53 Enchanting Poems About Peace

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Here are my favorite poems about peace categorized:

  • Short poems about peace
  • Famous poems about peace
  • Inspirational poems about peace
  • Poems about peace and calm
  • Poems about peace after death
  • Famous poems about war and peace

So if you want the best poems about peace, then you’re in the right place.

Let’s get right to it!

51 Enchanting Poems About Peace (+ My #1 Favorite)
Contents: show

Enchanting Poems About Peace

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Prepare to embark on a literary odyssey, a soothing balm for your soul in the form of poetic masterpieces that sing of tranquility and serenity.

In this carefully curated collection, each verse is a beacon of hope, a whispered promise of serenity, and an invitation to find respite in the gentle cadence of words.

We have miniature but inspirational masterpieces penned by authors across different generations that will take your breath away from its brevity while also gifting you a sense of peace and comfort.

But the journey of this collection doesn’t end there.

Because we also have pieces that delve deeper into the art of finding solace amidst life’s constant chaos; a sanctuary for the restless soul and those who are seeking for a respite.

Let the ripples of peace within these poems wash over you.

Keep reading and enjoy!

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My #1 Favorite Poem About Peace

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“Peace” by Edward Rowland Sill

’T is not in seeking,
’T is not in endless striving,
Thy quest is found:
Be still and listen;
Be still and drink the quiet
Of all around.
Not for thy crying,
Not for thy loud beseeching,
Will peace draw near:
Rest with palms folded;
Rest with thine eyelids fallen—
Lo! peace is here.

Why Is “Peace” My Favorite Poem About Peace

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While working on this collection, a question came into my mind: “How can we really find peace amidst all the challenges and uncertainty in life?”.

And I like how “Peace” by Edward Rowland Sill answered my question in just a few but magnifying lines.

True enough, the quest for peace often leads us in circles, as the more we actively pursue it, the more it seems to elude us.

This poem reminds us that peace is not an object to be acquired but a state of being to be cultivated.

By letting go of our desperation and quieting our minds, we create the space for peace to emerge from within.

The moment we learn to be still and choose to listen to the quietness of our surroundings, even when things get chaotic, we don’t only allow ourselves to find peace, we also allow peace to find us.

Short Poems About Peace

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Be swept away to a world of serenity and quiet contemplation through our collection of short poems about peace.

With minimal lines, these poetic gems encapsulate the essence of serenity, inviting you to pause, reflect, and find solace in the simplicity of their profound messages.

Let’s get right to it!

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“The White Peace” by Fiona MacLeod (William Sharp)

It lies not on the sunlit hill
Nor on the sunlit plain:
Nor ever on any running stream
Nor on the unclouded main—
But sometimes, through the Soul of Man,
Slow moving o’er his pain,
The moonlight of a perfect peace
Floods heart and brain.

“Calm on the Bosom of thy God” by Felicia Dorothea Hemans

Calm on the bosom of thy God,
Fair spirit! rest thee now!
E’en while with ours thy footsteps trode
His seal was on thy brow.
Dust, to its narrow house beneath!
Soul, to its place on high!
They that have seen thy look in death
No more may fear to die.

“Peace” by Alfred Lichtenstein

In weary circles a sick fish hovers
In a pond surrounded by grass.
A tree leans against the sky – burned and bent.
Yes… the family sits at a large table,
Where they peck with their forks from the plates.
Gradually they become sleepy, heavy and silent.
The sun licks the ground with its hot, poisonous,
Voracious mouth, like a dog – a filthy enemy.
Bums suddenly collapse without a trace.
A coachman looks with concern at a nag
Which, torn open, cries in the gutter.
Three children stand around in silence.

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“Peace.” by Jean Blewett

Unbroken peace, I ween, is sweeter far
Than reconciliation. Love’s red scar,
Though salved with kiss of penitence, and tears,
Remains, full oft, unhealed through all the years.

“Peace Not Permanence” by Robert Herrick

Great cities seldom rest; if there be none
T’ invade from far, they’ll find worse foes at home.

“Peace” by W.B. Yeats

Ah, that Time could touch a form
That could show what Homer’s age
Bred to be a hero’s wage.
‘Were not all her life but storm,
Would not painters paint a form
Of such noble lines’ I said,
‘Such a delicate high head,
All that sternness amid charm,
All that sweetness amid strength?’
Ah, but peace that comes at length,
Came when Time had touched her form.

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“Chaotic Peace” by Caroline Dudley

I think of nothing—
My mind leaps from mountain to mountain,
The drifts upon calm water.
I hear nothing—
Only the waves and the winds,
Violent and caressing.
I feel nothing—
My blood runs under my skin
Like a forest-fire underground.

“Peace” by Henry John Newbolt, Sir

No more to watch by Night’s eternal shore,
With England’s chivalry at dawn to ride;
No more defeat, faith, victory—O! no more
A cause on earth for which we might have died.

“The Price of Peace” by Henry van Dyke

Peace without Justice is a low estate,—
A coward cringing to an iron Fate!
But Peace through Justice is the great ideal,—
We’ll pay the price of war to make it real.

Famous Poems About Peace

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Here we present eloquent verses serve as timeless compass of serenity, guiding humanity through the labyrinth of turmoil toward the tranquil shores of harmony.

Within these cherished words, you’ll discover a symphony of hope, a refuge where poets’ voices echo the eternal longing for a world bathed in the gentle light of peace.

Let’s go!

“I Many Times Thought Peace Had Come,” by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

I many times thought peace had come,
When peace was far away;
As wrecked men deem they sight the land
At centre of the sea,

And struggle slacker, but to prove,
As hopelessly as I,
How many the fictitious shores
Before the harbor lie.

