#AmericanWriters #PoemsOfPower
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,
Time’s finger on the dial of my li… Points to high noon! and yet the h… Leaves less than half remaining, f… Bleak shadows of the grave engulf… To those who burn the candle to th…
Our lives are songs. God writes t… And we set them to music at pleasu… And the song grows glad, or sweet,… As we choose to fashion the measur… We must write the music, whatever…
Whoever was begotten by pure love, And came desired and welcome into… Is of immaculate conception. He Whose heart is full of tenderness… Who loves mankind more than he lov…
After the fierce midsummer all abl… Has burned itself to ashes, and ex… In the intensity of its own fires, There come the mellow, mild, St.… Crowned with the calm of peace, bu…
Oh, an ugly thing is an iron rail, Black, with its face to the dust. But it carries a message where win… It crosses the mountains, and catc… While the winds and the sea make s…
The man of God stands, on the Sab… Warning the sinners from the broad… That leads to death. He rolls his… And tells how wily demons hidden l… To spring upon the thoughtless sou…
MORTAL: “The night is cold, the hour is la… Who is it knocking at my door?” THE NEW YEAR: “I am Good Cheer.”
Just a little every day– That’s the way! Seeds in darkness swell and grow, Tiny blades push through the snow; Never any flower of May
Under the light of the silver moon We two sat, when our hearts were y… The night was warm with the breath… And loud from the meadow the crick… And darker and deeper, oh, love, t…
There is a certain castle that is… And plants, and birds, and pretty… But alas! for the unhappy folks wh… A dreadful ogre haunts the house a… Some day I fear will find them de…
I saw the farmer, when the day was… And the proud sun had sought his c… And the mild stars came forward on… I saw the sturdy farmer, and I sa… ‘What have you done to-day,
Like some schoolmaster, kind in be… Who hears the children crying o’er… And calling, “Help me, master!” y… Since in his silence and refusal l… Their self-development, so God ab…
Dying? I am not dying. Are you ma… You think I need to ask for heave… I think you are a fiend, who would… To see me struggle in death’s cold… ‘But, man you lie! for I am stron…
Let the old snow be covered with t… The trampled snow, so soiled, and… Let it be hidden wholly from our v… By pure white flakes, all trackles… When Winter dies, low at the swee…