Top 11 Best Poems of Hope and Inspiration

Top 11 Best Poems of Hope and Inspiration

Top 11 Best Poems of Hope and Inspiration | Read, Enjoy & Share with your Friends

Hope Is The Thing With Feathers - Poem 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.


To Hope - Poem 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 - Poem by Emily Jane Bronte

Hope was but a timid friend;

She sat without the grated den,

Watching how my fate would tend,

Even as selfish-hearted men.


She was cruel in her fear;

Through the bars, one dreary day,

I looked out to see her there,

And she turned her face away!


Like a false guard, false watch keeping,

Still, in strife, she whispered peace;

She would sing while I was weeping;

If I listened, she would cease.


False she was, and unrelenting;

When my last joys strewed the ground,

Even Sorrow saw, repenting,

Those sad relics scattered round;


Hope, whose whisper would have given

Balm to all my frenzied pain,

Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven,

Went, and ne'er returned again!


Hope Your Happy - Poem by Jessica Anonymous

I hope your happy with your life

I hope your happy with your wife

I hope you see what you have done

I hope you see that this is all wrong


I hope you realise that your not perfect

I hope you see that money's not worth it

I hope you realise that family comes first

I hope you see that my smile was rehearsed


I hope you see that your tearing me apart

I hope you someday grow a heart

I hope someday I will want to see you

I hope someday I wont have to see you


I hope you suffer, but I dont want that

I hope you die, but I dont mean that

I hope someday your 'love' will be real

I hope someday you will 'feel'


I hope you realise that money cant heal

I hope someday you'll feel, what I feel

I hope that before you die

I hope to tell you, I wont cry


I hoped you would be a good dad

I hoped you wouldnt make me mad

But all my hopes from before are gone

just like the love you had for their mom


I hope that I see you one last time

I hope I get to tell you this:

'I wish I never knew you

because of you....I wish I didnt exist....'


Evelyn Hope - Poem by Robert Browning



Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead!

Sit and watch by her side an hour.

That is her book-shelf, this her bed;

She plucked that piece of geranium-flower,

Beginning to die too, in the glass;

Little has yet been changed, I think:

The shutters are shut, no light may pass

Save two long rays thro' the hinge's chink.




Sixteen years old, when she died!

Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name;

It was not her time to love; beside,

Her life had many a hope and aim,

Duties enough and little cares,

And now was quiet, now astir,

Till God's hand beckoned unawares,---

And the sweet white brow is all of her.




Is it too late then, Evelyn Hope?

What, your soul was pure and true,

The good stars met in your horoscope,

Made you of spirit, fire and dew---

And, just because I was thrice as old

And our paths in the world diverged so wide,

Each was nought to each, must I be told?

We were fellow mortals, nought beside?




No, indeed! for God above

Is great to grant, as mighty to make,

And creates the love to reward the love:

I claim you still, for my own love's sake!

Delayed it may be for more lives yet,

Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few:

Much is to learn, much to forget

Ere the time be come for taking you.




But the time will come,---at last it will,

When, Evelyn Hope, what meant (I shall say)

In the lower earth, in the years long still,

That body and soul so pure and gay?

Why your hair was amber, I shall divine,

And your mouth of your own geranium's red---

And what you would do with me, in fine,

In the new life come in the old one's stead.




I have lived (I shall say) so much since then,

Given up myself so many times,

Gained me the gains of various men,

Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes;

Yet one thing, one, in my soul's full scope,

Either I missed or itself missed me:

And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope!

What is the issue? let us see!




I loved you, Evelyn, all the while.

My heart seemed full as it could hold?

There was place and to spare for the frank young smile,

And the red young mouth, and the hair's young gold.

So, hush,---I will give you this leaf to keep:

See, I shut it inside the sweet cold hand!

There, that is our secret: go to sleep!

You will wake, and remember, and understand.


Hope - Poem by Randall Jarrell

The spirit killeth, but the letter giveth life.

The week is dealt out like a hand

That children pick up card by card.

One keeps getting the same hand.

One keeps getting the same card.

But twice a day -- except on Saturday --

The wheel stops, there is a crack in Time:

With a hiss of soles, a rattle of tin,

My own gray Daemon pauses on the stair,

My own bald Fortune lifts me by the hair.

