#AmericanWriters #PoemsOfPower
Don’t look for the flaws as you go… And even when you find them, It is wise and kind to be somewhat… And look for the virtue behind the… For the cloudiest night has a hint…
A little leaf just in the forest’s… All summer long, had listened to t… Of amorous brids that flew across… Singing their blithe sweet songs f… So many were the flattering things…
I knew that a baby was hid in that… Though I saw no cradle and heard… But the husband was tip-toeing ‘ro… And the good wife was humming a so… And there was a look on the face o…
How does Love speak? 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 t…
Whatever the strength of our foes… Whatever it may have been, This is our slogan, and this our v… They shall not win, they shall not… Though out of the darkness they ca…
You will be what you will to be; Let failure find its false content In that poor word “environment,” But spirit scorns it, and is free. It masters time, it conquers space…
You will forget me. The years are… They bind up the wounds which we t… This dream of our youth will fade… Fades from the skies when the sun… The cloud of forgetfulness, over a…
What is flirtation? Really, How can I tell you that? But when she smiles I see its wil… And when he lifts his hat. ’Tis walking in the moonlight,
God, what a joy it is to plant a t… And from the sallow earth to watch… Lifting its emerald branches to th… In silent adoration; and to see Its strength and glory waxing with…
Beside a crib that holds a baby’s… A tattered picture book, a broken… A sleeping mother dreams that she… Her fair-haired cherub boy. Upon the cradle’s side her light t…
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…
The Wife The house is like a garden, The children are the flowers, The gardener should come methinks And walk among his bowers,
My love is young, so young; Young is her cheek, and her throat… And life is a song to be sung With love the word for each note. Young is her cheek and her throat;
Batter in the home place, That was nobly done; Try and get the first base– Run! Run! RUN!
To J. J. H., Of Kentucky Gathering brands from the burning, Plucking them out of the fire, Lifting the sheep that have wander… Out of the dust and the mire,