes that shamed the light;
I prayed that God might have her in His care
Earth’s love was false; her voice, a siren’s song;
(Sweet mother-earth was but a lying name)
The path she showed was but the path of wrong
“Cast her not out!” I cry. God’s kind words come,
“Her future is with Me, as was her past;
It shall be My good will to bring her home
“Hope” by Abram Joseph Ryan
Thine eyes are dim:
A mist hath gathered there;
Around their rim
Float many clouds of care,
And there is sorrow every — everywhere.
But there is God,
Every — everywhere;
Beneath His rod
Kneel thou adown in prayer.
For grief is God’s own kiss
Upon a soul.
Look up! the sun of bliss
Will shine where storm-clouds roll.
Yes, weeper, weep!
‘Twill not be evermore;
I know the darkest deep
Hath e’en the brightest shore.
So tired! so tired!
A cry of half despair;
Look! at your side —
And see Who standeth there!
Your Father! Hush!
A heart beats in His breast;
Now rise and rush
Into His arms — and rest.
“The Hope of Heaven” by Florence Wilkinson
I shall tell thee some day, thou little wild god,
Of the pains I suffered for thee.
Thou wilt laugh a great laugh of diviner knowledge,
And sweep me up high beside thee.
Then I shall forget the dark travail-pains,
The blood-crimsoned trail, the lair, the long rains,
Up there in the light beside thee.
No longer a sullen beast-mother, I,
With suspicious furred ears and a fierce agate eye,
But winged and mighty like thee.
“Hope.” by John Clare
This world has suns, but they are overcast;
This world has sweets, but they’re of ling’ring bloom;
Life still expects, and empty falls at last;
Warm Hope on tiptoe drops into the tomb.
Life’s journey’s rough–Hope seeks a smoother way,
And dwells on fancies which to-morrow see,–
To-morrow comes, true copy of to-day,
And empty shadow of what is to be;
Yet cheated Hope on future still depends,
And ends but only when our being ends.
I long have hoped, and still shall hope the best
Till heedless weeds are scrambling over me,
And hopes and ashes both together rest
At journey’s end, with them that cease to be.
“Hope” by Arthur Conan Doyle
Faith may break on reason,
Faith may prove a treason
To that highest gift
That is granted by Thy grace;
But Hope! Ah, let us cherish
Some spark that may not perish,
Some tiny spark to cheer us,
As we wander through the waste!
A little lamp beside us,
A little lamp to guide us,
Where the path is rocky,
Where the road is steep.
That when the light falls dimmer,
Still some God-sent glimmer
May hold us steadfast ever,
To the track that we should keep.
Hope for the trending of it,
Hope for the ending of it,
Hope for all around us,
That it ripens in the sun.
Hope for what is waning,
Hope for what is gaining,
Hope for what is waiting
When the long day is done.
Hope that He, the nameless,
May still be best and blameless,
Nor ever end His highest
With the earthworm and the slime.
Hope that o’er the border,
There lies a land of order,
With higher law to reconcile
The lower laws of Time.
Hope that every vexed life,
Finds within that next life,
Something that may recompense,
Something that may cheer.
And that perchance the lowest one
Is truly but the slowest one,
Quickened by the sorrow
Which is waiting for him here.
“A Hope” by Charles Kingsley
Twin stars, aloft in ether clear,
Around each other roll alway,
Within one common atmosphere
Of their own mutual light and day.
And myriad happy eyes are bent
Upon their changeless love alway;
As, strengthened by their one intent,
They pour the flood of life and day.
So we through this world’s waning night
May, hand in hand, pursue our way;
Shed round us order, love, and light,
And shine unto the perfect day.
“An Act of Hope” by Sir John Beaumont
Sweet hope is soueraigne comfort of our life,
Our ioy in sorrow and our peace in strife,
The dame of beggers, and the queene of kings:
Can those delight in height of prosperous things
Without expecting still to keepe them sure?
Can those the weight of heauy wants endure,
Vnlesse perswasion instant paine allay,
Reseruing spirit for a better day?
Our God, who planted in his creatures’ brest
This stop on which the wheeles of passion rest,
Hath raysd by beames of his abundant grace
This strong affection to a higher place.
It is the second vertue which attends
That soule whose motion to his sight ascends.
Rest here, my mind; thou shalt no longer stay
To gaze vpon these houses made of clay:
Thou shalt not stoope to honours, or to lands,
Nor golden halles, where sliding fortune stands.
If no false colours draw thy steps amisse,
Thou hast a palace of eternall blisse;
A paradise from care and feare exempt,
And obiect worthy of the best attempt.
Who would not for so rich a country fight?
Who would not runne that sees a gaole so bright?
O thou who art our Author and our end,
On whose large mercy chaines of hope depend,
Lift me to thee by thy propitious hand;
For lower I can find no place to stand.
“I hope that with” by Anne Brontë
I hoped that with the brave and strong,
My portioned task might lie;
To toil amid the busy throng,
With purpose pure and high;
But God has fixed another part,
And He has fixed it well;
I said so with my bleeding heart,
When first the anguish fell.
Thou, God, hast taken our delight,
Our treasured hope away:
Thou bidst us now weep through the night
And sorrow through the day.
These weary hours will not be lost,
These days of misery,
These nights of darkness, anguish-tossed,—
Can I but turn to Thee:
With secret labour to sustain
In humble patience every blow,
To gather fortitude from pain,
And hope and holiness from woe.
