#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #PoemsOfPower
In the fair morning of his life, When his pure heart lay in his bre… Panting, with all that wild unrest To plunge into the great world’s s… That fills young hearts with mad d…
O Science, reaching backward thro… Most earnest child of God, Exposing all the secrets of existe… With thy divining rod, I bid thee speed up to the heights…
Dear love, if you and I could sai… With snowy pennons to the winds un… Across the waters of some unknown… And find some island far from all… If we could dwell there, evermore…
Of all the blessings which my life… I value most, and most praise God… Want, Loneliness and Pain, those… Who, masquerade in the garb of foe… For many a year, and filled my hea…
You know that oasis, fresh and fai… In the city desert, as Greeley sq… That bright triangle of scented bl… That lies surrounded by grime and… Right in the breast of the seethin…
I will paint you a sign, rumseller… And hang it above your door; A truer and better signboard Than ever you had before. I will paint with the skill of a m…
Let no man pray that he know not s… Let no soul ask to be free from pa… For the gall of to-day is the swee… And the moment’s loss is the lifet… Through want of a thing does its w…
Born in the flesh, and bred in the… Some of us harbour still A New World pride: and we flaunt… The Spirit of Bunker Hill. We claim our place, as a separate…
Sometimes she seems so helpless an… So full of sweet unreason and so w… So prone to some capricious whim o… Now gay, now tearful, and now ange… By her strange moods of waywardnes…
I dreamed a Voice, of one God-aut… Cried loudly thro’ the world, ‘Di… And there was consernation in the… And men who strutted under braid a… Beat on their medalled breasts, an…
Immortal life is something to be e… By slow, self-conquest, comradeshi… And patient seeking after higher t… We cannot follow our own wayward w… And feed our baser appetites and g…
In every part of the thrifty town, Whether my course be up or down, In lane, and alley, and avenue, Painted in yellow, and red, and bl… This side and that, east and west,
She sits beside the window. All… Turn once again to gaze on her swe… She is so fair; but soon, too soon… To lie down in her last resting-pl… No gems are brighter than her spar…
As we hurry away to the end, my fr… Of this sad little farce called ex… We are sure that the future will b… And that is the grave in the dista… And so when our lives run along al…
And now, when poets are singing Their songs of olden days, And now, when the land is ringing With sweet Centennial lays, My muse goes wandering backward,