#AmericanWriters #PoemsOfPower
Walking to-day on the Common, I heard a stranger say To a friend who was standing near… ‘Do you know I am going away? ’ I had never seen their faces,
In the midst of sunny waters, lo!… Staggers, bruised and torn and wou… One that drifted from its moorings… On the deck our noble Pilot, in t… Lies in woe-impelling silence, dea…
Obscured the sun, the world is dar… Maid of Orleans, Joan of Arc, Send down thy spark. Let every heart in France be stir… By such an all-compelling word
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.
The solemn Sea of Silence lies be… I know thou livest, and them loves… And yet I wish some white ship wo… Across the ocean, beating word fro… The dead calm awes me with its awf…
Think of it, think of it over the… Thousands of men to-day march on t… Think how the sun shines on fields… How the air chokes, with the canno… How in the shadows, perchance, of…
Don’t bring into the lodge-room Anger, and spite, and pride. Drop at the gate of the temple The strife of the world outside. Forget all your cares and trials,
Straight through my heart this fac… By Truth’s own hand is driven: God never takes one thing away, But something else is given. I did not know in earlier years,
There’s many a house of grandeur, With turret, tower and dome, That knows not peace or comfort, And does not prove a home. I do not ask for splendor
Talk happiness. The world is sad… Without your woe. No path is whol… Look for the places that are smoot… And speak of them to rest the wear… Of earth; so hurt by one continuou…
My heart is like a little bird That sits and sings for very gladn… Sorrow is some forgotten word, And so, except in rhyme, is sadnes… The world is very fair to me—
Laugh, and the world laughs with y… Weep, and you weep alone. For the sad old earth must borrow… But has trouble enough of its own. Sing, and the hills will answer;
Alone I climb the steep ascending… Which leads to knowledge. In the… That hurry after, shouting to the… Small fragments of large truths, t… Who comprehends my purpose, or who…
The world was widowed by the death… Vainly its suffering soul for peac… And found it not. For nothing, nothing, nothing has… To bring back comfort to the stric…
To Miss Eva Russell. The spring time is deaf to our ple… The meadows are brown as can be. The hilltops are bleak and unlovel… No thrush sits and sings on the tr…