Thus let me serve Thee from my heart,
Whate’er may be my written fate:
Whether thus early to depart,
Or yet a while to wait.
If Thou shouldst bring me back to life,
More humbled I should be,
More wise,—more strengthened for the strife,—
More apt to lean on Thee:
Should death be standing at the gate,
Thus should I keep my vow:
But, Lord! whatever be my fate,
O let me serve Thee now!
“The Hypocrite’s Hope” by Lemuel Hopkins
Blest is the man, who from the womb,
To saintship him betakes,
And when too soon his child shall come,
A long confession makes.
When next in Broad Church-alley, he
Shall take his former place,
Relates his past iniquity,
And consequential grace;
Declares how long by Satan vex’d,
From truth he did depart,
And tells the time, and tells the text,
That smote his flinty heart.
He stands in half-way-covenant sure;
Full five long years or more,
One foot in church’s pale secure,
The other out of door.
Then riper grown in gifts and grace,
With every rite complies,
And deeper lengthens down his face,
And higher rolls his eyes.
He tones like Pharisee sublime,
Two lengthy prayers a day,
The same that he from early prime,
Has heard his father say.
Each Sunday perch’d on bench of pew,
To passing priest he bows,
Then loudly ’mid the quavering crew,
Attunes his vocal nose.
With awful look then rises slow,
And prayerful visage sour,
More fit to fright the apostate foe,
Then seek a pardoning power.
Then nodding hears the sermon next,
From priest haranguing loud;
And doubles down each quoted text,
From Genesis to Jude.
And when the priest holds forth address,
To old ones born anew,
With holy pride and wrinkled face,
He rises in his pew.
Good works he careth nought about,
But faith alone will seek,
While Sunday’s pieties blot out
The knaveries of the week.
He makes the poor his daily prayer,
Yet drives them from his board:
And though to his own good he swear,
Through habit breaks his word.
This man advancing fresh and fair,
Shall all his race complete;
And wave at last his hoary hair,
Arrived in deacon’s seat.
There shall he all church honors have,
By joyous brethren given—
Till priest in funeral sermon grave,
Shall send him straight to heaven.
Poems About Hope for the Future
“Good Hope” by Ralph Waldo Emerson
The cup of life is not so shallow
That we have drained the best,
That all the wine at once we swallow
And lees make all the rest.
Maids of as soft a bloom shall marry
As Hymen yet hath blessed,
And fairer forms are in the quarry
Than Phidias released.
“A Boy’s Hopes.” by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Dear mother, dry those flowing tears,
They grieve me much to see;
And calm, oh! calm thine anxious fears –
What dost thou dread for me?
‘Tis true that tempests wild oft ride
Above the stormy main,
But, then, in Him I will confide
Who doth their bounds ordain.
I go to win renown and fame
Upon the glorious sea;
But still my heart will be the same –
I’ll ever turn to thee!
See, yonder wait our gallant crew,
So, weep not, mother dear;
My father was a sailor too –
What hast thou then to fear?
Is it not better I should seek
To win the name he bore,
Than waste my youth in pastimes weak
Upon the tiresome shore?
Then, look not thus so sad and wan,
For yet your son you’ll see
Return with wealth and honors won
Upon the glorious sea.
“Maternal Hope” by Thomas Campbell
Lo! at the couch where infant beauty sleeps,
Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps:
She, while the lovely babe unconscious lies,
Smiles on her slumb’ring child with pensive eyes,
And weaves a song of melancholy joy:
“Sleep, image of thy father! sleep, my boy!
No ling’ring hour of sorrow shall be thine,
No sigh that rends thy father’s heart and mine.
Bright, as his manly sire, the son shall be,
In form and soul; but, ah! more blest than he!
Thy fame, thy worth, thy filial love, at last,
Shall soothe his aching heart for all the past;
With many a smile my solitude repay,
And chase the world’s ungenerous scorn away.
“And say, when summon’d from the world and thee
I lay my head beneath the willow-tree,
And soothe may parted spirit ling’ring near?
Oh! wilt thou come at evening hour, to shed
The tears of mem’ry o’er my narrow bed;
With aching temples on thy hand reclined,
Muse on the last ‘farewell!’ I leave behind,
Breathe a deep sigh to winds that murmur low,
And think on all my love, and all my woe?”
So speaks affection, ere the infant eye
Can look regard, or brighten in reply;
But, when the cherub lip hath learn’d to claim
A mother’s ear by that endearing name,
Soon as the playful innocent can prove
A tear of pity, or a smile of love,
Or cons his murmuring task beneath her care,
Or lisps with holy look his evening prayer,
Or gazing, mutely pensive, sits to hear
The mournful ballad warbled in his ear,
How fondly looks admiring hope the while,
At every artless tear, and every smile!
How glows the joyous parent to descry
A guileless bosom, true to sympathy!
“It’s a Long Way” by William Stanley Braithwaite
It’s a long way the sea-winds blow
Over the sea-plains blue,—
But longer far has my heart to go
Before its dreams come true.
It’s work we must, and love we must,
And do the best we may,
And take the hope of dreams in trust
To keep us day by day.
It’s a long way the sea-winds blow—
But somewhere lies a shore—
Thus down the tide of Time shall flow
My dreams forevermore.
