Who is Jean Ingelow

Jean Ingelow (17 March 1820 – 20 July 1897) was an English poet and novelist, who gained sudden fame in 1863. She also wrote several stories for children.

Early life

Born in Boston, Lincolnshire on 17 March 1820, Jean Ingelow was the daughter of William Ingelow, a banker. The family moved to Ipswich when she was 14. Her father was manager of the Ipswich and Suffolk Banking Company, and the family lived in accommodation above the bank at 2 Elm Street. After the bank failed, her family moved out and an arch was built leading to Arcade Street. A blue plaque commemorating her has been installed and nearby Ingelow Street is named after her.Using the pseudonym Oris, Jean Ingelow contributed verses and tales to magazines as a girl, but her first volume, A Rhyming Chroni...
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Jean Ingelow Poems

  • Sleep And Time
    "Wake, baillie, wake! the crafts are out;
    Wake!" said the knight, "be quick!
    For high street, bye street, over the town
    They fight with poker and stick." ...
  • Requiescat In Pace!
    My heart is sick awishing and awaiting:
    The lad took up his knapsack, he went, he went his way;
    And I looked on for his coming, as a prisoner through the grating
    Looks and longs and longs and wishes for its opening day. ...
  • In The Nursery
    Where do you go, Bob, when you 're fast asleep?'
    'Where? O well, once I went into a deep
    Mine, father told of, and a cross man said
    He'd make me help to dig, and eat black bread. ...
  • Songs On The Voices Of Birds. A Poet In His Youth, And The Cuckoo-bird
    Once upon a time, I lay
    Fast asleep at dawn of day;
    Windows open to the south,
    Fancy pouting her sweet mouth ...
  • Seven Times Two. Romance
    You bells in the steeple, ring, ring out your changes,
    How many soever they be,
    And let the brown meadow-lark's note as he ranges
    Come over, come over to me. ...
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Top 10 most used topics by Jean Ingelow

Sweet 89 Long 77 White 72 Deep 56 High 53 Great 53 Good 52 Head 51 Soul 51 Place 49


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Poem of the day

Wilfrid Scawen Blunt Poem
Her Name Liberty
 by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

I thought to do a deed of chivalry,
An act of worth, which haply in her sight
Who was my mistress should recorded be
And of the nations. And, when thus the fight
Faltered and men once bold with faces white
Turned this and that way in excuse to flee,
I only stood, and by the foeman's might
Was overborne and mangled cruelly.
...

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