Who is Hilda Conkling

Hilda Conkling as pictured in Poems by a Little Girl Hilda Conkling (1910–1986) was an American poet. She was the daughter of Grace Hazard Conkling, a poet in her own right and Assistant Professor of English at Smith College, Northampton, Massachusetts. Hilda was born in New York state. Her father died when she was four years old, and she had one sister, Elsa, two years her senior.

Hilda is notable for having composed most of her poetry as a young child, between the ages of four and ten...
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Hilda Conkling Poems

  • Yellow Summer-throat
    Yellow summer-throat sat singing
    In a bending spray of willow tree.
    Thin fine green-y lines on his throat,
    The ruffled outside of his throat,...
  • Weather
    Weather is the answer
    When I can't go out into flowery places;
    Weather is my wonder
    About the kind of morning...
  • Water
    The world turns softly
    Not to spill its lakes and rivers.
    The water is held in its arms
    And the sky is held in the water....
  • Venice Bridge
    For a painting

    Away back in an old city...
  • Velvets
    By a Bed of Pansies

    This pansy has a thinking face...
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Top 10 most used topics by Hilda Conkling

Blue 26 Sky 26 Tree 22 Song 21 White 21 Away 20 Wind 20 Water 20 Sea 18 Light 17

Hilda Conkling Quotes

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Comments about Hilda Conkling

  • Georgedance04: today's poem on penny's poetry blog: march thought, by hilda conkling i am waiting for the flowers [...]
  • O_franco_aleman: the world turns softly not to spill its lakes and rivers. the water is held in its arms, and the sky is held in the water. hilda conkling
  • Paulingram26: child poet hilda conkling(early 19th cent)
  • Doinabadescu: the world turns softly not to spill its lakes and rivers. hilda conkling
  • Cynthiadnelson: i pick strawberries, i sing and play, and happiness makes me like a great god on the earth. it makes me think of great things a little girl like me could not know of. –hilda conkling, 1920 from her poem 'summer-day song', written between 7-9 years old
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Poem of the day

Vachel Lindsay Poem
On Receiving One Of Gloriana-s Letters
 by Vachel Lindsay

Your pen needs but a ruffle
To be Pavlova whirling.
It surely is a scalawag
A-scamping down the page.
A pretty little May-wind
The morning buds uncurling.
And then the white sweet Russian,
The dancer of the age.

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