Who is Hilda ConklingHilda 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 is the answer
When I can't go out into flowery places;
Weather is my wonder
About the kind of morning...
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...
By a Bed of Pansies
This pansy has a thinking face...
Top 10 most used topics by Hilda ConklingBlue 26 Sky 26 Tree 22 Song 21 White 21 Away 20 Wind 20 Water 20 Sea 18 Light 17
Hilda Conkling Quotes
Comments about Hilda Conkling
- Maststore: isn't a summer meadow carpeted in wildflowers simply poetic? "snow-white shawls . . . golden faces . . . countryside, hillside, wayside people . . . little market-women selling dew and yellow flour to make bread for some city of elves. . . ." — hilda conkling
- Shufflenetwork: joy is not a thing you can see it is what you feel when you watch waves breaking or when you peer through a net of woven violet stems in spring grass it is not sunlight, not moonlight, but a separate shining joy lives behind people's eyes. - hilda conkling mo.illustrationss on ig
- Mbailatj: "i think the wind is a little selfish about lilacs when they flower." hilda conkling, 1920
- 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