“The Ghost” by Walter De La Mare

Peace in thy hands,
Peace in thine eyes,
Peace on thy brow;
Flower of a moment in the eternal hour,
Peace with me now.

Not a wave breaks,
Not a bird calls,
My heart, like a sea,
Silent after a storm that hath died,
Sleeps within me.

All the night’s dews,
All the world’s leaves,
All winter’s snow
Seem with their quiet to have stilled in life’s dream
All sorrowing now.

“The Lake Isle Of Innisfree” by William Butler Yeats

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.

Portrait of a woman with red roses

“Peace.” by John Clare

I seek for Peace–I care not where ’tis found:
On this rude scene in briars and brambles drest,
If peace dwells here, ’tis consecrated ground,
And owns the power to give my bosom rest;
To soothe the rankling of each bitter wound,
Gall’d by rude Envy’s adder-biting jest,
And worldly strife;–ah, I am looking round
For Peace’s hermitage, can it be found?–
Surely that breeze that o’er the blue wave curl’d
Did whisper soft, “Thy wanderings here are blest.”
How different from the language of the world!
Nor jeers nor taunts in this still spot are given:
Its calm’s a balsam to a soul distrest;
And, where Peace smiles, a wilderness is heaven.

“Peace” by Gerard Manley Hopkins

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.

“Peace” by Sara Teasdale

Peace flows into me
As the tide to the pool by the shore;
It is mine forevermore,
It will not ebb like the sea.

I am the pool of blue
That worships the vivid sky;
My hopes were heaven-high,
They are all fulfilled in you.

I am the pool of gold
When sunset burns and dies,
You are my deepening skies;
Give me your stars to hold.

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“A Plea To Peace” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

When mighty issues loom before us, all
The petty great men of the day seem small,
Like pigmies standing in a blaze of light
Before some grim majestic mountain-height.
War, with its bloody and impartial hand,
Reveals the hidden weakness of a land,
Uncrowns the heroes trusting Peace has made
Of men whose honour is a thing of trade,
And turns the searchlight full on many a place
Where proud conventions long have masked disgrace.
O lovely Peace! as thou art fair be wise.
Demand great men, and great men shall arise
To do thy bidding. Even as warriors come,
Swift at the call of bugle and of drum,
So at the voice of Peace, imperative
As bugle’s call, shall heroes spring to live
For country and for thee. In every land,
In every age, men are what times demand.
Demand the best, O Peace, and teach thy sons
They need not rush in front of death-charged guns
With murder in their hearts to prove their worth.
The grandest heroes who have graced the earth
Were love-filled souls who did not seek the fray,
But chose the safe, hard, high, and lonely way
Of selfless labour for a suffering world.
Beneath our glorious flag again unfurled
In victory such heroes wait to be
Called into bloodless action, Peace, by thee.
Be thou insistent in thy stern demand,
And wise, great men shall rise up in the land.

“Michael Robartes Bids His Beloved Be At Peace” by William Butler Yeats

I hear the Shadowy Horses, their long manes a-shake,
Their hoofs heavy with tumult, their eyes glimmering white;
The North unfolds above them clinging, creeping night,
The East her hidden joy before the morning break,
The West weeps in pale dew and sighs passing away,
The South is pouring down roses of crimson fire:
O vanity of Sleep, Hope, Dream, endless Desire,
The Horses of Disaster plunge in the heavy clay:
Beloved, let your eyes half close, and your heart beat
Over my heart, and your hair fall over my breast,
Drowning love’s lonely hour in deep twilight of rest,
And hiding their tossing manes and their tumultuous feet.

“Give Us Love And Give Us Peace.” by Jean Ingelow

One morning, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved,
All the birds were singing blithely, as if never they would cease;
‘Twas a thrush sang in my garden, “Hear the story, hear the story!”
And the lark sang, “Give us glory!”
And the dove said, “Give us peace!”

Then I listened, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved,
To that murmur from the woodland of the dove, my dear, the dove;
When the nightingale came after, “Give us fame to sweeten duty!”
When the wren sang, “Give us beauty!”
She made answer, “Give us love!”

Sweet is spring, and sweet the morning, my beloved, my beloved;
Now for us doth spring, doth morning, wait upon the year’s increase,
And my prayer goes up, “Oh, give us, crowned in youth with marriage glory,
Give for all our life’s dear story,
Give us love, and give us peace!”

Inspirational Poems About Peace

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Embark on a transformative journey as we invite you to explore a collection of inspirational poems about peace.

Within the delicate verses of these words, discover the power to heal, uplift, and ignite a flame of harmony, guiding you towards a world where tranquility takes the center stage.

Let’s jump right in!

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“The Peace of God” by John Mason

The world can neither give nor take,
Nor can they comprehend
The peace of God which Christ has bought,
The peace which knows no end.

The burning bush was not consumed
Whilst God remainèd there;
The three, when Jesus made the fourth,
Found fire as soft as air.

God’s furnace doth in Zion stand;
But Zion’s God sits by,
As the refiner views his gold
With an observant eye.

His thoughts are high, His love is wise,
His wounds a cure intend;
And though He does not always smile,
He loves unto the end.

“Peace After A Storm.” by William Cowper

When darkness long has veil’d my mind,
And smiling day once more appears;
Then, my Redeemer, then I find
The folly of my doubts and fears.

Straight I upbraid my wandering heart,
And blush that I should ever be
Thus prone to act so base a part,
Or harbour one hard thought of thee!

Oh! let me then at length be taught
What I am still so slow to learn;
That God is love, and changes not,
Nor knows the shadow of a turn.

Sweet truth, and easy to repeat!
But, when my faith is sharply tried,
I find myself a learner yet,
Unskilful, weak, and apt to slide.

