Who is Morris Rosenfeld

Morris Rosenfeld (Yiddish: מאָריס ראָסענפֿעלד; born as Moshe Jacob Alter; December 28, 1862 in Stare Boksze in Russian Poland, government of Suwałki – June 22, 1923 in New York City) was a Yiddish poet.

His work sheds light on the living circumstances of emigrants from Eastern Europe in New York's tailoring workshops.

He was educated at Boksha, Suwałki, and Warsaw. He worked as a tailor in New York and London and as a diamond cutter in Amsterdam, and settled in New York in 1886, after which he was connected with the editorial staffs of several leading Jewish newspapers. During the 1890s he wrote song parodies for the Yehuda Katzenelenbogen Music Publishing Company in New York, including Nokhn ball (After the Ball), Di pawnshop (Faryomert farklogt) and...
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Morris Rosenfeld Poems

  • I've Often Laughed
    I've often laughed and oftener still have wept,
    A sighing always through my laughter crept,
    Tears were not far away...
    What is there to say? ...
  • Whither?
    (To a Young Girl)

    Say whither, whither, pretty one?...
  • What Is The World?
    Well, say you the world is a chamber of sleep,
    And life but a sleeping and dreaming?
    Then I too would dream: and would joyously reap
    The blooms of harmonious seeming;...
  • Want And I
    Who's there? who's there? who was it tried
    To force the entrance I've denied?
    An 'twere a friend, I'd gladly borne it,
    But no-'twas Want! I could have sworn it....
  • To The Fortune Seeker
    A little more, a little less!-
    O shadow-hunters pitiless,
    Why then so eager, say!
    What'er you leave the grave will take,...
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Top 10 most used topics by Morris Rosenfeld

Heart 16 Life 16 Soul 14 God 12 Pain 11 Sweet 11 World 11 Time 11 Long 10 Wild 10

Morris Rosenfeld Quotes

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Eileenemelie: morris rosenfeld
Eileenemelie: morris rosenfeld, c. 1940s
Daniel_red_eire: morris rosenfeld, 1938
Cheminsflorette: morris rosenfeld
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Poem of the day

Robert Service Poem
The Three Bares
 by Robert Service

Ma tried to wash her garden slacks but couldn't get 'em clean
And so she thought she'd soak 'em in a bucket o' benzine.
It worked all right. She wrung 'em out then wondered what she'd do
With all that bucket load of high explosive residue.
She knew that it was dangerous to scatter it around,
For Grandpa liked to throw his lighted matches on the ground.
Somehow she didn't dare to pour it down the kitchen sink,
And what the heck to do with it, poor Ma jest couldn't think.

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