#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #PoemsOfPower
The mighty forces of mysterious sp… Are one by one subdued by lordly m… The awful lightning that for eons… Their devastating and untrammelled… Now bear his messages from place t…
Sometimes when I have dropped asl… Draped in soft luxurious gloom, Across my drowsy mind will creep The memory of another room, Where resinous knots in roofboards…
You remember the hall on the corne… To-night as I walked down street I heard the sound of music, And the rhythmic beat and beat, In time to the pulsing measure
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
Out from my window westward I turn full oft my face; But the mountains rebuke the visio… That would encompass space; They lift their lofty foreheads
With care, and skill, and cunning… She parried Time’s malicious dart… And kept the years at bay, Till passion entered in her heart And aged her in a day!
What a terrible night! Does the N… The Night, with her black veil do… Like an ordained nun, know what li… That awful, motionless, snow-white… The winds seem crazed, and, wildly…
Look in the eyes of trouble with a… Extend your hand and do not be afr… —Tis but a friend who comes to mas… And test your faith and courage fo… Fly, and he follows fast with thre…
Oh many a duel the world has seen That was bitter with hate, that wa… But I sing of a duel by far more… Than ever a poet was sung before. It was waged by night, yea by day…
Don’t bring into the lodge-room Anger, and spite, and pride. Drop at the gate of the temple The strife of the world outside. Forget all your cares and trials,
I gave a beggar from my little sto… Of well-earned gold. He spent th… And came again, and yet again, sti… And hungry, as before. I gave a thought, and through that…
However skilled and strong art tho… However fierce is thy relentless h… Though firm thy hand, and strong t… Thy poisoned arrow leaves the bend… To pierce the target of my heart,…
Oh, I know a certain lady who is… Yet she fills me with more terror… The little chills run up and down… Though she seems a gentle creature… And she has a thousand virtues and…
’Tis the song of the morning, The words of the sun, As he swings o’er the mountains: ‘There’s work to be done: I must wake up the sleepers,
The woman he loved, while he dream… Danced on till the stars grew dim, But alone with her heart, from the… Sat the woman who loved him. The woman he worshipped only smile…