But, O my Lord, one look from thee
Subdues the disobedient will;
Drives doubt and discontent away,
And thy rebellious worm is still.

Thou art as ready to forgive
As I am ready to repine;
Thou, therefore, all the praise receive;
Be shame and self-abhorrence mine.

“Peace.” by Rose Hawthorne Lathrop

An angel spoke with me, and lo, he hoarded
My falling tears to cheer a flower’s face!
For, so it seems, in all the heavenly space
A wasted grief was never yet recorded.
Victorious calm those holy tones afforded
Unto my soul, whose outcry, in disgrace,
Changed to low music, leading to the place
Where, though well armed, with futile end awarded,
My past lay dead. “Wars are of earth!” he cried;
“Endurance only breathes immortal air.
Courage eternal, by a world defied,
Still wears the front of patience, smooth and fair.”
Are wars so futile, and is courage peace?
Take, then, my soul, thus gently thy release!

a woman in a white dress

“Peace! It Is I” by Anonymous (John Mason Neale, Translator)

Fierce was the wild billow;
Dark was the night;
Oars labour’d heavily;
Foam glimmer’d white;
Trembled the mariners;
Peril was nigh;
Then said the God of God,
—“Peace! It is I!”

Ridge of the mountain-wave,
Lower thy crest!
Wail of Euroclydon,
Be thou at rest!
Sorrow can never be,—
Darkness must fly,—
Where saith the Light of Light,
—“Peace! It is I!”Jesu, Deliverer!

Come Thou to me:
Soothe Thou my voyaging
Over Life’s sea!
Thou, when the storm of Death
Roars sweeping by,
Whisper, O Truth of Truth!
—“Peace! It is I!”

“Ecclesiastes 3:1-8” by Anonymous

To every thing there is a season,
and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate;
A time of war, and a time of peace.

“Peace Be Around Thee. (Scotch Air.)” by Thomas Moore

Peace be around thee, wherever thou rov’st;
May life be for thee one summer’s day,
And all that thou wishest and all that thou lov’st
Come smiling around thy sunny way!
If sorrow e’er this calm should break,
May even thy tears pass off so lightly,
Like spring-showers, they’ll only make
The smiles, that follow shine more brightly.

May Time who sheds his blight o’er all
And daily dooms some joy to death
O’er thee let years so gently fall,
They shall not crush one flower beneath.
As half in shade and half in sun
This world along its path advances.
May that side the sun’s upon
Be all that e’er shall meet thy glances!

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“Peace, Perfect Peace” by Edward Henry Bickersteth

Peace, perfect peace, in this dark world of sin?
The blood of Jesus whispers peace within.
Peace, perfect peace, by thronging duties press’d?
To do the will of Jesus, this is rest.
Peace, perfect peace, with sorrows surging round?
On Jesus’ bosom naught but calm is found.
Peace, perfect peace, with loved ones far away?
In Jesus’ keeping we are safe and they.
Peace, perfect peace, our future all unknown?
Jesus we know, and He is on the throne.
Peace, perfect peace, death shadowing us and ours?
Jesus has vanquished death and all its powers.
It is enough: earth’s struggles soon shall cease,
And Jesus call us to heaven’s perfect peace.

“Tranquillity” by Edward Rowland Sill

Weary, and marred with care and pain
And bruising days, the human brain
Draws wounded inward,—it might be
Some delicate creature of the sea,
That, shuddering, shrinks its lucent dome,
And coils its azure tendrils home,
And folds its filmy curtains tight
At jarring contact, e’er so light;
But let it float away all free,
And feel the buoyant, supple sea
Among its tinted streamers swell,
Again it spreads its gauzy wings,
And, waving its wan fringes, swings
With rhythmic pulse its crystal bell.
So let the mind, with care o’erwrought,
Float down the tranquil tides of thought:
Calm visions of unending years
Beyond this little moment’s fears;
Of boundless regions far from where
The girdle of the azure air
Binds to the earth the prisoned mind.
Set free the fancy, let it find
Beyond our world a vaster place
To thrill and vibrate out through space,—
As some auroral banner streams
Up through the night in pulsing gleams,
And floats and flashes o’er our dreams;
There let the whirling planet fall
Down—down, till but a glimmering ball,
A misty star: and dwindled so,
There is no room for care, or woe,
Or wish, apart from that one Will
That doth the worlds with music fill.

“Divine Image” by William Blake

To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
All pray in their distress,
And to these virtues of delight
Return their thankfulness.
For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
Is God our Father dear;
And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
Is man, his child and care.
For Mercy has a human heart
Pity, a human face;
And Love, the human form divine;
And Peace, the human dress.
Then every man, of every clime,
That prays in his distress,
Prays to the human form divine:
Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.
And all must love the human form,
In heathen, Turk, or Jew.
Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell,
There God is dwelling too.

Poems About Peace and Calm

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Sail away on a voyage of tranquility as this category unfirls like a gentle breeze, soothing the weary soul and nurturing the restless mind.

These poetic whispers invite you to sail on the soothing tides of tranquility, finding rest and comfort in the serenity of each carefully crafted line penned by various poets.

Let’s get straight to it!

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“Peace – A Study.” by Charles Stuart Calverley

He stood, a worn-out City clerk –
Who’d toil’d, and seen no holiday,
For forty years from dawn to dark –
Alone beside Caermarthen Bay.

He felt the salt spray on his lips;
Heard children’s voices on the sands;
Up the sun’s path he saw the ships
Sail on and on to other lands;

And laugh’d aloud. Each sight and sound
To him was joy too deep for tears;
He sat him on the beach, and bound
A blue bandana round his ears:

And thought how, posted near his door,
His own green door on Camden Hill,
Two bands at least, most likely more,
Were mingling at their own sweet will

Verdi with Vance. And at the thought
He laugh’d again, and softly drew
That Morning Herald that he’d bought
Forth from his breast, and read it through.