“Hope.” by Friedrich Schiller
We speak with the lip, and we dream in the soul,
Of some better and fairer day;
And our days, the meanwhile, to that golden goal
Are gliding and sliding away.
Now the world becomes old, now again it is young,
But “The better” ‘s forever the word on the tongue.
At the threshold of life hope leads us in
Hope plays round the mirthful boy;
Though the best of its charms may with youth begin,
Yet for age it reserves its toy.
“Hope” by Hanford Lennox Gordon
Men talk and dream of better days
Of a golden time to come;
Toward a happy and shining goal
They run with a ceaseless hum.
The world grows old and grows young again,
Still hope of the better is bright to men.
Hope leads us in at the gate of life;
She crowns the boyish head;
Her bright lamp lures the stalwart youth,
Nor burns out with the gray-haired dead;
For the grave closes over his trouble and care,
But see on the grave Hope is planted there!
‘Tis not an empty and flattering deceit,
Begot in a foolish brain;
For the heart speaks loud with its ceaseless throbs,
“We are not born in vain”;
And the words that out of the heart-throbs roll,
They cannot deceive the hoping soul.
“Traveller’s Hope” by Charles Granville
Lay me to rest in some fair spot
Where sound of waters near,
And songs of sailors in their ships
Shall reach my waiting ear:
Where I shall catch the Captain’s call:
‘All hands again to sea!’
When swift embarking, I may fare
To founts of life to be;
Fare to the dream’d-of lands that lie
Beyond the Port of Death;
Fare to the Dawn of whose glad realms
God sometimes whispereth;
With hope of flowers that lift their heads
After the night is past,
And joy of sailors in their ships
When home ’s in sight at last.
“The City of Hope” by Rosa Newmarch
Beyond the plains where mighty rivers flow
The City of my Hope lies eastward yet,
Like gold embraid, in blue enamel set,
There Cross and Crescent in the sunlight glow.
There ruby, green and turquoise, row on row,
Rise swelling dome and carven minaret,
Whose shadows, azure-shot or violet,
Trace strange devices on the spotless snow.
What if some day I held you warm and fast
At sunset, while we scoured the glittering drift
Behind three black Orlovian horses swift,
Till at the Saviour’s Gate, outside the wall,
My tangled present and your bitter past
Were dropped, like dreams at dawn beyond recall?
“Happy Days” by Mary Hannay Foott
A fringe of rushes, one green line
Upon a faded plain;
A silver streak of water-shine,
Above, tree-watchers twain.
It was our resting-place awhile,
And still, with backward gaze,
We say: “‘Tis many a weary mile,
But there were happy days.”
And shall no ripple break the sand
Upon our farther way?
Or reedy ranks all knee-deep stand?
Or leafy tree-tops sway?
The gold of dawn is surely met
In sunset’s lavish blaze;
And, in horizons hidden yet,
There shall be happy days.
Poems About Hope In Hard Times
“As You Go Through Life” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Don’t look for the flaws as you go through life;
And even when you find them,
It is wise and kind to be somewhat blind,
And look for the virtue behind them;
For the cloudiest night has a hint of light
Somewhere in its shadows hiding;
It’s better by far to hunt for a star,
Than the spots on the sun abiding.
The current of life runs ever away
To the bosom of God’s great ocean.
Don’t set your force ‘gainst the river’s course,
And think to alter its motion.
Don’t waste a curse on the universe,
Remember, it lived before you;
Don’t butt at the storm with your puny form,
But bend and let it go o’er you.
The world will never adjust itself
To suit your whims to the letter,
Some things must go wrong your whole life long,
And the sooner you know it the better.
It is folly to fight with the Infinite,
And go under at last in the wrestle.
The wiser man shapes into God’s plan,
As water shapes into a vessel.
“Hope in Failure” by Walter Murdoch
Though now thou hast failed and art fallen, despair not because of defeat,
Though lost for a while be thy heaven and weary of earth be thy feet,
For all will be beauty about thee hereafter through sorrowful years,
And lovely the dews for thy chilling and ruby thy heart-drip of tears.
The eyes that had gazed from afar on a beauty that blinded the eyes
Shall call forth its image for ever, its shadow in alien skies.
The heart that had striven to beat in the heart of the Mighty too soon
Shall still of that beating remember some errant and faltering tune.
For thou hast but fallen to gather the last of the secrets of power;
The beauty that breathes in thy spirit shall shape of thy sorrow a flower,
The pale bud of pity shall open the bloom of its tenderest rays,
The heart of whose shining is bright with the light of the Ancient of Days.
“Hope and Fear” by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Beneath the shadow of dawn’s aerial cope,
With eyes enkindled as the sun’s own sphere,
Hope from the front of youth in godlike cheer
Looks Godward, past the shades where blind men grope
Round the dark door that prayers nor dreams can ope,
And makes for joy the very darkness dear
That gives her wide wings play; nor dreams that fear
At noon may rise and pierce the heart of hope.
Then, when the soul leaves off to dream and yearn,
May truth first purge her eyesight to discern
What once being known leaves time no power to appal;
Till youth at last, ere yet youth be not, learn
The kind wise word that falls from years that fall—
“Hope thou not much, and fear thou not at all.”
“Hope overtaken” by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
I deemed thy garments, O my Hope, were grey,
So far I viewed thee. Now the space between
Is passed at length; and garmented in green
Even as in days of yore thou stand’st to-day.
