Poet John Greenleaf Whittier

John Greenleaf Whittier

John Greenleaf Whittier Poems

  • 101.  
    The years are many since his hand
    Was laid upon my head, Too weak and young to understand
  • 102.  
    'GREAT peace in Europe! Order reigns
    From Tiber's hills to Danube's plains!' So say her kings and priests; so say
  • 103.  
    O strong, upwelling prayers of faith,
    From inmost founts of life ye start,- The spirit's pulse, the vital breath
  • 104.  
    'O for a knight like Bayard,
    Without reproach or fear; My light glove on his casque of steel,
  • 105.  
    I.
    'And where now, Bayard, will thy footsteps tend?' My sister asked our guest one winter's day.
  • 106.  
    Tritemius of Herbipolis, one day,
    While kneeling at the altar's foot to pray, Alone with God, as was his pious choice,
  • 107.  
    To kneel before some saintly shrine,
    To breathe the health of airs divine, Or bathe where sacred rivers flow,
  • 108.  
    THE winding way the serpent takes
    The mystic water took, From where, to count its beaded lakes,
  • 109.  
    The Eagle, stooping from yon snow-blown peaks,
    For the wild hunter and the Bison seeks, In the changed world below; and finds alone
  • 110.  
    Ho! workers of the old time styled
    The Gentle Craft of Leather! Young brothers of the ancient guild,
  • 111.  
    WELL speed thy mission, bold Iconoclast!
    Yet all unworthy of its trust thou art, If, with dry eye, and cold, unloving heart,
  • 112.  
    So spake Esaias: so, in words of flame,
    Tekoa's prophet-herdsman smote with blame The traffickers in men, and put to shame,
  • 113.  
    Blest land of Judea! thrice hallowed of song,
    Where the holiest of memories pilgrim-like throng; In the shade of thy palms, by the shores of thy sea,
  • 114.  
    When on my day of life the night is falling,
    And, in the winds from unsunned spaces blown, I hear far voices out of darkness calling
  • 115.  
    Who gives and hides the giving hand,
    Nor counts on favor, fame, or praise, Shall find his smallest gift outweighs
  • 116.  
    GREYSTONE, AUG. 4, 1886.
    Once more, O all-adjusting Death!
  • 117.  
    Stand still, my soul, in the silent dark
    I would question thee, Alone in the shadow drear and stark
  • 118.  
    THEY sat in silent watchfulness
    The sacred cypress-tree about, And, from beneath old wrinkled brows,
  • 119.  
    NOT with the splendors of the days of old,
    The spoil of nations, and barbaric gold; No weapons wrested from the fields of blood,
  • 120.  
    IN Westminster's royal halls,
    Robed in their pontificals, England's ancient prelates stood
  • 121.  
    INSCRIBED TO ROBERT C. WATERSTON, OF BOSTON.
    Fold her, O Father, in Thine arms,
  • 122.  
    The goodman sat beside his door
    One sultry afternoon, With his young wife singing at his side
  • 123.  
    I.
    Along Crane River's sunny slopes Blew warm the winds of May,
  • 124.  
    The subtle power in perfume found
    Nor priest nor sibyl vainly learned; On Grecian shrine or Aztec mound
  • 125.  
    AN EPISTLE NOT AFTER THE MANNER OF HORACE
    Old friend, kind friend! lightly down
  • 126.  
    A SOUND of tumult troubles all the air,
    Like the low thunders of a sultry sky Far-rolling ere the downright lightnings glare;
  • 127.  
    WELCOME home again, brave seaman! with thy thoughtful brow and gray,
    And the old heroic spirit of our earlier, better day; With that front of calm endurance, on whose steady nerve in vain
  • 128.  
    THE pleasant isle of Rügen looks the Baltic water o'er,
    To the silver-sanded beaches of the Pomeranian shore;
  • 129.  
    After the Danish of Christian Winter

  • 130.  
    L. M. C.
    We sat together, last May-day, and talked Of the dear friends who walked
  • 131.  
    The shade for me, but over thee
    The lingering sunshine still; As, smiling, to the silent stream
  • 132.  
    The Brownie sits in the Scotchman's room,
    And eats his meat and drinks his ale, And beats the maid with her unused broom,
  • 133.  
    I mourn no more my vanished years
    Beneath a tender rain, An April rain of smiles and tears,
  • 134.  
    Still linger in our noon of time
    And on our Saxon tongue The echoes of the home-born hymns
  • 135.  
    He comes, - he comes, - the Frost Spirit comes!
    You may trace his footsteps now On the naked woods and the blasted fields
  • 136.  
    THE proudest now is but my peer,
    The highest not more high; To-day, of all the weary year,
  • 137.  
    In my dream, methought I trod,
    Yesternight, a mountain road; Narrow as Al Sirat's span,
  • 138.  
    WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM OF A FRIEND.
    On page of thine I cannot trace
  • 139.  
    THE day's sharp strife is ended now,
    Our work is done, God knoweth how! As on the thronged, unrestful town
  • 140.  
    O dwellers in the stately towns,
    What come ye out to see? This common earth, this common sky,
  • 141.  
    When the reaper's task was ended, and the summer wearing late,
    Parson Avery sailed from Newbury, with his wife and children eight, Dropping down the river-harbor in the shallop 'Watch and Wait.'
  • 142.  
    'O Lady fair, these silks of mine
    are beautiful and rare,- The richest web of the Indian loom, which beauty's
  • 143.  
    Have I not voyaged, friend beloved, with thee
    On the great waters of the unsounded sea, Momently listening with suspended oar
  • 144.  
    The shadows round the inland sea
    Are deepening into night; Slow up the slopes of Ossipee
  • 145.  
    HURRAH! the seaward breezes
    Sweep down the bay amain; Heave up, my lads, the anchor!
  • 146.  
    From purest wells of English undefiled
    None deeper drank than he, the New World's child, Who in the language of their farm-fields spoke
  • 147.  
    SECRETARY OF THE BOSTON YOUNG MEN'S ANTI-SLAVERY SOCIETY.
    Gone before us, O our brother,
  • 148.  
    'Neath skies that winter never knew
    The air was full of light and balm, And warm and soft the Gulf wind blew
  • 149.  
    LONGFELLOW.
    WITH a glory of winter sunshine
  • 150.  
    In sky and wave the white clouds swam,
    And the blue hills of Nottingham Through gaps of leafy green
Total 522 poems written by John Greenleaf Whittier

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