Category: American Poetry
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“The Watcher” by SARAH JOSEPHA HALE (1788 – 1879)
The Watcher BY SARAH JOSEPHA HALE The night was dark and fearful, The blast swept wailing by; A Watcher, pale and tearful, Look’d forth with anxious eye; How wistfully she gazes– No gleam of morn is there! And then her heart upraises Its agony of prayer! Within that dwelling lonely, Where want and darkness reign,…
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“Regret” by OLIVIA WARD BUSH-BANKS (1869 – 1944)
“Then, what a bitter fate was mine; No language could my grief define; Tears of deep regret could not unsay…”
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“Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep” BY EMMA HART WILLARD (1787 – 1870)
“When in the dead of night I lie And gaze upon the trackless sky, The star-bespangled heavenly scroll, The boundless waters…”
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“The Wife-Woman” by Anne Spencer (1882 – 1975)
“I cannot love them; and I feel your glad Chiding from the grave, That my all was only worth at all, what Joy to you it gave.”
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“Translation” by Anne Spencer (1882 – 1975)
Translation BY ANNE SPENCER We trekked into a far country, My friend and I. Our deeper content was never spoken, But each knew all the other said. He told me how calm his soul was laid By the lack of anvil and strife. “The wooing kestrel,” I said, “mutes his mating-note To please the harmony of…
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“Dunbar” by Anne Spencer (1882 – 1975)
Dunbar BY ANNE SPENCER Ah, how poets sing and die! Make one song and Heaven takes it; Have one heart and Beauty breaks it; Chatterton, Shelley, Keats and I— Ah, how poets sing and die!
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“At the Carnival” by Anne Spencer (1882 – 1975)
“…There, too, were games of chance With chances for none; But oh! Girl-of-the-Tank, at last!”
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“Rondeau Redoublé (and Scarcely Worth the Trouble, at That)” by Dorothy Parker (1893 – 1967)
“…In cerements my spirit is bedight; The same to me are sombre days and gay. Though breezes in the rippling grasses play,…”
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“Song in a Minor Key” by Dorothy Parker (1893 – 1967)
“…By an old, old gate does the lady wait Her own true love’s returning. But the days go by, and the lilacs die, And trembling birds seek…”
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“I never saw a moor” by Emily Dickinson (1830 – 1886)
“…And what a wave must be. I never spoke with God,…”