Category: women poets
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“The Slave Mother” by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper (1825 – 1911)
He is not hers, although she bore For him a mother’s pains; He is not hers, although her blood Is coursing through his veins!
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“Eliza Harris” by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper (1825 – 1911)
So fragile and lovely, so fearfully pale, Like a lily that bends to the breath of the gale, Save the heave of her breast, and the sway of her hair, You’d have thought her a statue of fear and despair.
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“Lines” by Francis Ellen Watkins Harper (1825 – 1911)
On his brow he wore a helmet Decked with strange and cruel art; Every jewel was a life-drop Wrung from some poor broken heart.
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“Let the Light Enter” by Francis Ellen Watkins Harper (1825 – 1911)
“Not for greater gifts of genius; Not for thoughts more grandly bright, All the dying poet whispers Is a prayer for light, more light.”
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“Smothered Fires” by Georgia Douglas Johnson (1880 – 1966)
“…Sometimes a baleful light would rise From out the dusky bed,…”
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“The Measure” by Georgia Douglas Johnson (1880 – 1966)
“The Measure” BY GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON Fierce is the conflict—the battle of eyes, Sure and unerring, the wordless replies, Challenges flash from their ambushing caves— Men, by their glances, are masters or slaves. Source: The Heart of a Woman and Other Poems (The Cornhill Company, 1918)
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“Common Dust” by Georgia Douglas Johnson (1880 – 1966)
“…Can one then separate the dust? Will mankind lie apart, When life has settled back again The same as from the start?”
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“Black Woman” by Georgia Douglas Johnson (1880 – 1966)
“Black Woman” Georgia Douglas Johnson, 1880 – 1966 Don’t knock at the door, little child, I cannot let you in, You know not what a world this is Of cruelty and sin. Wait in the still eternity Until I come to you, The world is cruel, cruel, child, I cannot let you in! Don’t knock at my heart,…
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“Foredoom” by Georgia Douglas Johnson (1880 – 1966)
“…Her soul, a bud,—that never bloomed.”
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“Eurydice” by Hilda “H.D. ” Doolittle (1886 – 1961)
“Eurydice” by Hilda “H.D.” Doolittle I So you have swept me back, I who could have walked with the live souls above the earth, I who could have slept among the live flowers at last; so for your arrogance and your ruthlessness I am swept back where dead lichens drip dead cinders upon moss of…