Woe's me! woe's me! In Folly's mailbox

Still laughs the postcard, Hope:

Your uncle in Australia

Has died and you are Pope,

For many a soul has entertained

A Mailman unawares --

And as you cry, Impossible,

A step is on the stairs.

One keeps getting the same dream

Delayed, marked "Payment Due,"

The bill that one has paid

Delayed, marked "Payment Due" --

Twice a day, in rotting mailbox,

The white grubs are new:

And Faith, once more, is mine

Faithfully, but Charity

Writes hopefully about a new

Asylum -- but Hope is as good as new.

Woe's me! woe's me! In Folly's mailbox

Still laughs the postcard, Hope:

Your uncle in Australia

Has died and you are Pope,

For many a soul has entertained

A mailman unawares --

And as you cry, Impossible,

A step is on the stairs.


Hope Holds To Christ - Poem 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.

. . . . . . . .

I told you that she turned her mirror dim

Betweenwhiles, but she sees herself not Him.


Dare I Hope? - Poem by Sophia White

Dare I hope to hope?

Is it safe? Is it right?

Am I hoping for nothing

But a black and empty night?


Hope should make me happy.

I should laugh, sing, and dance

Because I am hoping. Right?

Ha! Not a chance.


How is it that hope can leave me

Trembling in the darkness?

How is it that something so “good”

Should leave me feeling helpless?


Dare I hope to hope?

What difference does it make?

Fate will be fate in the end,

It will either “make or break.”


Does Fate regard my hope?

Does She listen? Or care?

Am I shooting for a star that

Simply isn’t there?


I cannot know! Oh, God

Why must I struggle with

This doubt that pulls at me

Rends me, limb from limb?


What sort of hope leaves pain

Where it should instead leave joy?

Is this hope at all? Or perhaps

Some wicked demon’s ploy?


I cannot know! Dear heaven!

How can I even begin to dare

To hope for something – anything?

Is no assurance there?


No promise? No guarantee?

I cannot stand it! I cannot!

The doubt is a plague

In my every thought.


Dare I hope to hope

In a hope that leaves me dry

And lost? How can I dare

To hope in hope? How can I?


The Instinct Of Hope - Poem by John Clare

Is there another world for this frail dust

To warm with life and be itself again?

Something about me daily speaks there must,

And why should instinct nourish hopes in vain?

'Tis nature's prophesy that such will be,

And everything seems struggling to explain

The close sealed volume of its mystery.

Time wandering onward keeps its usual pace

As seeming anxious of eternity,

To meet that calm and find a resting place.

E'en the small violet feels a future power

And waits each year renewing blooms to bring,

And surely man is no inferior flower

To die unworthy of a second spring?


Work Without Hope - Poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair--

The bees are stirring--birds are on the wing--

And WINTER slumbering in the open air,

Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring !

And I, the while, the sole unbusy thing,

Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.


Yet well I ken the banks where Amaranths blow,

Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.

Bloom, O ye Amaranths ! bloom for whom ye may,

For me ye bloom not ! Glide, rich streams, away !

With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll :

And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul ?

WORK WITHOUT HOPE draws nectar in a sieve,

And HOPE without an object cannot live.


Hope Is A Tattered Flag - Poem by Carl Sandburg

Hope is a tattered flag and a dream of time.

Hope is a heartspun word, the rainbow, the shadblow in white

The evening star inviolable over the coal mines,

The shimmer of northern lights across a bitter winter night,

The blue hills beyond the smoke of the steel works,

The birds who go on singing to their mates in peace, war, peace,

The ten-cent crocus bulb blooming in a used-car salesroom,

The horseshoe over the door, the luckpiece in the pocket,

The kiss and the comforting laugh and resolve—

Hope is an echo, hope ties itself yonder, yonder.

The spring grass showing itself where least expected,

The rolling fluff of white clouds on a changeable sky,

The broadcast of strings from Japan, bells from Moscow,

Of the voice of the prime minister of Sweden carried

Across the sea in behalf of a world family of nations

And children singing chorals of the Christ child

And Bach being broadcast from Bethlehem, Pennsylvania

And tall skyscrapers practically empty of tenants

And the hands of strong men groping for handholds

And the Salvation Army singing God loves us….


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