Women poems
/ page 91 of 142 /
Becoming A Dad
© Edgar Albert Guest
Old women say that men don't know
The pain through which all mothers go,
Camp Followers
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
In the old wars of the world there were camp-followers,
Women of ancient sins who gave themselves for hire,
Metamorphoses: Book The Eleventh
© Ovid
The End of the Eleventh Book.
Translated into English verse under the direction of
Sir Samuel Garth by John Dryden, Alexander Pope, Joseph Addison,
William Congreve and other eminent hands
The "Alice Jean"
© Robert Graves
One moonlit night a ship drove in,
A ghost ship from the west,
Drifting with bare mast and lone tiller,
Like a mermaid drest
In long green weed and barnacles:
She beached and came to rest.
Brother Of All, With Generous Hand
© Walt Whitman
Brother of all, with generous hand,
Of thee, pondering on thee, as o'er thy tomb, I and my Soul,
A thought to launch in memory of thee,
A burial verse for thee.
The Yankee Volunteers
© William Makepeace Thackeray
"A surgeon of the United States' army says that on inquiring of
the Captain of his company, he found that NINE-TENTHS of the men
had enlisted on account of some female difficulty."Morning Paper.
Malcolm's Katie: A Love Story - Part III.
© Isabella Valancy Crawford
The great farm house of Malcolm Graem stood
Square shoulder'd and peak roof'd upon a hill,
The Rites Of Darkness
© Kenneth Patchen
The sleds of the children
Move down the right slope.
To the left, hazed in the tumbling air,
A thousand lights smudge
Within the branches of the old forest,
Like colored moons in a well of milk.
With All Thy Gifts
© Walt Whitman
WITH all thy gifts, America,
(Standing secure, rapidly tending, overlooking the world,)
To R. - at Anzac
© Aubrey Herbert
You left your vineyards, dreaming of the vines in a dream land
And dim Italian cities where high cathedrals stand.
At Anzac in the evening, so many things we planned,
And now you sleep with comrades in the Anafarta sand.
Women's Harvest Song
© Amy Lowell
I am waving a ripe sunflower,
I am scattering sunflower pollen to the four world-quarters.
I am joyful because of my melons,
I am joyful because of my beans,
I am joyful because of my squashes.
Quaaludes Again
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
She fumbles and stumbles
And falls down the stairs,
Makes love to the leg of the dining room chair.
She's ready for animals, women or men.
She's doing Quaaludes again.
When Lincoln Died
© Katharine Lee Bates
A five-year old in a Cape Cod village, twenty miles from the rail,
Falmouth, Falmouth, loveliest Falmouth,
Wearing her silvery, pearl-embroidered ocean mist for a veil;
Her sweet God's Acre a windsome garden whither often would weepers bear
Their gifts of flowers, dear dooryard flowers,
To pale stones carved with a ship or anchor, though no mound was molded there;
Constancie
© George Herbert
Who is the honest man?
He that doth still and strongly good pursue,
To God, his neighbour, and himself most true:
Whom neither force nor fawning can
Unpinne, or wrench from giving all their due.
The King's Missive
© John Greenleaf Whittier
UNDER the great hill sloping bare
To cove and meadow and Common lot,
The Life Theoretic
© Aldous Huxley
While I have been fumbling over books
And thinking about God and the Devil and all,
