#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #PoemsOfPower
She must be honest, both in though… Of generous impulse, and above all… Not seeking praise, or place, or p… But life’s best blessings for her… Which means the best for all.
It is easy enough to be pleasant, When life flows by like a song, But the man worth while is one who… When everything goes dead wrong. For the test of the heart is troub…
In the faint flush upon the tell-t… And in the pallor that succeeds it… The quivering lid of an averted ey… The smile that proves the parent o… Thus doth Love speak.
To Miss Eva Russell. The spring time is deaf to our ple… The meadows are brown as can be. The hilltops are bleak and unlovel… No thrush sits and sings on the tr…
If I were a raindrop, and you wer… I would burst from the cloud above… And lie on your breast in a raptur… And love you, love you, love you. If I were a brown bee, and you we…
It is easy to sit in the sunshine And talk to the man in the shade; It is easy to float in a well-trim… And point out the places to wade. But once we pass into the shadows,
Sometimes, when I am toil-worn an… And tired out with working long an… And earth is dark, and skies above… And heart and soul are all too sic… These words have come to me like a…
You do but jest, sir, and you jest… How could the hand be enemy of the… Or seed and sod be rivals! How c… Feel jealousy of heat, plant of th… Or competition dwell ’twixt lip an…
There is a courage, a majestic thi… That springs forth from the brow o… Minerva-like, and dares all danger… And all the threatening future yet… Crowned with the helmet of great s…
Time flies. The swift hours hurr… And speed us on to untried ways; New seasons ripen, perish, die, And yet love stays. The old, old love– like sweet at f…
Now ere I slept, my prayer had be… To do the will of Christ, our Lor… And with this prayer upon my lips… But suddenly the world of night a… From forest, and from slaughter ho…
Why are thou sad, my Beppo? But… Here at my feet, thy dear head on… I heard thee say thy heart would n… Or feel the olden ennui and unrest… What troubles thee? Am I not all…
The Truth Teller lifts the curtai… And shows us the people’s plight; And everything seems uncertain, And nothing at all looks right. Yet out of the blackness groping,
I called to the wind of the Winte… As he sped like a steed on his way… ‘Oh! rest for awhile on thy journe… And answer these questions, I pra… ’Who is the foe to all virtue,
This is the song for a soldier To sing as he rides from home To the fields afar where the battl… Or over the ocean’s foam: ‘Whatever the dangers waiting