“New York Harbor on a Calm Day” by Park Benjamin

Is this a painting? Are those pictured clouds
Which on the sky so movelessly repose?
Has some rare artist fashioned forth the shrouds
Of yonder vessel? Are these imaged shows
Of outline, figure, form, or is there life—
Life with a thousand pulses—in the scene
We gaze upon? Those towering banks between,
E’er tossed these billows in tumultuous strife?
Billows! there ’s not a wave! the waters spread
One broad, unbroken mirror! all around
Is hushed to silence—silence so profound
That a bird’s carol, or an arrow sped
Into the distance, would, like ’larum bell,
Jar the deep stillness and dissolve the spell!

“Calm Is The Fragrant Air” by William Wordsworth

Calm is the fragrant air, and loth to lose
Day’s grateful warmth, tho’ moist with falling dews.
Look for the stars, you’ll say that there are none;
Look up a second time, and, one by one,
You mark them twinkling out with silvery light,
And wonder how they could elude the sight!
The birds, of late so noisy in their bowers,
Warbled a while with faint and fainter powers,
But now are silent as the dim-seen flowers:
Nor does the village Church-clock’s iron tone
The time’s and season’s influence disown;
Nine beats distinctly to each other bound
In drowsy sequence, how unlike the sound
That, in rough winter, oft inflicts a fear
On fireside listeners, doubting what they hear!
The shepherd, bent on rising with the sun,
Had closed his door before the day was done,
And now with thankful heart to bed doth creep,
And joins his little children in their sleep.
The bat, lured forth where trees the lane o’ershade,
Flits and reflits along the close arcade;
The busy dor-hawk chases the white moth
With burring note, which Industry and Sloth
Might both be pleased with, for it suits them both.
A stream is heard, I see it not, but know
By its soft music whence the waters flow:
Wheels and the tread of hoofs are heard no more;
One boat there was, but it will touch the shore
With the next dipping of its slackened oar;
Faint sound, that, for the gayest of the gay,
Might give to serious thought a moment’s sway,
As a last token of man’s toilsome day!

Queen. The girl in the image of a queen on a background of mountains

“The Plains of Peace” by Olivia Ward Bush-Banks

Again my fancy takes its flight,
And soars away on thoughtful wing,
Again my soul thrills with delight,
And this the fancied theme, I sing,
From Earthly scenes awhile, I find release,
And dwell upon the restful Plains of Peace.

The Plains of Peace are passing fair,
Where naught disturbs and naught can harm,
I find no sorrow, woe or care,
These all are lost in perfect calm,
Bright are the joys, and pleasures never cease,
For those who dwell on the Plains of Peace.

No scorching sun or blighting storm,
No burning sand or desert drear,
No fell disease or wasting form,
To mar the glowing beauty here.
Decay and ruin ever must decrease,
Here on the fertile, healthful Plains of Peace.

What rare companionship I find,
What hours of social joy I spend,
What restfulness pervades my mind,
Communing with congenial friend.
True happiness seems ever to increase,
While dwelling here upon the Plains of Peace.

Ambitions too, are realized,
And that which I have sought on earth,
I find at last idealized,
My longings ripen into worth,
My fondest hopes no longer fear decease,
But bloom forth brightly on the Plains of Peace.

‘Tis by my fancy, yet ’tis true,
That somewhere having done with Earth,
We shall another course pursue,
According to our aim or worth,
Our souls from mortal things must find release,
And dwell immortal on the Plains of Peace.

“Peace, Perfect Peace” by Jennings Carmichael

“Peace, perfect peace,” the slow sung music swings,
And fills the church as if with seraph’s wings;
“Peace, perfect peace,” our suppliant voices rise,
With all the soul’s deep anguish in the cries.
O peace! O perfect peace! descend be ours,
And bless for us these sacred Sabbath hours.

“Peace, perfect peace,” the cadence sinks and swells,
From every singing heart the music wells;
Rapt lifted faces soften to the strain,
And eyes grow wistful with mysterious pain.
O peace! O perfect peace! descend be ours,
And bless for us these sacred Sabbath hours.

“Peace, perfect peace!” O that the soul might rest,
For ever hushed on the Eternal breast!
No morrow hopes or fears to shake repose,
No grief to mourn for and no grave to close.
O peace O perfect peace descend be ours,
And bless for us these sacred Sabbath hours.

“Peace, perfect peace!” thou givest me peace to-day,
This weight of striving days I cast away;
My shut soul like a blossom falls apart,
And thou dost colour all its breaking heart.
O God of peace! O perfect peace! be ours,
And bless for us these sacred Sabbath hours.

“Composed Upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802” by William Wordsworth

Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!

mystic elf in elegant flower dress in forest

“Quiet” by Wilfrid Wilson Gibson

Only the footprints of the partridge run
Over the billowy drifts on the mountain-side;
And now on level wings the brown birds glide
Following the snowy curves, and in the sun
Bright birds of gold above the stainless white
They move, and as the pale blue shadows move,
With them my heart glides on in golden flight
Over the hills of quiet to my love.

Storm-shaken, racked with terror through the long
Tempestuous night, in the quiet blue of morn
Love drinks the crystal airs, and peace newborn
Within his troubled heart, on wings aglow
Soars into rapture, as from the quiet snow
The golden birds; and out of silence, song.

“How It Fell Calm On Summer Night.” by James Barron Hope

My Lady’s rest was calm and deep:
She had been gazing at the moon;
And thus it chanced she fell asleep
One balmy night in June.

