#Americans #Women #PoemsOfPower
Should some great angel say to me… “Thou must re-tread thy pathway fr… But God will grant, in pity, for… Some one dear wish, the nearest to… This were my wish! from my life’s…
Ho! ho! Father Death! I have won… Another grand soul I have ruined… I, who am licensed by good Christ… Eat and eat at their souls till by… I spoil them, I soil them, and pa…
We are the army stevedores, lusty… We are given the hardest work of t… We handle the heavy boxes, and sho… While soldiers and sailors work in… But somebody has to do this work,…
Let me look always forward. Never… Was I not formed for progress? Ot… With onward pointing feet and sear… Would God have set me squarely on… Up which we all must labour with l…
I am serenity. Though passions b… Like mighty billows on my helpless… I know beyond them lies the perfec… Serenity, which patience can impar… And when wild tempests in my bosom…
There is no picturesqueness and no… No halo of romance, in war to-day. It is a hideous thing; Time would… With horror, were he not already h… At sight of this vile monster, fou…
The woman he loved, while he dream… Danced on till the stars grew dim, But alone with her heart, from the… Sat the woman who loved him. The woman he worshipped only smile…
With every rising of the sun Think of your life as just begun. The past has shrived and buried de… All yesterdays—there let them slee… Nor seek to summon back one ghost
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…
The brewer’s dog is abroad, boys, Be careful where you stray, His teeth are coated with poison, And he’s on the watch for prey. The brewery is his kennel,
Three million women without mates In lonely homes on earth! And Cupid sighs at heaven’s gates… Where many a spirit ego waits Its call again to birth.
Of all the waltzes the great Stra… mad with melody, rhythm—rife From the very first to the final n… Give me his “Artist’s Life!” It stirs my blood to my finger end…
Little by little the year grows ol… The red leaves drop from the maple… The sun grows dim, and the winds b… Down from the distant arctic seas. Out of the skies the soft light di…
There is much that makes me sorry… And I seem to see more pathos in… I’m sorry for the strong, brave me… But who, in their own troubled hou… I’m sorry for the victors who have…
They stood at the garden gate. By the lifting of a lid She might have read her fate In a little thing he did. He plucked a beautiful flower,