Ah God! and but for lingering dull dismay,
On all that road our footsteps erst had been
Even thus commingled, and our shadows seen
Blent on the hedgerows and the water-way.
O Hope of mine whose eyes are living love,
No eyes but hers,—O Love and Hope the same!—
Lean close to me, for now the sinking sun
That warmed our feet scarce gilds our hair above.
O hers thy voice and very hers thy name!
Alas, cling round me, for the day is done!
“Hope.” by Joseph Rodman Drake
See through yon cloud that rolls in wrath,
One little star benignant peep,
To light along their trackless path
The wanderers of the stormy deep.
And thus, oh Hope! thy lovely form
In sorrow’s gloomy night shall be
The sun that looks through cloud and storm
Upon a dark and moonless sea.
When heaven is all serene and fair,
Full many a brighter gem we meet;
‘Tis when the tempest hovers there,
Thy beam is most divinely sweet.
The rainbow, when the sun declines,
Like faithless friend will disappear;
Thy light, dear star! more brightly shines
When all is wail and weeping here.
And though Aurora’s stealing beam
May wake a morning of delight,
‘Tis only thy consoling beam
Will smile amid affliction’s night.
“Hope” by William Lisle Bowles
As one who, long by wasting sickness worn,
Weary has watched the lingering night, and heard
Unmoved the carol of the matin bird
Salute his lonely porch; now first at morn
Goes forth, leaving his melancholy bed;
He the green slope and level meadow views,
Delightful bathed with slow-ascending dews;
Or marks the clouds, that o’er the mountain’s head
In varying forms fantastic wander white;
Or turns his ear to every random song,
Heard the green river’s winding marge along,
The whilst each sense is steeped in still delight.
So o’er my breast young Summer’s breath I feel,
Sweet Hope! thy fragrance pure and healing incense steal!
“For Hope” by Abraham Cowley
Hope, of all ills that men endure,
The only cheap and universal cure!
Thou captive’s freedom, and thou sick man’s health;
Thou loser’s victory, and thou beggar’s wealth;
Thou manna, which from Heav’n we eat,
To every taste a several meat.
Thou strong retreat! thou sure entail’d estate,
Which nought has power to alienate.
Thou pleasant, honest flatterer! for none
Flatter unhappy men, but thou alone.
Hope, thou first-fruits of happiness;
Thou gentle dawning of a bright success;
Thou good preparative, without which our joy
Does work too strong, and whilst it cures, destroy;
Who out of fortune’s reach dost stand,
And art a blessing still in hand.
Whilst thee, her earnest-money we retain,
We certain are to gain,
Whether she her bargain break, or else fulfill;
Thou only good, not worse, for ending ill!
Brother of faith, ’twixt whom and thee
The joys of Heaven and Earth divided be!
Though faith be heir, and have the fixt estate,
Thy portion yet in moveables is great.
Happiness it self’s all one
In thee, or in possession.
Only the future’s thine, the present his.
Thine’s the more hard and noble bliss;
Best apprehender of our joys, which hast
So long a reach, and yet canst hold so fast.
Hope, thou sad lover’s only friend!
Thou way that mayst dispute it with the end;
For love I fear’s a fruit that does delight
The taste itself less than the smell and sight.
Fruition more deceitful is
Than thou canst be, when thou dost miss;
Men leave thee by obtaining, and strait flee
Some other way again to thee;
And that’s pleasant country, without doubt,
To which all soon return that travel out.
“Hope” by Paul Laurence Dunbar
De dog go howlin’ ‘long de road,
De night come shiverin’ down;
My back is tiahed of its load,
I cain’t be fu’ f’om town.
No mattah ef de way is long,
My haht is swellin’ wid a song,
No mattah ’bout de frownin’ skies,
I’ll soon be home to see my Lize.
My shadder staggah on de way,
It’s monstous col’ to-night;
But I kin hyeah my honey say
“W’y bless me if de sight
O’ you ain’t good fu’ my so’ eyes.”
(Dat talk’s dis lak my lady Lize)
I’s so’y case de way was long
But Lawd you bring me love an’ song.
No mattah ef de way is long,
An’ ef I trimbles so’
I knows de fiah’s burnin’ strong,
Behime my Lizy’s do’.
An’ daih my res’ an’ joy shell be,
Whaih my ol’ wife’s awaitin’ me–
Why what I keer fu’ stingin’ blas’,
I see huh windah light at las’.
“Hope” by William Dean Howells
We sailed and sailed upon the desert sea
Where for whole days we alone seemed to be.
At last we saw a dim, vague line arise
Between the empty billows and the skies,
That grew and grew until it wore the shape
Of cove and inlet, promontory and cape;
Then hills and valleys, rivers, fields, and woods,
Steeples and roofs, and village neighborhoods.
And then I thought, “Sometime I shall embark
Upon a sea more desert and more dark
Than ever this was, and between the skies
And empty billows I shall see arise
Another world out of that waste and lapse,
Like yonder land. Perhaps—perhaps—perhaps!”
“A Poet’s Hope” by William Ellery Channing
Lady, there is a hope that all men have
Some mercy for their faults, a grassy place
To rest in, and a flower-strewn, gentle grave;
Another hope which purifies our race,
That when that fearful bourn forever past,
They may find rest,—and rest so long to last.