Freebooter winds stole richest smells
From roses bursting in the gloom,
And rifled half-blown daffodils,
And lilies of perfume.

These dainty robbers of the South
Found “beauty” sunk in deep repose,
And seized upon her crimson mouth,
Thinking her lips a rose.

The wooing winds made love full fast –
To rouse her up in vain they tried –
They kist and kist her, till, at last,
In ecstasy they died.

Poems About Peace After Death

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In the tender embrace of eternity, where life’s journey finds its peaceful conclusion, our collection of poems about peace after death offers solace and reflection.

Through poignant verses and heartfelt words, these poems explore the ethereal realm beyond, guiding us towards a profound understanding of the transcendence that awaits, as we find comfort in the eternal serenity that follows life’s final breath.

Let’s get into it!

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“Peace, Peace To Him That’s Gone!” by Thomas Moore

When I am dead.
Then lay my head
In some lone, distant dell,
Where voices ne’er
Shall stir the air,
Or break its silent spell.

If any sound
Be heard around,
Let the sweet bird alone,
That weeps in song,
Sing all night long,
“Peace, peace, to him that’s gone!”

Yet, oh, were mine
One sigh of thine,
One pitying word from thee,
Like gleams of heaven,
To sinners given,
Would be that word to me.

Howe’er unblest,
My shade would rest
While listening to that tone;–
Enough ‘twould be
To hear from thee,
“Peace, peace, to him that gone.”

“Peace” by Rupert Brooke

Now, God be thanked Who has matched us with His hour,
And caught our youth, and wakened us from sleeping,
With hand made sure, clear eye, and sharpened power,
To turn, as swimmers into cleanness leaping,
Glad from a world grown old and cold and weary,
Leave the sick hearts that honour could not move,
And half-men, and their dirty songs and dreary,
And all the little emptiness of love!

Oh! we, who have known shame, we have found release there,
Where there’s no ill, no grief, but sleep has mending,
Naught broken save this body, lost but breath;
Nothing to shake the laughing heart’s long peace there
But only agony, and that has ending;
And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.

“Peace.” by Emma Lazarus

The calm outgoing of a long, rich day,
Checkered with storm and sunshine, gloom and light,
Now passing in pure, cloudless skies away,
Withdrawing into silence of blank night.
Thick shadows settle on the landscape bright,
Like the weird cloud of death that falls apace
On the still features of the passive face.

Soothing and gentle as a mother’s kiss,
The touch that stopped the beating of the heart.
A look so blissfully serene as this,
Not all the joy of living could impart.
With dauntless faith and courage therewithal,
The Master found her ready at his call.

On such a golden evening forth there floats,
Between the grave earth and the glowing sky
In the clear air, unvexed with hazy motes,
The mystic-winged and flickering butterfly,
A human soul, that drifts at liberty,
Ah! who can tell to what strange paradise,
To what undreamed-of fields and lofty skies!

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“Dirge.” by William Lisle Bowles

Peace, oh! peace, be to the shade
Of him who here in earth is laid:
Saints and spirits of the blessed,
Look upon his bed of rest;
Forgive his sins, propitious be;
Dona pacem, Domine,
Dona pacem, Domine!

When, from yonder window’s height,
The moonbeams on the floor are bright,
Sounds of viewless harps shall die,
Sounds of heaven’s own harmony!
Forgive his sins, propitious be;
Dona pacem, Domine,
Dona pacem, Domine!

By the spirits of the brave,
Who died the land they loved to save;
By the soldier’s faint farewell,
By freedom’s blessing, where he fell;
Forgive his sins, propitious be;
Dona pacem, Domine,
Dona pacem, Domine!

By a nation’s mingled moan,
By liberty’s expiring groan,
By the saints, to whom ’tis given
To bear that parting groan to heaven;
To his shade propitious be;
Dona pacem, Domine,
Dona pacem, Domine!
The Peace Angel by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Angel of Peace, the hounds of war,
Unleashed, are all abroad,
And war’s foul trade again is made
Man’s leading aim in life.
Blood dyes the billow and the sod;
The very winds are rife
With tales of slaughter.
Angel, pray,
What can we do or think or say
In times like these?
‘Child, think of God!’

‘Before this little speck in space
Called Earth with light was shod,
Great chains and tiers of splendid spheres
Were fashioned by His hand.
Be thine the part to love and laud,
Nor seek to understand.
Go lift thine eyes from death-charged guns
To one who made a billion suns;
And trust and wait.
Child, dwell on God!’

“Peace! What Do Tears Avail?” by Barry Cornwall

Peace! what do tears avail?
She lies all dumb and pale,
And from her eye
The spirit of lovely life is fading,
And she must die!
Why looks the lover wroth? the friend upbraiding?
Reply, reply!
Hath she not dwelt too long
’Midst pain, and grief, and wrong?
Then, why not die?
Why suffer again her doom of sorrow,
And hopeless lie?
Why nurse the trembling dream until to-morrow?
Reply, reply!
Death! Take her to thine arms,
In all her stainless charms,
And with her fly
To heavenly haunts, where, clad in brightness,
The Angels lie.
Wilt bear her there, O Death! in all her whiteness?
Reply, reply!

“Peace.” by Robert Bloomfield

Halt! ye Legions, sheathe your Steel:
Blood grows precious; shed no more:
Cease your toils; your wounds to heal
Lo! beams of Mercy reach the shore!
From Realms of everlasting light
The favour’d guest of Heaven is come:
Prostrate your Banners at the sight,
And bear the glorious tidings home.

The plunging corpse with half-clos’d eyes,
No more shall stain th’ unconscious brine;
Yon pendant gay, that streaming flies,
Around its idle Staff shall twine.
Behold! along th’ etherial sky
Her beams o’er conquering Navies spread;
Peace! Peace! the leaping Sailors cry,
With shouts that might arouse the dead.

