#AmericanWriters #PoemsOfPower
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…
At Box Hill, Surrey A modern hour from London (as we… Into a silver thread the miles of… Between us and our goal), there is… Apart from city traffic, dust, and…
O Science, reaching backward thro… Most earnest child of God, Exposing all the secrets of existe… With thy divining rod, I bid thee speed up to the heights…
Oh! the earth is full of sinning And of trouble and of woe, But the devil makes an inning Every time we say it’s so. And the way to set him scowling,
A yacht from its harbour ropes pul… And leaped like a steed o’er the r… Then up behind her, the dust of th… A gray fog, drifted, and hid her f…
It may be you’ve seen her eyes, Dark and deep like midnight skies; You mayhap have seen them flash Underneath the drooping lash, And been dazzled by the light
Thou dost not know it! but to hear One word of praise from thee, There is no pain I would not bear… No task too great for me. My hands could tireless toil all d…
A little time agone, a few brief y… And there was peace within our bea… Peace, and a prosperous people, an… Of war and its disorders. Pleasure was ruling goddess of our…
I saw the farmer, when the day was… And the proud sun had sought his c… And the mild stars came forward on… I saw the sturdy farmer, and I sa… ‘What have you done to-day,
There are ghosts in the room. As I sit here alone, from the dar… They come out of the gloom, And they stand at my side and they… There’s the ghost of a Hope
Once in the world’s first prime, When nothing lived or stirred, Nothing but new-born Time, Nor was there even a bird— The Silence spoke to a Star,
In France I saw a hill-a gentle s… Rising above old tombs to greet th… From soft spring skies. Beyond th… But those green graves bespeak a b… There was a row of narrow beds, ne…
God measures souls by their capaci… For entertaining his best Angel,… Who loveth most is nearest kin to… Who is all Love, or Nothing. He who sits
When I am dead, if some chastened… Seeing the ‘item, ’ or hearing it… That my play is over and my part d… And I lie asleep in my narrow bed… If I could know that some soul wo…
Do you know where the summer bloom… Where there never is rain on a pic… Where the thornless rose in its be… And little boys never are called f… Then, oh! hey! it is far away–