Poems with rhymes of worn

Troubled, wildered, and forlorn,
Dark, benighted, travel-worn,

He may, at last, seem worn--
Lie fallen--hands and eyes
Folded--yet, though we mourn and mourn,

Out of your pain born.
They have stolen the sun’s power
With their feet on your shoulders worn.

With much hard labor in thy service worn!
He set the vines that clothe yon ample plain,
And he these olives that the vale adorn.

With many an autumn threshing worn,
Lay the heaped ears of unhusked corn.

Is followed by the bright and blushing morn,
Thy coming morrow will be clear and bright;
’Tis darkest when the night is furthest worn.

When, faint with watching, few and worn,
We saw no welcome day-star climb
The cold gray pathway of the morn!

No ray is dimmed, no atom worn,
My oldest force is good as new,
And the fresh rose on yonder thorn

With many an autmn threshing worn,
Lay the heaped ears of unhusked corn.

Night is worn,
And the morn

Night is worn,
And the morn

Ye rugged rocks! which holy knees have worn;
Ye grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid thorn!

To be another day re-worn,
Turn'd, but not torn;

A chaplet by no gentler forehead worn.
Grief deep as hell, wrath hardly to be borne,

Sorrowful faces worn
As stone with rain,
Faces writhing with scorn

For unheal'd wounds his strength had worn,
And all the toil his flight had borne;

A POOR lost princess, weary and worn,
Came over the down by the wind-washed moor,
And the king looked out on her grace forlorn,

Reverence of age with love and labour worn,
Or godlike pity fired with godlike scorn,

White woman that passion has worn
As the tide wears the dove-grey sands,
And with heart more old than the horn

The woman's nature with a manly scorn
And break away the gauds and armlets worn