Poet John Greenleaf Whittier

John Greenleaf Whittier

John Greenleaf Whittier Poems

  • 151.  
    OLOR ISCANUS queries: 'Why should we
    Vex at the land's ridiculous miserie?' So on his Usk banks, in the blood-red dawn
  • 152.  
    THE old Squire said, as he stood by his gate,
    And his neighbor, the Deacon, went by, 'In spite of my bank stock and real estate,
  • 153.  
    Sweetest of all childlike dreams
    In the simple Indian lore Still to me the legend seems
  • 154.  
    Thou hast fallen in thine armor,
    Thou martyr of the Lord With thy last breath crying 'Onward!'
  • 155.  
    NOW, joy and thanks forevermore!
    The dreary night has wellnigh passed, The slumbers of the North are o'er,
  • 156.  
    'T is the noon of the spring-time, yet never a bird
    In the wind-shaken elm or the maple is heard; For green meadow-grasses wide levels of snow,
  • 157.  
    SAINT PATRICK, slave to Milcho of the herds
    Of Ballymena, wakened with these words: 'Arise, and flee
  • 158.  
    Last night, just as the tints of autumn's sky
    Of sunset faded from our hills and streams, I sat, vague listening, lapped in twilight dreams,
  • 159.  
    A railway conductor who lost his life in an accident on a Connecticut
    railway, May 9, 1873.
  • 160.  
    The great work laid upon his twoscore years
    Is done, and well done. If we drop our tears, Who loved him as few men were ever loved,
  • 161.  
    IT was late in mild October, and the long autumnal rain
    Had left the summer harvest-fields all green with grass again; The first sharp frosts had fallen, leaving all the woodlands gay
  • 162.  
    Out from Jerusalem
    The king rode with his great War chiefs and lords of state,
  • 163.  
    Light, warmth, and sprouting greenness, and o'er all Blue, stainless, steel-bright ether, raining down
  • 164.  
    Ere down yon blue Carpathian hills
    The sun shall sink again, Farewell to life and all its ills,
  • 165.  
    Up from the meadows rich with corn,
    Clear in the cool September morn,
  • 166.  
    TOKEN Of friendship true and tried,
    From one whose fiery heart of youth With mine has beaten, side by side,
  • 167.  
    The harp at Nature's advent strung
    Has never ceased to play; The song the stars of morning sung
  • 168.  
    My garden roses long ago
    Have perished from the leaf-strewn walks; Their pale, fair sisters smile no more
  • 169.  

  • 170.  
    Immortal love, forever full,
    Forever flowing free, Forever shared, forever whole,
  • 171.  
    O painter of the fruits and flowers,
    We own wise design, Where these human hands of ours
  • 172.  
    ALL grim and soiled and brown with tan,
    I saw a Strong One, in his wrath, Smiting the godless shrines of man
  • 173.  
    Seeress of the misty Norland,
    Daughter of the Vikings bold, Welcome to the sunny Vineland,
  • 174.  
    Far away in the twilight time
    Of every people, in every clime, Dragons and griffins and monsters dire,
  • 175.  
    We live by Faith; but Faith is not the slave
    Of text and legend. Reason's voice and God's, Nature's and Duty's, never are at odds.
  • 176.  
    The burly driver at my side,
    We slowly climbed the hill, Whose summit, in the hot noontide,
  • 177.  
    Ah! weary Priest! - with pale hands pressed
    On thy throbbing brow of pain, Baffled in thy life-long quest,
  • 178.  
    WHEN first I saw our banner wave
    Above the nation's council-hall, I heard beneath its marble wall
  • 179.  
    I. NOON.
    White clouds, whose shadows haunt the deep, Light mists, whose soft embraces keep
  • 180.  
    If thou of fortune be bereft,
    and in thy store there be but left two loaves, sell one, and with the
  • 181.  
    Andrew Rykman's dead and gone;
    You can see his leaning slate In the graveyard, and thereon
  • 182.  
    Thine are all the gifts, O God!
    Thine the broken bread; Let the naked feet be shod,
  • 183.  
    This, the last of Mr. Whittier's poems, was written but a few weeks before his death.
    Among the thousands who with hail and cheer
  • 184.  
    I write my name as one,
    On sands by waves o'errun Or winter's frosted pane,
  • 185.  
    Who, looking backward from his manhood's prime,
    Sees not the spectre of his misspent time? And, through the shade
  • 186.  
    AMIDST thy sacred effigies
    Of old renown give place, O city, Freedom-loved! to his
  • 187.  
    How smiled the land of France
  • 188.  
    The gulf of seven and fifty years
    We stretch our welcoming hands across; The distance but a pebble's toss
  • 189.  
    I LOVE the old melodious lays
    Which softly melt the ages through, The songs of Spenserâ??s golden days,
  • 190.  
    ' A! fredome is a nobill thing!
    Fredome mayse man to haif liking. Fredome all solace to man giffis;
  • 191.  
    Gone hath the Spring, with all its flowers,
    And gone the Summer's pomp and show, And Autumn, in his leafless bowers,
  • 192.  
    Around Sebago's lonely lake
    There lingers not a breeze to break The mirror which its waters make.
  • 193.  
    "Tie stille, barn min!
    Imorgen kommer Fin, Fa'er din,
  • 194.  
    Between the gates of birth and death
    An old and saintly pilgrim passed, With look of one who witnesseth
  • 195.  
    AMONG the legends sung or said
    Along our rocky shore, The Wishing Bridge of Marblehead
  • 196.  
    Up from the sea, the wild north wind is blowing
    Under the sky's gray arch; Smiling, I watch the shaken elm-boughs, knowing
  • 197.  
    I sing the Pilgrim of a softer clime
  • 198.  
    Against the sunset's glowing wall
    The city towers rise black and tall, Where Zorah, on its rocky height,
  • 199.  
    One morning of the first sad Fall,
    Poor Adam and his bride Sat in the shade of Eden's wall--
  • 200.  
    The fagots blazed, the caldron's smoke
    Up through the green wood curled; 'Bring honey from the hollow oak,
Total 522 poems written by John Greenleaf Whittier

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The Comedian As The Letter C: 06 - And Daughters With Curls
 by Wallace Stevens

Portentous enunciation, syllable
To blessed syllable affined, and sound
Bubbling felicity in cantilene,
Prolific and tormenting tenderness
Of music, as it comes to unison,
Forgather and bell boldly Crispin's last
Deduction. Thrum, with a proud douceur
His grand pronunciamento and devise.

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