Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, HOPE, by AUGUSTA DAVIES WEBSTER


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

HOPE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Hope, only hope, for hope I wildly call
Last Line: Than in a flattered waking dream remain.
Alternate Author Name(s): Home, Cecil; Webster, Mrs. Julia Augusta
Subject(s): Hope; Optimism


HOPE, only hope, for hope I wildly call,
Yet have no faith in her enticing smiles,
Her smiles are voiceless who has smiles for all.

Though something of our sorrow she beguiles,
Well were it, for the soul that would be strong,
To gaze on fate undazzled by her wiles.

Who chases wild-fire gleam is led awrong,
Better it is to plod the weary way,
Although the goal be far, the road be long,

Than, following the glimmering, luring ray
Of fancied cheerful light by warm fireside,
To chase the flickering star, and go astray.

Better in the stern knowledge to abide
Of the hard now, than with the misty glow
Of golden futures present pain to hide.

A man is surer victor o'er his foe
In the cold shade, than dazzled with strong glare,
And it is better to see all one's woe,

Well knowing it, but not as in despair
Holding nor less nor greater than it is,
So one may grow the stronger through his care.

So let him take the sorrow that is his,
And through the very burden greater grow,
If that the burden be not borne amiss.

Not with unequal pressure weighing so,
To cripple him in limb, or dwarf his height,
Or make his laggard step unsure and slow;

But stedfast carried with the even might
Of an untrembling well-enduring will;
Strength grows through grief, when it is used aright.

There is no power in grief the soul to kill,
That bravely in endurance finds its good,
And sharply anguished lords its anguish still.

Nor has it need of Hope's inspiring food
To nerve its forces to the battle won,
Needs not her glittering bow to span its flood,

But its own iris in God's hidden sun,
To its own self is sign of promised peace,
When the wild fury of the waves is done.

And even in its trouble still has peace,
Knowing its fate, yea, knowing it may be
That for its sorrow earth has no surcease.

Hope, I have madly called and longed for thee,
Although I knew thy silver words were vain,
But now I pray thee do not comfort me,

Since it is better to grow strong through pain,
Although the blow like a keen death-stroke fall,
Than in a flattered waking dream remain.







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