Patience poems show how important it is to keep going, even when things are tough. Patience is waiting without getting upset, trusting that good things will come when the time is right.
It’s the art of finding joy in the process and believing that the best things unfold gracefully over time.
Patience poems remind us that every step counts and the destination is worth the wait. They’re like a comforting hug for your mind, reminding you that patience can turn ordinary moments into something special.
They help us feel better when things take time. Sometimes, these poems use nature to teach us. Let’s read some patience poems and make our journey beautiful and smooth.
“Patience”
By D.H. Lawrence
A wind comes from the north
Blowing little flocks of birds
Like spray across the town,
And a train, roaring forth,
Rushes stampeding down
With cries and flying curds
Of steam, out of the darkening north.
Whither I turn and set
Like a needle steadfastly,
Waiting ever to get
The news that she is free;
But ever fixed, as yet,
To the lode of her agony.
“The Impatient Maid”
When as the rye reach’d to the chin,
And chop cherry, chop cherry ripe within,
Strawberries swimming in the cream,
And schoolboys playing in the stream;
Then O, then O, then O, my true love said,
Till that time come again
She could not live a maid!
“Fatal Love”
By Matthew Prior
Poor Hal caught his death standing under a spout
Expecting till midnight when Nan would come out;
But fatal his patience, as cruel the dame,
And cursed was the weather that quench’d the man’s flame.
Whoe’er thou art that reads these moral lines,
Make love at home, and go to bed betimes.
“Demand for Courage”
By Francis Quarles
Thy life’s a warfare, thou a soldier art;
Satan’s thy foeman, and a faithful heart
Thy two-edged weapon; patience is thy shield,
Heaven is thy chieftain, and the world thy field.
To be afraid to die, or wish for death,
Are words and passions of despairing breath.
Who doth the first the day doth faintly yield;
And who the second basely flies the field.
“Compensation”
By Caroline Atherton Mason
Not in each shell the diver brings to air
Is found the priceless pearl, but only where
Mangled, and torn, and bruised well-nigh to death,
The wounded oyster draws its laboring breath.
O tired and suffering soul! gauge here your gain;
The pearl of patience is the fruit of pain.
“Riches and Poverty”
By Robert Herrick
God could have made all rich, or all men poor;
But why He did not, let me tell wherefore:
Had all been rich, where then had patience been?
Had all been poor, who had His bounty seen?
“Upon God”
By Robert Herrick
God, when He takes my goods and chattels hence,
Gives me a portion, giving patience:
What is in God is God; if so it be
He patience gives, He gives Himself to me
“Felicity Knows No Fence”
By Robert Herrick
Of both our fortunes good and bad we find
Prosperity more searching of the mind:
Felicity flies o’er the wall and fence,
While misery keeps in with patience.
“Persecutions Profitable”
By Robert Herrick
Afflictions they most profitable are
To the beholder and the sufferer:
Bettering them both, but by a double strain,
The first by patience, and the last by pain.
“To Fortune”
By Robert Herrick
Tumble me down, and I will sit
Upon my ruins, smiling yet;
Tear me to tatters, yet I’ll be
Patient in my necessity.
Laugh at my scraps of clothes, and shun
Me, as a fear’d infection;
Yet, scare-crow-like, I’ll walk as one
Neglecting thy derision.
“To Electra”
By Robert Herrick
Shall I go to Love and tell,
Thou art all turned icicle?
Shall I say her altars be
Disadorn’d and scorn’d by thee?
O beware! in time submit;
Love has yet no wrathful fit:
If her patience turns to ire,
Love is then consuming fire.
The Features
By Emily Dickinson
A throe upon the features
A hurry in the breath,
An ecstasy of parting
Denominated “Death,” —
“Epitaph”
By Ralph Waldo Emerson
Bethink, poor heart, what bitter kind of jest
Mad Destiny this tender stripling played;
For a warm breast of maiden to his breast,
She laid a slab of marble on his head.
They say, through patience, chalk
Becomes a ruby stone;
Ah, yes! but by the true heart’s blood
The chalk is crimson grown.
“To Sylvia”
By Robert Herrick
No more, my Silvia, do I mean to pray
For those good days that ne’er will come away.
I want belief; O gentle Silvia, be
The patient saint, and send up vows for me.
“February”
By Sara Teasdale
They spoke of him I love
With cruel words and gay;
My lips kept silent guard
On all I could not say.
I heard, and down the street
The lonely trees in the square
Patience Or Comforts In Crosses
By Robert Herrick
Abundant plagues I late have had,
Yet none of these have made me sad:
For why? My Saviour with the sense
Of suff’ring gives me patience.
“Respice Finem Epigram”
By Francis Quarles
My soul, sit thou a patient looker-on;
Judge not the play before the play is done:
Her plot hath many changes; every day
Speaks a new scene; the last act crowns the play.
He seeketh Comfort in Patience
By Sir Thomas Wyatt
Patience! for I have wrong
And dare not shew wherein;
Patience shall be my song;
Since Truth can nothing win.
Patience then for this fit;
Hereafter comes not yet.
Woman’s Love
By Frances Anne Kemble
A maiden meek, with solemn, steadfast eyes,
Full of eternal constancy and faith,
And smiling lips, through whose soft portal sighs
Truth’s holy voice, with every balmy breath,
So journeys she along life’s crowded way,
Keeping her soul’s sweet counsel from all sight;
Nor pomp, nor vanity, lead her astray,
Nor aught that men call dazzling, fair, or bright:
For pity, sometimes, doth she pause, and stay
Those whom she meeteth mourning, for her heart
Knows well in suffering how to bear its part.
Patiently lives she through each dreary day,
Looking with little hope unto the morrow;
And still she walketh hand in hand with sorrow.
This is all about patience poems.