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A dozen poems
For January 27, 2015A version friendly to printer and palmtop
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The Poet's Town, by John G. Neihardt
I
'Mid glad green miles of tillage
And fields where cattle graze,
A prosy little village,
You drowse away the days.
To an Unknown Girl in Auschwitz, by Charles L. Cingolani
Who are you who make your way
among the crowds?
You, Two Six Nine Five Three
You, the Flower of Jewry
proud, erect, with neck of ivory
The Outer Gate, by Nora May French
Life said: "My house is thine with all its store:
Behold I open shining ways to thee --
Of every inner portal make thee free:
O child, I may not bar the outer door.
Go from me if thou wilt, to come no more;
Washington McNeely, by Edgar Lee Masters
Spoon River Anthology
Rich, honored by my fellow citizens,
The father of many children, born of a noble mother,
All raised there
In the great mansion-house, at the edge of town.
Sunday up the River, by James Thomson
MY love o'er the water bends dreaming;
It glideth and glideth away:
She sees there her own beauty, gleaming
Through shadow and ripple and spray.
O tell her, thou murmuring river,
Mockery, by Louis Untermeyer
God, I return to You on April days
When along country roads You walk with me,
And my faith blossoms like the earliest tree
That shames the bleak world with its yellow sprays --
My faith revives, when through a rosy haze
The Sun rises bright in France, by Allan Cunningham
THE sun rises bright in France,
And fair sets he;
But he has tint the blythe blink he had
In my ain countree.
O, it 's nae my ain ruin
Hymn, by Joseph Addison
THE spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue ethereal sky,
And spangled heavens, a shining frame,
Their great Original proclaim.
Th' unwearied Sun from day to day
Muy Vieja Mexicana, by Alice Corbin
I've seen her pass with eyes upon the road --
An old bent woman in a bronze-black shawl,
With skin as dried and wrinkled as a mummy's,
As brown as a cigar-box, and her voice
Like the low vibrant strings of a guitar.
Superstites Rosae, by Richard Rowe
The grass is green upon her grave,
The west wind whispers low;
"The corn is changed, come forth, come forth,
Ere all the blossoms go!"
In vain. Her laughing eyes are sealed,
In the Hospital, by Arthur Guiterman
Because on the branch that is tapping my pane
A sun-wakened leaf-bud, uncurled,
Is bursting its rusty brown sheathing in twain,
I know there is Spring in the world.
Because through the sky-patch whose azure and white
Colombia and Her Crew, by Anita Raye (Willis) Stonebreaker
We watched God's souls as they took flight,
Away from Earth, out of sight.
Their mission known right from the start,
Our hero's brave, gave from their hearts.
Far away from their homeland,
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