Then forth Britannia’s thunder pours;
A vast reiterated sound!
From Line to Line the Cannon roars,
And spreads the blazing joy around.
Return, ye brave! your Country calls;
Return; return, your task is done:
While here the tear of transport falls,
To grace your Laurels nobly won.

Albion Cliffs – from age to age,
That bear the roaring storms of Heav’n,
Did ever fiercer Warfare rage?
Was ever Peace more timely given?
Wake! sounds of Joy: rouse, generous Isle;
Let every patriot bosom glow.
Beauty, resume thy wonted smile,
And, Poverty, thy cheerful brow.

Boast, Britain, of thy glorious Guests;
Peace, Wealth, and Commerce, all thine own:
Still on contented Labour rests
The basis of a lasting Throne.
Shout, Poverty! ’tis Heaven that saves;
Protected Wealth, the chorus raise:
Ruler of War, of Winds, and Waves,
Accept a prostrate Nation’s praise.

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“The Death of Peace” by Ronald Ross


Now slowly sinks the day-long labouring Sun
Behind the tranquil trees and old church-tower;
And we who watch him know our day is done;
For us too comes the evening—and the hour.
The sunbeams slanting through those ancient trees,
The sunlit lichens burning on the byre,
The lark descending, and the homing bees,
Proclaim the sweet relief all things desire.
Golden the river brims beneath the west,
And holy peace to all the world is given;
The songless stockdove preens her ruddied breast;
The blue smoke windeth like a prayer to heaven.
O old, old England, land of golden peace,
Thy fields are spun with gossameres of gold,
And golden garners gather thy increase,
And plenty crowns thy loveliness untold.
By sunlight or by starlight ever thou
Art excellent in beauty manifold;
The still star victory ever gems thy brow;
Age canot age thee, ages make thee old.
Thy beauty brightens with the evening sun
Across the long-lit meads and distant spire:
So sleep thou well—like his thy labour done;
Rest in thy glory as he rests in fire.
But even in this hour of soft repose
A gentle sadness chides us like a friend—
The sorrow of the joy that overflows,
The burden of the beauty that must end.
And from the fading sunset comes a cry,
And in the twilight voides wailing past,
Like wild-swans calling, “When we rest we die,
And woe to them that linger and are last”;
And as the Sun sinks, sudden in heav’n new born
There shines an armèd Angel like a Star,
Who cries above the darkling world in scorn,
“God comes to Judgment. Learn ye what ye are.”
From fire to umber fades the sunset-gold,
From umber into silver and twilight;
The infant flowers their orisons have told
And turn together folded for the night;
The garden urns are black against the eve;
The white moth flitters through the fragrant glooms;
How beautiful the heav’ns!—But yet we grieve
And wander restless from the lighted rooms.
For through the world to-night a murmur thrills
As at some new-born prodigy of time—
Peace dies like twilight bleeding on the hills,
And Darkness creeps to hide the hateful crime.


Art thou no more, O Maiden Heaven-born,
O Peace, bright Angel of the windless morn?
Who comest down to bless our furrow’d fields,
Or stand like Beauty smiling ’mid the corn:
Mistress of mirth and ease and summer dreams,
Who lingerest among the woods and streams
To help us heap the harvest ’neath the moon,
And homeward laughing lead the lumb’ring teams:
Who teachest to our children thy wise lore;
Who keepest full the goodman’s golden store;
Who crownest Life with plenty, Death with flow’rs;
Peace, Queen of Kindness—but of earth, no more.
Not thine but ours the fault, thy care was vain;
For this that we have done be ours the pain;
Thou gavest much, as He who gave us all,
And as we slew Him for it thou art slain.
Heav’n left to men the moulding of their fate:
To live as wolves or pile the pillar’d State—
Like boars and bears to grunt and growl in mire,
Or dwell aloft, effulgent gods, elate.
Thou liftedst us: we slew and with thee fell—
From golden thrones of wisdom weeping fell.
Fate rends the chaplets from our feeble brows;
The spires of Heaven fade in fogs of hell.
She faints, she falls; her dying eyes are dim;
Her fingers play with those bright buds she bore
To please us, but that she can bring no more;
And dying yet she smiles—as Christ on him
Who slew Him slain. Her eyes so beauteous
Are lit with tears shed—not for herself but us.
The gentle Beings of the hearth and home;
The lovely Dryads of her aislèd woods;
The Angels that do dwell in solitudes
Where she dwelleth; and joyous Spirits that roam
To bless her bleating flocks and fruitful lands;
Are gather’d there to weep, and kiss her dying hands.
“Look, look,” they cry, “she is not dead, she breathes!
And we have staunched the damnèd wound and deep,
The cavern-carven wound. She doth but sleep
And will awake. Bring wine, and new-wound wreaths
Wherewith to crown awaking her dear head,
And make her Queen again.”—But no, for Peace was dead.
And then there came black Lords; and Dwarfs obscene
With lavish tongues; and Trolls; and treacherous Things
Like loose-lipp’d Councillors and cruel Kings
Who sharpen lies and daggers subterrene:
And flashed their evil eyes and weeping cried,
“We ruled the world for Peace. By her own hand she died.”
In secret he made sharp the bitter blade,
And poison’d it with bane of lies and drew,
And stabb’d—O God! the Cruel Cripple slew;
And cowards fled or lent him trembling aid.
She fell and died—in all the tale of time
The direst deed e’er done, the most accursèd crime.

Famous Poems About War and Peace

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Within the echoes of history’s battles and the whispers of hopeful harmony, our collection of famous poems about war and peace paints a vivid tapestry of human struggle and the yearning for tranquility.