I seek it not, I ask no rest forever,
My path is onward to the farthest shores,—
Upbear me in your arms, unceasing river,
That from the soul’s clear fountain swiftly pours,
Motionless not, until the end is won,
Which now I feel has scarcely felt the sun.
To feel, to know, to soar unlimited,
’Mid throngs of light-winged angels sweeping far,
And pore upon the realms unvisited,
That tesselate the unseen unthought star,
To be the thing that now I feebly dream
Flashing within my faintest, deepest gleam.
Ah, caverns of my soul! how thick your shade,
Where flows that life by which I faintly see,—
Wave your bright torches, for I need your aid,
Golden-eyed demons of my ancestry!
Your son though blinded hath a light within,
A heavenly fire which ye from suns did win.
O Time! O Death! I clasp you in my arms,
For I can soothe an infinite cold sorrow,
And gaze contented on your icy charms,
And that wild snow-pile which we call to-morrow;
Sweep on, O soft, and azure-lidded sky,
Earth’s waters to your gentle gaze reply.
I am not earth-born, though I here delay;
Hope’s child, I summon infiniter powers;
And laugh to see the mild and sunny day
Smile on the shrunk and thin autumnal hours;
I laugh, for hope hath happy place with me,
If my bark sink, ’t is to another sea.
“The One Hope” by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
When vain desire at last and vain regret
Go hand in hand to death, and all is vain,
What shall assuage the unforgotten pain
And teach the unforgetful to forget?
Shall Peace be still a sunk stream long unmet,—
Or may the soul at once in a green plain
Stoop through the spray of some sweet life-fountain
And cull the dew-drenched flowering amulet?
Ah! when the wan soul in that golden air
Between the scriptured petals softly blown
Peers breathless for the gift of grace unknown,—
Ah! let none other alien spell soe’er
But only the one Hope’s one name be there,—
Not less nor more, but even that word alone.
“Hope” by Roswell Derby
There stands a flow’r of radiant dye,
Beneath a bright and lovely sky;
A flow r of spring’s earliest dawn
And placed upon a welcome lawn.
It stands in meekness bowing nigh
Its head to dust with but a sigh,
By ev’ry breeze that passes o’er,
Tis made more beaut ous than before.
The breezes seem to ope its life.
Valued only when met by strife;
And strong and stronger seems ’tis grown
And brightest shines when over thrown.
“The Pleasures of Hope” by Thomas Campbell
Unfading Hope! when life’s last embers burn,
When soul to soul, and dust to dust return!
Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour!
O, then thy kingdom comes! Immortal Power!
What though each spark of earth-born rapture fly
The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye!
Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey
The morning dream of life’s eternal day,—
Then, then, the triumph and the trance begin,
And all the phœnix spirit burns within!
Daughter of Faith, awake, arise, illume
The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb;
Melt, and dispel, ye spectre-doubts, that roll
Cimmerian darkness o’er the parting soul!
Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of Dismay,
Chased on his night-steed by the star of day!
The strife is o’er,—the pangs of Nature close,
And life’s last rapture triumphs o’er her woes.
Hark! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze,
The noon of Heaven undazzled by the blaze,
On heavenly winds that waft her to the sky,
Float the sweet tones of star-born melody;
Wild as that hallowed anthem sent to hail
Bethlehem’s shepherds in the lonely vale,
When Jordan hushed his waves, and midnight still
Watched on the holy towers of Zion hill!
Eternal Hope! when yonder spheres sublime
Pealed their first notes to sound the march of Time,
Thy joyous youth began,—but not to fade.
When all the sister planets have decayed;
When wrapt in fire the realms of ether glow,
And Heaven’s last thunder shakes the world below;
Thou, undismayed, shalt o’er the ruins smile,
And light thy torch at Nature’s funeral pile.
“Bury Hope out of Sight” by Christina Georgina Rossetti
Bury Hope out of sight,
No book for it and no bell;
It never could bear the light
Even while growing and well;
Think if now it could bear
The light on its face of care
And grey scattered hair.
No grave for Hope in the earth,
But deep in that silent soul
Which rang no bell for its birth
And rings no funeral toll.
Cover its once bright head;
Nor odours nor tears be shed:
It lived once, it is dead.
Brief was the day of its power,
The day of its grace how brief:
As the fading of a flower,
As the falling of a leaf,
So brief its day and its hour:
No bud more and no bower
Or hint of a flower.
Shall many wail it? not so:
Shall one bewail it? not one:
Thus it hath been from long ago,
Thus it shall be beneath the sun.
O fleet sun, make haste to flee;
O rivers, fill up the sea;
O Death, set the dying free.
The sun nor loiters nor speeds,
The rivers run as they ran,
Through clouds or through windy reeds
All run as when all began.
Only Death turns at our cries:—
Lo, the Hope we buried with sighs
Alive in Death’s eyes!
“Sonnet to Hope” by Helen Maria Williams
O ever skill’d to wear the form we love!
To bid the shapes of fear and grief depart;
Come, gentle Hope! with one gay smile remove
The lasting sadness of an aching heart.
Thy voice, benign Enchantress! let me hear;
Say that for me some pleasures yet shall bloom,
That Fancy’s radiance, Friendship’s precious tear,
Shall soften, or shall chase, misfortune’s gloom.
