I Many Times Thought Peace Had Come

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 be —

Hope Is The Thing With Feathers

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 chilliest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity
It asked a crumb of me

Note: Hope, like a bird holds fast even in the harshest conditions, and keeps your heart warm. The poet feels that even through all that, it has never asked for anything in return.

Nobody knows this little Rose

Nobody knows this little Rose  -

It might a pilgrim be

Did I not take it from the ways

And lift it up to thee.

Only a Bee will miss it -

Only a Butterfly,

Hastening from far journey - 

Only its breast to lie -

Only a Bird will wonder - 

Only a Breeze will sigh -

Ah Little Rose - how easy

For such as thee to die!