Delve into the complexities of conflict and the timeless quest for unity, as these verses ignite contemplation, inspire change, and remind us of the enduring power of peace.

Let’s go!

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“The First of June” by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Peace and war are one in proof of England’s deathless praise.
One divine day saw her foemen scattered on the sea
Far and fast as storm could speed: the same strong day of days
Sees the imperial commonweal set friends and foemen free.
Save where freedom reigns, whose name is England, fraud and fear
Grind and blind the face of men who look on her and lie:
Now may truth and pride in truth, whose seat of old was here,
See them shamed and stricken blind and dumb as worms that die.
Even before our hallowed hawthorn-blossom pass and cease,
Even as England shines and smiles at last upon the sun,
Comes the word that means for England more than passing peace,
Peace with honour, peace with pride in righteous work well done.
Crowned with flowers the first of all the world and all the year,
Peace, whose name is one with honour born of war, is here.

“By War and Peace” by Detlev von Liliencron

’Mid flower beds I chanced to stand,
And gazed upon a gorgeous land
That blooming wide before me lay
Beneath the harvest sun’s hot ray;
And in the apple-tree’s fair shade
My host and I together stayed
And listened to a nightingale,
And peace was over hill and dale.
There whizzed, the distant rails along,
A train that brought a happy throng.
What magic! And besides it bore
Of blessèd goods a heavy store.
But once I saw the iron track
Destroyed and torn for miles. Alack—
And here where flowers now abound
Was then a barren, stirred-up ground.
A summer morn was glowing bright,
Like this one: down from every height,
With bag and knapsack all day long,
From ambuscades there poured a throng
Prepared to storm, a dazzling sea,
The army of the enemy.
I stood as though of iron cast,
Upon my sabre leaning, fast.
With lips apart and open-eyed
Into the mouth of hell I spied.
“Quick fire!” “Stand still!” Now they are there!
High waves the flag through smoky air!
And up and down go men in rows,
And many sink in deadly throes.
Now someone stabs me as I fall,
Stabs hard—I have no strength at all.
Before, beneath me, round about,
A frightful struggle, rage and rout.
And o’er this tangle wild, in fear
I see a shying war horse rear.
The hoof I see like lightning whir,
The clotted scar from pricking spur,
The girth, the spattered mud, the red
Of nostrils swelling wide with dread.
Between us now with clanging sound
The bombshell bursts its iron bound;
A dragon rears, the earth is rent—
Down falls the whole wide firmament!
They wail and moan, and dust is spread
Upon the laurels and the dead.
’Mid flower beds I chanced to stand
And gazed upon a gorgeous land
That far and wide before me lay
Beneath the peace-fan’s lulling sway.
And in the apple-trees’ fair shade
My host and I together stayed
And hearkened to the nightingale;
And roses bloomed on hill and dale.

“Peace” by Jessie B. Rittenhouse

Suddenly bells and flags!
Suddenly—door to door—
Tidings! Can we believe,
We, who were used to war?
Yet we have dreamed her face,
Knowing her light must be,
Knowing that she must come.
Look—she comes, it is she!
Tattered her raiment floats,
Blood is upon her wings.
Ah, but her eyes are clear!
Ah, but her voice outrings!
Soon where the shrapnel fell
Petals shall wake and stir.
Look—she is here, she lives!
Beauty has died for her.

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“When there is Peace” by Austin Dobson

“When there is Peace our land no more
Will be the land we knew of yore.”
Thus do our facile seers foretell
The truth that none can buy or sell
And e’en the wisest must ignore.
When we have bled at every pore,
Shall we still strive for gear and store?
Will it be Heaven? Will it be Hell,
When there is Peace?
This let us pray for, this implore:
That all base dreams thrust out at door,
We may in loftier aims excel
And, like men waking from a spell,
Grow stronger, nobler, than before,
When there is Peace.

“Peace Should Not Come” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Peace should not come along this foul, earth way.
Peace should not come, until we cleanse the path.
God waited for us; now in awful wrath
He pours the blood of men out day by day
To purify the highroad for her feet.
Why, what would Peace do, in a world where hearts
Are filled with thoughts like poison-pointed darts?
It were not meet, surely it were not meet
For Peace to come, and with her white robes hide
These industries of death – these guns and swords, –
These uniformed, hate-filled, destructive hordes, –
These hideous things, that are each nation’s pride.
So long as men believe in armed might
Let arms be brandished. Let not Peace be sought
Until the race-heart empties out all thought
Of blows and blood, as arguments for Right.
The world has never had enough of war,
Else war were not. Now let the monster stand,
Until he slays himself with his own hand;
Though no man knows what he is fighting for.
Then in the place where wicked cannons stood
Let Peace erect her shrine of Brotherhood.

“O Sun of Real Peace” by Walt Whitman

O sun of real peace! O hastening light!
O free and extatic! O what I here, preparing, warble for!
O the sun of the world will ascend, dazzling, and take his height—and you too, O my Ideal, will surely ascend!
O so amazing and broad—up there resplendent, darting and burning!
O vision prophetic, stagger’d with weight of light! with pouring glories!
O lips of my soul, already becoming powerless!
O ample and grand Presidentiads! Now the war, the war is over!
New history! new heroes! I project you!
Visions of poets! only you really last! sweep on! sweep on!
O heights too swift and dizzy yet!
O purged and luminous! you threaten me more than I can stand!
(I must not venture—the ground under my feet menaces me—it will not support me:
O future too immense,)—O present, I return, while yet I may, to you.