But come not glowing in the dazzling ray,
Which once with dear illusions charm’d my eye,
O! strew no more, sweet flatterer! on my way
The flowers I fondly thought too bright to die;
Visions less fair will soothe my pensive breast,
That asks not happiness, but longs for rest!
“Hope Comes Again.” by Thomas Moore
Hope comes again, to this heart long a stranger,
Once more she sings me her flattering strain;
But hush, gentle syren–for, ah, there’s less danger
In still suffering on, than in hoping again.
Long, long, in sorrow, too deep for repining,
Gloomy, but tranquil, this bosom hath lain:
And joy coming now, like a sudden light shining
O’er eyelids long darkened, would bring me but pain.
Fly then, ye visions, that Hope would shed o’er me;
Lost to the future, my sole chance of rest
Now lies not in dreaming of bliss that’s before me.
But, ah–in forgetting how once I was blest.
“Hope On” by Madison Julius Cawein
Hope on, dear Heart, and you will see
The walls of worry fade and flee;
And sane of soul and sound of mind,
You ‘ll go your way of life and find
The paths, once barren, suddenly
In blossom; and from Arcady
The summer wind blow sweet and kind
Hope on, dear Heart.
Think what it ‘d mean to you and me
This life if Hope should cease to be!
If Hope should die what doubts would blind!
What black despairs go unconfined!
What sorrows weight us utterly!
Hope on, dear Heart!
“Hope.” by Freeman Edwin Miller
When man from pure perfection fell,
And bathed his life in grief and woe,
His angel heart had overthrow
From all the joys he loved so well,
And only Hope of all the host
Remained to comfort him when lost.
And when the other passions throw
Their phantoms in the arms of death,
And pour their last remaining breath
Within the dismal haunts of woe,
Then Hope alone of all remains
To soothe our sorrows and our pains.
Hope makes the fearful millions brave,
The helpless and the weary strong,
Gives courage to the fainting throng
And whispers freedom to the slave,
And unto each, where’er he lives,
Unceasing cause to struggle gives.
In heavy hours of ghostly gloom
When raging billows dash and beat
Around the weak and weary feet
Which tremble on the yawning tomb,
The harp of Hope divinely sings
Exalted songs of better things.
It lifts the gaze of mortal eyes
Above the desert and the dearth,
Above the barren fields of earth,
Unto the promise of the skies,
And to the last expiring breath
Gives comfort in the hour of death.
O, sacred light of human life,
Eternal star of Heaven’s love,
Thy brightness ever shines above
The darkest hours of woe and strife,
To raise our souls above the sod
Into the holy home of God!
“The Hope” by John Cowper Powys
The hope I hold
The leering demon-days
Deride, and reason plays,
Snug as a raven on a gallows-tree,
Its ancient game with me,
Flapping its wings and lewdly gibbering,
“Life is a humorous thing!”
But on I fare, clutching—
It is not gold,
The hope I hold.
The hope I hold,
Snatches at, passing by;
And like a vine-leaf, fallen from its place
Upon a tortured face,
Offers its fragrance to betray, sighs low,
“Life is a humorous show!”
But on I fare, clutching—
It is not gold,
The hope I hold.
The hope I hold
Nature herself with glee
Derides. And destiny
With evil goblin laughter indicates
The adamantine gates,
And with a maniac-chuckle rallies me,
“That way is closed, you see!”
But I fare on, clutching—
It is not gold,
The hope I hold.
O hope, whose face in madness I have kissed,
O hope, that art a mirage and a mist,
Shall I destroy thee now, and laugh thereat?—
It is too late for that.
“To Hope” by John Keats
When by my solitary hearth I sit,
And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom;
When no fair dreams before my “mind’s eye” flit,
And the bare heath of life presents no bloom;
Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head!
Whene’er I wander, at the fall of night,
Where woven boughs shut out the moon’s bright ray,
Should sad Despondency my musings fright,
And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away,
Peep with the moonbeams through the leafy roof,
And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof!
Should Disappointment, parent of Despair,
Strive for her son to seize my careless heart;
When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air,
Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart:
Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright,
And fright him as the morning frightens night!
Whene’er the fate of those I hold most dear
Tells to my fearful breast a tale of sorrow,
O bright-eyed Hope, my morbidfancy cheer;
Let me awhile thy sweetest comforts borrow:
Thy heaven-born radiance around me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head!
Should e’er unhappy love my bosom pain,
From cruel parents, or relentless fair;
O let me think it is not quite in vain
To sigh out sonnets to the midnight air!
Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head!
In the long vista of the years to roll,
Let me not see our country’s honour fade:
O let me see our land retain her soul,
Her pride, her freedom; and not freedom’s shade.
From thy bright eyes unusual brightness shed
Beneath thy pinions canopy my head!
Let me not see the patriot’s high bequest,
Great Liberty! how great in plain attire!
With the base purple of a court oppress’d,
Bowing her head, and ready to expire:
But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings
That fill the skies with silver glitterings!
And as, in sparkling majesty, a star
Gilds the bright summit of some gloomy cloud;
Brightening the half veil’d face of heaven afar:
So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud,
Sweet Hope, celestial influence round me shed,
Waving thy silver pinions o’er my head!
“Hope” by A. M. Wells
There sits a woman on the brow
Of yonder rocky height;
There, gazing o’er the waves below,
She sits from morn till night.
She heeds not how the mad waves leap
Along the rugged shore;
She looks for one upon the deep
She never may see more.
