#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #PoemsOfPower
Where have they gone to-the little… With natural manners and natural c… Who love their dollies and like th… And talk of something besides the… Little old women in plenty I find…
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…
She’s the jauntiest of creatures,… With her pretty patent leathers or… With her eyes inviting glances and… As she wanders by the ocean or str… She’s a captivating dresser, and h…
‘Tis time to dress. Dost hear the… Like sobbing waves that roll up fr… Yes, yes, I hear – I yield – no n… I know your wishes,– send Lisette… I hate the ballroom; hate its gild…
The flowers have tender little sou… That love, rejoice, aspire. Each star that on its orbit rolls Feels infinite desire. The diamond longs to scintillate
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…
(After James Thomson) As I came through the Valley of… As I came through the valley, onm… More awful that the darkness of th… Shone glimpses of a Past that had…
There was a fair green garden slop… From the south-east side of the mo… And the earliest tint of the dawn… Down through its paths, from the d… The bluest skies and the reddest r…
However the battle is ended, Though proudly the victor comes, With flaunting flags and neighing… And echoing roll of drums; Still truth proclaims this motto
Love much. Earth has enough of bi… Cast sweets into its cup whene’er… No heart so hard, but love at last… Love is the grand primeval cause o… All hate is foreign to the first g…
If I could clasp my little babe Upon my breast to-night, I would not mind the blowing wind That shrieketh in affright. Oh, my lost babe! my little babe,
How terrible these nights are when… With our scarred hearts, we sit in… And some old sorrow, to the world… Does suddenly with silent steps in… After the guests departed, and the…
But to every mind there openeth, A way, and way, and away, A high soul climbs the highway, And the low soul gropes the low, And in between on the misty flats,
The Poker proposed to the shovel That they should be man and wife, ‘I think,’ said he, ‘that we could… As we journey along through life.’ The Shovel blushed as she answere…
Why should the poet of these pregn… Be asked to sing of war’s unholy c… To laud and eulogize the trade whi… On horrid holocausts of human live… Man was a fighting beast when eart…