#AmericanWriters #PoemsOfPower
Let me lean hard upon the Eternal… In all earth’s devious ways, I so… And found it not. I will be stron… And lean upon myself. I will not… And importune all heaven with my c…
There was a sound in the wind to-d… Like a joyous cymbal ringing! And the leaves of the trees talked… And they altogether were singing, For they knew that an army, both b…
This is the way of it, wide world… One is beloved, and one is the lov… One gives and the other receives. One lavishes all in a wild emotion… One offers a smile for a life’s de…
You left me with the autumn time; When the winter stripped the fores… Then dressed it in his spotless ri… When frosts were lurking in the ai… You left me here and went away.
In the journey of life, as we trav… To the mystical goal that is hidde… You may stumble at times into Roa… Not seeing the sign-board that poi… Through caverns of sorrow your fee…
I have written this day down in my… As the sweetest day in the season; From all of the others I’ve set i… But I will not tell you the reaso… That is my secret—-I must not tel…
A yacht from its harbour ropes pul… And leaped like a steed o’er the r… Then up behind her, the dust of th… A gray fog, drifted, and hid her f…
They stood at the garden gate. By the lifting of a lid She might have read her fate In a little thing he did. He plucked a beautiful flower,
We plucked a red rose, you and I All in the summer weather; Sweet its perfume and rare its blo… Enjoyed by us together. The rose is dead, the summer fled,
Oh! I hear the people calling thr… They are calling, they are crying… It behooves you, men and women, it… For there lurks a note of menace u… Let the land usurpers listen, let…
Sitting alone by the window, Watching the moonlit street, Bending my head to listen To the well-known sound of your fe… I have been wondering, darling,
Columbia, fair queen in your glory… Columbia, the pride of the earth! We crown you with song– wreath and… We honour the day of your birth! The wrath of a king and his minion…
The gate was thrown open, I rode… More proud than a monarch who sits… I am but a jockey, yet shout upon… Went up from the people who watche… And the cheers that rang forth fro…
It I may not reach the heights I see… My untried strength may fail me; Or, halfway up the mountain peak Fierce tempests may assail me.
’Tis the song of the morning, The words of the sun, As he swings o’er the mountains: ‘There’s work to be done: I must wake up the sleepers,