#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #PoemsOfPower
It seemeth such a little way to me Across to that strange country '… And yet, not strange, for it has g… The home of those whom I am so fo… They make it seem familiar and mos…
Beside an incubator stood The would-be mother of a brood. With drooping wings and nodding he… These are the clucked-out words sh… ‘O, vile invention of the age,
Now what were the words of Jesus, And what would He pause and say, If we were to meet in home or stre… The Lord of the world to-day? Oh, I think He would pause and sa…
Day’s sweetest moments are at dawn… Refreshed by his long sleep, the… Kisses the languid lips of Night, Ere she can rise and hasten on. All glowing from his dreamless res…
He said he loved me! Then he call… Silk threads wherewith sly Cupid… My cheek a rose leaf fallen on new… And swore my round, full throat wo… To Venus or to Psyche.
Our thoughts are moulding unmade s… And, like a blessing or a curse, They thunder down the formless yea… And ring throughout the universe. We build our futures by the shape
The sands upon the ocean side That change about with every tide, And never true to one abide, A woman’s love I liken to. The summer zephyrs, light and vain…
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
They say the world is round, and y… I often think it square, So many little hurts we get From corners here and there. But one great truth in life I’ve…
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…
This is the baby who doesn’t do a… This is the lady who loves to wear… This is their big sister, this is… And this stout thumb is their grea…
The devil in hell gave a festival, And he called his imps from their… Called them up from the ruddy cup, And marshalled them into line. And each to his place sprang the i…
Born in the flesh, and bred in the… Some of us harbour still A New World pride: and we flaunt… The Spirit of Bunker Hill. We claim our place, as a separate…
These quiet Autumn days, My soul, like Noah’s dove, on air… Goes out and searches for the hidd… Beyond the hills of haze. With mournful, pleading cries,
Oh! it is not just the men who fac… Not the fighters at the Front alo… Who will bring the longed-for clos… Could not carry on that fray witho… Who are working at war’s problems…