#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #1914 #PoemsOfCheer
I dreamed a Voice, of one God-aut… Cried loudly thro’ the world, ‘Di… And there was consernation in the… And men who strutted under braid a… Beat on their medalled breasts, an…
She sits beside the window. All… Turn once again to gaze on her swe… She is so fair; but soon, too soon… To lie down in her last resting-pl… No gems are brighter than her spar…
Nay, seer, I do not doubt thy mys… Nor question that the tenor of my… Past, present and the future, is r… There in my horoscope. I do beli… That yon dead moon compels the hau…
They met each other in the glade— She lifted up her eyes; Alack the day! Alack the maid! She blushed in swift surprise. Alas! alas! the woe that comes fro…
Too sweet and too subtle for pen o… In phrases unwritten and measures… As deep and as strange as the soun… Is the song that my spirit is sing… In the midnight and tempest when f…
Today I had a burial of my dead. There was no shroud, no coffin, an… No prayers were uttered and no tea… I only turned a picture to the wal… A picture that had hung within my…
How happy they are, in all seeming… How gay, or how smilingly proud, How brightly their faces are beami… These people who make up the crowd… How they bow, how they bend, how t…
Though you see no banded army, Though you hear no cannons rattle, We are in a mighty contest, We are fighting a great battle. We are few, but we are right:
If it were in my dead Past’s powe… To let my Present bask In some lost pleasure for an hour, This is the boon I’d ask: Re-pedestal from out the dust
In the fair morning of his life, When his pure heart lay in his bre… Panting, with all that wild unrest To plunge into the great world’s s… That fills young hearts with mad d…
The uses of sorrow I comprehend Better and better at each year’s e… Deeper and deeper I seem to see Why and wherefore it has to be. Only after the dark, wet days
There is grief in the cup! I saw a proud mother set wine on t… The eyes of her son sparkled brigh… The ruddy stream into the glass in… The cup was of silver; the lady wa…
Oh! I feel the growing glory Of our life upon this sphere, Of the life that like a river Runs forever and forever, From the somewhere to the here,
Why do we pity those who weep? Th… That finds a ready outlet in the f… Of salt and bitter tears is blesse… And does not need our sympathies.… But fits the shorn field for new y…
This is the place that I love the… A little brown house, like a groun… Hid among grasses, and vines, and… Summer retreat of the birds and be… The tenderest light that ever was…