As morning twilight faintly gleams,
Her shadowy form I trace;
Wrapt in the silvery mist, she seems
The Genius of the place!
Far other once was Rosalie;
Her smile was glad; her voice,
Like music o’er a summer sea,
Said to the heart—rejoice.
O’er her pure thoughts did sorrow fling
Perchance a shade, ’t would pass,
Lightly as glides the breath of Spring
Along the bending grass.
A sailor’s bride ’t was hers to be:—
Wo to the faithless main!
Nine summers since he went to sea,
And ne’er returned again.
But long, where all is wrecked beside,
And every joy is chased,
Long, long will lingering Hope abide
Amid the dreary waste!
Nine years—though all have given him o’er,
Her spirit doth not fail;
And still she waits along the shore
The never coming sail.
On that high rock, abrupt and bare,
Ever she sits, as now;
The dews have damped her flowing hair,
The sun has scorched her brow.
And every far-off sail she sees,
And every passing cloud,
Or white-winged sea-bird, on the breeze,
She calls to it aloud.
The sea-bird answers to her cry;
The cloud, the sail float on.—
The hoarse wave mocks her misery,
Yet is her hope not gone:—
It cannot go:—with that to part,
So long, so fondly nursed,
So mingled with her faithful heart,
That heart itself would burst.
When falling dews the clover steep,
And birds are in their nest,
And flower-buds folded up to sleep,
And ploughmen gone to rest,
Down the rude track her feet have worn,
—There scarce the goat may go;—
Poor Rosalie, with look forlorn,
Is seen descending slow.
But when the gray morn tints the sky,
And lights that lofty peak,—
With a strange lustre in her eye,
A fever in her cheek,
Again she goes, untired, to sit
And watch, the live-long day;
Nor till the star of eve is lit,
E’er turns her steps away.
Hidden, and deep, and never dry,—
Or flowing, or at rest,
A living spring of hope doth lie
In every human breast.
All else may fail, that soothes the heart,—
All, save that fount alone;
With that and life at once we part,
For life and hope are one.
“Hope” by Phillips Stewart
In shadowy calm the boat
Sleeps by the dreaming oar,
The green hills are afloa
Beside the silver shore.
Youth hoists the white-winged sail,
Love takes the longing oar—
The oft-told fairy tale
Beside the silver shore.
Soft lip to lip, and heart
To heart, and hand to hand,
And wistful eyes depart
Unto another strand.
And lovely as a star
They tremble o’er the wave
With eager wings afar
Unto the joys they crave.
In a sweet trance they fare
Unto the wind and rain,
With wind-tossed waves of hair,
And ne’er return again.
And at the drifting side,
Changed faces in the deep
They see, and changing tide,
Like phantoms in a sleep.
Slow hands furl the torn sail
Without one silver gleam,
And sad, and wan, and pale,
They gaze into a dream.
“Hope evermore and believe!” by Arthur Hugh Clough
Hope evermore and believe, O man, for e’en as thy thought
So are the things that thou see’st; e’en as thy hope and belief.
Cowardly art thou and timid? they rise to provoke thee against them,
Hast thou courage? enough, see them exulting to yield.
Yea, the rough rock, the dull earth, the wild sea’s furying waters
(Violent say’st thou and hard, mighty thou think’st to destroy),
All with ineffable longing are waiting their Invader,
All, with one varying voice, call to him, Come and subdue;
Still for their Conqueror call, and, but for the joy of being conquered
(Rapture they will not forego), dare to resist and rebel;
Still, when resisting and raging, in soft undervoice say unto him,
Fear not, retire not, O man; hope evermore and believe.
Go from the east to the west, as the sun and the stars direct thee,
Go with the girdle of man, go and encompass the earth.
Not for the gain of the gold; for the getting, the hoarding, the having,
But for the joy of the deed; but for the Duty to do.
Go with the spiritual life, the higher volition and action,
With the great girdle of God, go and encompass the earth.
Go; say not in thy heart, And what then were it accomplished,
Were the wild impulse allayed, what were the use or the good!
Go, when the instinct is stilled, and when the deed is accomplished,
What thou bast done and shalt do, shall be declared to thee then.
Go with the sun and the stars, and yet evermore in thy spirit
Say to thyself: It is good: yet is there better than it.
This that I see is not all, and this that I do is but little;
Nevertheless it is good, though there is better than it.
“Hope.” by W. M. MacKeracher
Oh! why should sorrow wound the heart,
And rob the soul of rest?
Why is misfortune’s bitter dart
Allowed to pierce the breast?
We dare not ask; ’tis heaven’s decree,
While faring here below,
Man’s bark is tossed upon the sea
Of trouble, grief and woe.
But Mercy holdeth forth a light
Upon the waves to shine,
And cheer him in the darkest night, –
The star of Hope divine.
Enabled thus, he looks before,
And sees, Oh! joyful sight!
The waves subside, the storm is o’er,
The sky is clear and bright.
What comfort ’tis when cares annoy
To know they are from One
Whose hand dispenses peace and joy
As well as grief and pain.
Then cherish hope, despondent heart,
With strength renew the fight;
And God will gladness yet impart,
Thy darkness turn to light.
The dreary winter soon is done,
And then – the month of May!
The clouds, which now obscure the sun,
Will soon have passed away.
