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The Witch
Toil, and grow rich,
What's that but to lie
With a foul witch
And after, drained dry,
To be brought
To the chamber where
Lies one long sought
With despair.
Poems on the topic: toil
Poems on the topic “toil” on Poets.by.
A Disagreement
You say "That man was made to mourn."
Would you have me believe it —
Believe earth holds no recompense
Until death bids me leave it —
Believe there is but misery
And toil on toil, in store for me?
No. I do not, cannot believe,
While heaven smiles above me,
That I was doom'd on earth to mourn
With naught to cheer or love me.
Wise Bard, although your dirge rings true,
I do not agree with you.
Toil Created
Dutiful, underpaid bearer of burden
(Although as oxen your past roles were cast,
And dark the stage whereon your scene was set)
The wearing of the yoke of toil has been your alchemist.
Heights imperceptible, by sheer strength surmounted,
Dire circumstance and hind'ring bars overcome,
With sinew taut and stamina unyielding,
Complete, you stand a toil created man.
Subway
Down between the walls of shadow
Where the iron laws insist,
The hunger voices mock.
The worn wayfaring men
With the hunched and humble shoulders,
Throw their laughter into toil.
Sonnet 28: How can I then return in happy plight
How can I then return in happy plight,
That am debarre'd the benefit of rest?
When day's oppression is not eas'd by night,
But day by night and night by day oppress'd,
And each, though enemies to either's reign,
Do in consent shake hands to torture me,
The one by toil, the other to complain
How far I toil, still farther off from thee.
I tell the day, to please him thou art bright,
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven:
So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night,
When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the even.
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,
And night doth nightly make grief's length seem stronger.
To the Evening Star
Star that bringest home the bee,
And sett’st the weary labourer free!
If any star shed peace, ‘tis thou,
That send ‘st it from above,
Appearing when Heaven’s breath and brow
Are sweet as hers we love.
Come to the luxuriant skies,
Whilst the landscape’s odours rise,
Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard,
And songs when toil is done,
From cottages whose smoke unstirr’d
Curls yellow in the sun.
Star of love’s soft interviews.
Parted lovers on thee muse;
Their remembrancer in heaven
Of thrilling vows thou art,
When Hope but made Tranquillity be felt (fragment)
When Hope but made Tranquillity be felt--
A Flight of Hopes for ever on the wing
But made Tranquillity a conscious Thing--
And wheeling round and round in sportive coil
Fann'd the calm air upon the brow of Toil--
Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem
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