#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #PoemsOfPower
Sometimes I feel so passionate a… For spiritual perfection here belo… This vigorous frame, with healthfu… Seems my determined foe, So actively it makes a stern resis…
I have written this day down in my… As the sweetest day in the season; From all of the others I’ve set i… But I will not tell you the reaso… That is my secret—-I must not tel…
Talk happiness. The world is sad… Without your woes. No path is who… Look for the places that are smoot… And speak of those, to rest the we… Of Earth, so hurt by one continuo…
Under the snow, in the dark and th… A pale little sprout was humming; Sweetly it sang, ’neath the frozen… Of the beautiful days that were co… “How foolish your songs!” said a l…
As we journey along, with a laugh… We see, on youth’s flower-decked s… Like a beacon of light, shining fa… The beautiful Station of Hope. But the wheels of old Time roll a…
I step across the mystic border-la… And look upon the wonder-world of… How beautiful, how beautiful its h… And all its valleys, how surpassin… The winding paths that lead up to…
Along a narrow Moorish street A blue-eyed soldier strode. (Ah, well-a-day.) Veiled from her lashes to her feet She stepped from her abode,
The day will dawn when one of us s… In vain to hear a voice that has g… And morns will fade, noons pale,… While sad eyes watch for feet that… One of us two must sometime face e…
Quite carelessly I turned the new… A song I sang, full many a year a… Smiled up at me, as in a busy stre… One meets an old-time friend he us… So full it was, that simple little…
MORTAL: “The night is cold, the hour is la… Who is it knocking at my door?” THE NEW YEAR: “I am Good Cheer.”
To J. J. H., Of Kentucky Gathering brands from the burning, Plucking them out of the fire, Lifting the sheep that have wander… Out of the dust and the mire,
So we must part forever; and altho… I long have beat my wings and crie… Free from your narrow limiting con… Forth into space, the true home of… Yet now, yet now that hour is draw…
There is much that makes me sorry… And I seem to see more pathos in… I’m sorry for the strong, brave me… But who, in their own troubled hou… I’m sorry for the victors who have…
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…
The sweet young Spring walks over… It flushes and glows on moor and l… The birds are singing in careless… The brook flows cheerily on to the… And I know that the flowers are b…