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“The Peace Autumn” by John Greenleaf Whittier

Thank God for rest, where none molest,
And none can make afraid;
For Peace that sits as Plenty’s guest
Beneath the homestead shade!
Bring pike and gun, the sword’s red scourge,
The negro’s broken chains,
And beat them at the blacksmith’s forge
To ploughshares for our plains.
Alike henceforth our hills of snow,
And vales where cotton flowers;
All streams that flow, all winds that blow,
Are Freedom’s motive-powers.
Henceforth to Labor’s chivalry
Be knightly honors paid;
For nobler than the sword’s shall be
The sickle’s accolade.
Build up an altar to the Lord,
O grateful hearts of ours!
And shape it of the greenest sward
That ever drank the showers.
Lay all the bloom of gardens there,
And there the orchard fruits;
Bring golden grain from sun and air,
From earth her goodly roots.
There let our banners droop and flow,
The stars uprise and fall;
Our roll of martyrs, sad and slow,
Let sighing breezes call.
Their names let hands of horn and tan
And rough-shod feet applaud,
Who died to make the slave a man,
And link with toil reward.
There let the common heart keep time
To such an anthem sung
As never swelled on poet’s rhyme,
Or thrilled on singer’s tongue.
Song of our burden and relief,
Of peace and long annoy;
The passion of our mighty grief
And our exceeding joy!
A song of praise to Him who filled
The harvests sown in tears,
And gave each field a double yield
To feed our battle-years!
A song of faith that trusts the end
To match the good begun,
Nor doubts the power of Love to blend
The hearts of men as one!

From “War.” by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Oh! Peace, soft Peace, art thou for ever gone,
Is thy fair form indeed for ever flown?
And love and concord hast thou swept away,
As if incongruous with thy parted sway?
Alas, I fear thou hast, for none appear.
Now o’er the palsied earth stalks giant Fear,
With War, and Woe, and Terror, in his train; –
List’ning he pauses on the embattled plain,
Then speeding swiftly o’er the ensanguined heath,
Has left the frightful work to Hell and Death.
See! gory Ruin yokes his blood-stained car,
He scents the battle’s carnage from afar;
Hell and Destruction mark his mad career,
He tracks the rapid step of hurrying Fear;
Whilst ruined towns and smoking cities tell,
That thy work, Monarch, is the work of Hell.
‘It is thy work!’ I hear a voice repeat,
Shakes the broad basis of thy bloodstained seat;
And at the orphan’s sigh, the widow’s moan,
Totters the fabric of thy guilt-stained throne –
‘It is thy work, O Monarch;’ now the sound
Fainter and fainter, yet is borne around,
Yet to enthusiast ears the murmurs tell
That Heaven, indignant at the work of Hell,
Will soon the cause, the hated cause remove,
Which tears from earth peace, innocence, and love.

“Peace—1815” by John M’Creary

No more the loud tones of the trumpet resound,
No more the war-bugle’s wild notes strike the ear;
Our warriors return from the battle renown’d,
To the bosom of friendship and families dear.
Mild Peace round her flings
Balmy sweets from her wings,
The welkin with echoes of happiness rings;
Come, toast our brave heroes, and swear, this great day
We will hand down in glory till time pass away.
The Briton, enraged, had proclaim’d, in his pride,
To erase the strong fabric our sires had erected;
To pollute the fair fane for which millions have died,
To destroy Freedom’s temple, by freemen protected.
Boasting loud, o’er the wave
Come his Wellingtons brave,
Ah! who shall the green tree of liberty save?
Mark the eagle of Freedom, his banners unfurl’d,
His eye on the sun, while suspense chains the world.
From a thousand ships pouring, his conquerors of France
Debouch on our plains in the dread pomp of war;
Confiding in conquest, they gayly advance;
Their deep-mouth’d artillery thunders afar;
Near Niagara’s roar
The parch’d earth drank their gore—
Our heroes their garbs triumphantly wore.
Brown, Scott, Gaines, and Ripley their falchions raised high,
Their resolve—“We will conquer, or gloriously die.”
See, the sons of the west! like a dark cloud of night,
With eagerness forth from their deep forests throng;
Their death-tubes of terror prepared for the fight,
Like their own Mississippi, impetuous and strong.
’Tis Jackson who leads
Them to glorious deeds,
Where the vaunting invader in agony bleeds:
Come, toast then our heroes, we swear this great day
We will hand down, in glory, till time pass away.

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“Returning Peace” by William McCarty

Let every age due honours pay,
And swell with joy the grateful lay,
To hail returning peace:
Accept, sweet maid, the votive strain,
And bid loud carols fill the plain,
Since thou hast loosed the prisoner’s chain,
And bid war’s horrors cease.
Of murmuring plaints let age beware;
E’en age should smooth the brow of care,
Nor mourn misfortunes past:
Ye cheerful youths of either sex,
No more let fear your bosoms vex,
Or friends or lovers lost perplex,
Since peace is come at last.
Nor fire nor rapine now shall spoil
The well-earn’d fruits of all your toil,
Or rob your fleecy care;
But commerce, on each favouring breeze,
Shall waft her treasures o’er the seas,
Whilst rival nations strive to please,
And in our friendship share.
The soldier, long inured to arms,
To marshall’d fields and loud alarms,
Return’d to love and rest,
Shall range the corn in even rows,
Or lop the too luxuriant boughs,
Or fell the pine with steady blows,
In peace and plenty bless’d.
No midnight horrors now shall fright,
Or boding visions of the night
Distress the simple swain;
But, rising with the morning gray,
He times his labours with the day,
Or journeys, fearless, on his way,
And whistles o’er the plain.
Now sportive nymphs shall scour the glade,
Or seek the cool, refreshing shade,
Their innocence secure:
Those are thy gifts, indulgent Peace:
O! may these blessings never cease,
But thy wide empire still increase,
While nature shall endure.