Hope

Poets have painted thee an angel fair,
     Girded about with beauty, in whose sight
     Darkness puts on the attributes of Light,
And Doubt half yields his sceptre. Thou dost wear,
Upon thy regal brow, a light to scare
     Back to their den the demons that beset
     Our hearts with dark suggestions, such as fret
The spirit to impatience—and Despair
     Flies from thy radiant smile. Nor do they err
     Who deem thee sent of Heaven, a minister
To the sick heart—a friend to smooth the way
     Of Earth’s tired pilgrims, and with words of cheer,
     Teach them to look from gloom and darkness here,
To the pure light of Heaven’s Eternal Day.