Who is Bret Harte

Bret Harte (HART; born Francis Brett Hart; August 25, 1836 – May 5, 1902) was an American short story writer and poet best remembered for short fiction featuring miners, gamblers, and other romantic figures of the California Gold Rush.

In a career spanning more than four decades, he also wrote poetry, plays, lectures, book reviews, editorials and magazine sketches.

As he moved from California to the eastern U.S. and later to Europe, he incorporated new subjects and characters into his stories, but his Gold Rush tales have been those most often reprinted, adapted and admired.

Biography

Early life

Harte was born in 1836 in New York's capital city of Albany. He was named after his great-grandfather, Francis Brett. When he was young,...
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Bret Harte Poems

  • What The Wolf Really Said To Little Red Riding-hood
    Wondering maiden, so puzzled and fair,
    Why dost thou murmur and ponder and stare?
    “Why are my eyelids so open and wild?”
    Only the better to see with, my child!...
  • What The Engines Said
    Opening Of The Pacific Railroad


    What was it the Engines said,...
  • What The Chimney Sang
    Over the chimney the night-wind sang
    And chanted a melody no one knew;
    And the Woman stopped, as her babe she tossed,
    And thought of the one she had long since lost,...
  • What Miss Edith Saw From Her Window
    Our window's not much, though it fronts on the street;
    There's a fly in the pane that gets nothin' to eat;
    But it's curious how people think it's a treat
    For ME to look out of the window!...
  • Twenty Years
    Beg your pardon, old fellow! I think
    I was dreaming just now when you spoke.
    The fact is, the musical clink
    Of the ice on your wine-goblet's brink...
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Top 10 most used topics by Bret Harte

Never 44 Thought 38 Long 37 Night 35 White 35 Face 35 High 34 Away 33 Sun 30 Time 29


Bret Harte Quotes

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Comments about Bret Harte

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Belindagreb: "a bird in hand is a certainty. but a bird in the bush may sing." bret harte male red-winged blackbird latches on to reeds above the marsh by belinda greb
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Poem of the day

Coventry Patmore Poem
The Storm
 by Coventry Patmore

Within the pale blue haze above,
Some pitchy shreds took size and form,
And, like a madman's wrath or love,
From nothing rose a sudden storm.
The blossom'd limes, which seem'd to exhale
Her breath, were swept with one strong sweep,
And up the dusty road the hail
Came like a flock of hasty sheep,
...

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