#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #PoemsOfPower
For many long uninterrupted years She was the friend and confidant o… They walked together, heart commun… In that sweet comradeship that so… Her fondest hope, her sorrows and…
A rose in my garden, the sweetest… Was hanging her head through the l… And early one morning I saw her t… And heard a low gossiping talk in… The yellow Nasturtium, a spinster…
I am all tired out, said the mouth… I am all tired out with talk. Just wait, said the knee, till you… And then have to walk-walk-walk. My work, said the hand, is the har…
One who claims that he knows about… Tells me the earth is a vale of si… But I and the bees, and the birds… And think it a world worth living… ———
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…
Nay, nay, Antonio! nay, thou shal… My Gracia, who hath so deserted m… Thou art my friend, but if thou do… I shall not hesitate to challenge… ‘Curse and forget her?’ So I migh…
It is a common fate—a woman’s lot— To waste on one the riches of her… Who takes the wealth she gives him… Repay the interest, and much less… As I look up into your eyes and w…
The queerest languages known to ma… Sanscrit, Hebrew, Hindoostan, Are all translated and made as fre… And comprehensive as A B C. Yet the oldest language talked or…
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…
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…
Out of the midnight, rayless and c… Into the morning’s golden light; Out of the clutches of wrong and r… Into the arms of truth and right; Out of the ways that are ways of s…
In the warm yellow smile of the mo… She stands at the lattice pane, And watches the strong young binde… Stride down to the fields of grain… And she counts them over and over
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
Maybe this is fun, sitting in the… With a book and parasol, as my An… While he dips his line in the ocea… Under the impression that his bait… ’Tis romantic, yes, but I must co…
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…