Poems About Hope and Love
“The Larger Hope” by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Oh yet we trust that somehow good
Will be the final goal of ill,
To pangs of nature, sins of will,
Defects of doubt, and taints of blood;
That nothing walks with aimless feet;
That not one life will be destroy’d,
Or cast as rubbish to the void,
When God hath made the pile complete;
That not a worm is cloven in vain;
That not a moth with vain desire
Is shrivell’d in a fruitless fire,
Or but subserves another gain.
Behold, we know not anything;
I can but trust that good shall fall
At last, far off, at last to all,
And every winter change to spring.
So runs my dream; but who am I?
An infant crying in the night;
An infant crying for the light,
And with no language, but a cry.
Love And Hope. by Thomas Moore
At morn, beside yon summer sea,
Young Hope and Love reclined;
But scarce had noon-tide come, when he
Into his bark leapt smilingly,
And left poor Hope behind.
“I go,” said Love, “to sail awhile
“Across this sunny main;”
And then so sweet, his parting smile,
That Hope, who never dreamt of guile,
Believed he’d come again.
She lingered there till evening’s beam
Along the waters lay;
And o’er the sands, in thoughtful dream,
Oft traced his name, which still the stream
As often washed away.
At length a sail appears in sight,
And toward the maiden moves!
‘Tis Wealth that comes, and gay and bright,
His golden bark reflects the light,
But ah! it is not Love’s.
Another sail–’twas Friendship showed
Her night-lamp o’er the sea;
And calm the light that lamp bestowed;
But Love had lights that warmer glowed,
And where, alas! was he?
Now fast around the sea and shore
Night threw her darkling chain;
The sunny sails were seen no more,
Hope’s morning dreams of bliss were o’er–
Love never came again!
“He remembereth the Promise his Lady once gave him of Affection, and comforteth himself with Hope” by Sir Thomas Wyatt
That time that mirth did steer my ship,
Which now is fraught with heaviness
And Fortune beat not then the lip,
But was defence of my distress,
Then in my book wrote my mistress;
‘I am yours, you may well be sure;
And shall be while my life doth dure.’
But she herself which then wrote that
Is now mine extreme enemy;
Above all men she doth me hate,
Rejoicing of my misery.
But though that for her sake I die,
I shall be hers, she may be sure,
As long as my life doth endure.
It is not time that can wear out
With me that once is firmly set;
While Nature keeps her course about
My love from her no man can let.
Though never so sore they me threat,
Yet am I hers, she may be sure;
And shall be while that life doth dure.
And once I trust to see that day,
Renewer of my joy and wealth,
That she to me these words shall say;
‘In faith! welcome to me myself!
Welcome my joy! welcome my health,
For I am thine, thou mayst be sure,
And shall be while that life doth dure.’
Aye me! alas! what words were these!
Incontinent I might find them so!
I reck not what smart or disease
I suffered, so that I might know
[After my passed pain and woe]
That she were mine; and might be sure
She should be while that life doth dure.
“Your fearful hope cannot prevail” by Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey
Your fearful hope cannot prevail;
Nor yet faithful trust also.
Some thinks to hit, ofttimes do fail;
Whereby they change their wealth to woe.
What though! in that yet put no trust:
But always after as ye see.
For say your will, and do your lust;
There is no place for you to be.
No such within; ye are far out.
Your labour lost ye hope to save.
But once I put ye out of doubt;
The thing is had that ye would have.
Though to remain without remorse,
And pitiless to be opprest;
Yet is the course of Love, by force
To take all things unto the best.
Well! yet beware, if thou be wise:
And leave thy hope thy heat to cool:
For fear lest she thy love despise,
Reputing thee but as a fool.
Since this to follow of force thou must,
And by no reason can refrain;
Thy chance shall change thy least mistrust;
As thou shalt prove unto thy pain.
When with such pain thou shalt be paid,
The which shall pass all remedy;
Then think on this that I have said;
And blame thy foolish Fantasy.
“Heart’s Hope” by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
By what word’s power, the key of paths untrod,
Shall I the difficult deeps of Love explore,
Till parted waves of Song yield up the shore
Even as that sea which Israel crossed dryshod?
For lo! in some poor rhythmic period,
Lady, I fain would tell how evermore
Thy soul I know not from thy body, nor
Thee from myself, neither our love from God.
Yea, in God’s name, and Love’s, and thine, would I
Draw from one loving heart such evidence
As to all hearts all things shall signify;
Tender as dawn’s first hill-fire, and intense
As instantaneous penetrating sense,
In Spring’s birth-hour, of other Springs gone by.
“Vain Hope” by Ernest Dowson
Sometimes, to solace my sad heart, I say,
Though late it be, though lily-time be past,
Though all the summer skies be overcast,
Haply I will go down to her, some day,
And cast my rests of life before her feet,
That she may have her will of me, being so sweet
And none gainsay!
So might she look on me with pitying eyes,
And lay calm hands of healing on my head;
“Because of thy long pains be comforted;
For I, even I, am Love; sad soul, arise!”
So, for her graciousness, I might at last
Gaze on the very face of Love, and hold him fast
In no disguise.
Haply, I said, she will take pity on me,
Though late I come, long after lily-time,
With burden of waste days and drifted rhyme:
Her kind, calm eyes, down drooping maidenly,
Shall change, grow soft: there is yet time, meseems,
I said, for solace; though I know these things are dreams,
And may not be!