The Widow

Related poetry:

1. Granny Through every nook and every cranny The wind blew in on poor old Granny Around her knees, into each ear (And up nose as well, I fear) All through the night the wind grew worse It nearly made the vicar curse The top had fallen off the steeple Just missing him (and other people) It […]...
2. The Widow and Her Son XXI Night fell over North Lebanon and snow was covering the villages surrounded by the Kadeesha Valley, giving the fields and prairies the appearance of a great sheet of parchment upon which the furious Nature was recording her many deeds. Men came home from the streets while silence engulfed the night. In a lone house near […]...
3. The Soldier's Wife Weary way-wanderer languid and sick at heart Travelling painfully over the rugged road, Wild-visag’d Wanderer! ah for thy heavy chance! Sorely thy little one drags by thee bare-footed, Cold is the baby that hangs at thy bending back Meagre and livid and screaming its wretchedness. Woe-begone mother, half anger, half agony, As over thy shoulder […]...
4. The Widow at Windsor ‘Ave you ‘eard o’ the Widow at Windsor With a hairy gold crown on ‘er ‘ead? She ‘as ships on the foam she ‘as millions at ‘ome, An’ she pays us poor beggars in red. (Ow, poor beggars in red!) There’s ‘er nick on the cavalry ‘orses, There’s ‘er mark on the medical stores An’ […]...
5. The Widow I don’t think men of eighty odd Should let a surgeon operate; Better to pray for peace with God, And reconcile oneself to Fate: At four-score years we really should Be quite prepared to go for good. That’s what I told my husband but He had a hearty lust for life, And so he let […]...
6. Jack Honest, or the Widow and Her Son Jack Honest was only eight years of age when his father died, And by the death of his father, Mrs Honest was sorely tried; And Jack was his father’s only joy and pride, And for honesty Jack couldn’t be equalled in the country-side. So a short time before Jack’s father died, ‘Twas loud and bitterly […]...
7. The Widow's Lament In Springtime Sorrow is my own yard Where the new grass Flames as it has flamed Often before but not With the cold fire That closes round me this year. Thirtyfive years I lived with my husband. The plumtree is white today With masses of flowers. Masses of flowers Load the cherry branches And color some bushes […]...
8. The Aim was Song Before man came to blow it right The wind once blew itself untaught, And did its loudest day and night In any rough place where it caught. Man came to tell it what was wrong: I hadn’t found the place to blow; It blew too hard the aim was song. And listen how it ought […]...
9. The Night was wide, and furnished scant The Night was wide, and furnished scant With but a single Star That often as a Cloud it met Blew out itself for fear The Wind pursued the little Bush And drove away the Leaves November left then clambered up And fretted in the Eaves No Squirrel went abroad A Dog’s belated feet Like intermittent […]...
10. Sonnet 9: Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye Is it for fear to wet a widow’s eye, That thou consum’st thy self in single life? Ah, if thou issueless shalt hap to die, The world will wail thee like a makeless wife. The world will be thy widow and still weep, That thou no form of thee hast left behind, When every private […]...
11. Wreck of the Schooner Samuel Crawford ‘Twas in the year of 1886, and on the 29th of November, Which the surviving crew of the “Samuel Crawford” will long remember, She was bound to Baltimore with a cargo of pine lumber; But, alas! the crew suffered greatly from cold and hunger. ‘Twas on December 3rd when about ten miles south-west Of Currituck […]...
12. The Widow's Home Close on the margin of a brawling brook That bathes the low dell’s bosom, stands a Cot; O’ershadow’d by broad Alders. At its door A rude seat, with an ozier canopy Invites the weary traveller to rest. ‘Tis a poor humble dwelling; yet within, The sweets of joy domestic, oft have made The long hour […]...
13. Where It Was At Back Then Husband, Last night I dreamt They cut off your hands and feet. Husband, You whispered to me, Now we are both incomplete. Husband, I held all four In my arms like sons and daughters. Husband, I bent slowly down And washed them in magical waters. Husband, I placed each one Where it belonged on you. […]...
14. The Little Match Girl It was biting cold, and the falling snow, Which filled a poor little match girl’s heart with woe, Who was bareheaded and barefooted, as she went along the street, Crying, “Who’ll buy my matches? for I want pennies to buy some meat!” When she left home she had slippers on; But, alas! poor child, now […]...
15. Widow McFarlane I was the Widow McFarlane, Weaver of carpets for all the village. And I pity you still at the loom of life, You who are singing to the shuttle And lovingly watching the work of your hands, If you reach the day of hate, of terrible truth. For the cloth of life is woven, you […]...
16. The Nithsdale Widow and Her Son ‘Twas in the year of 1746, on a fine summer afternoon, When trees and flowers were in full bloom, That widow Riddel sat knitting stockings on a little rustic seat, Which her only son had made for her, which was very neat. The cottage she lived in was in the wilds of Nithsdale, Where many […]...
17. The Bohemian Up in my garret bleak and bare I tilted back on my broken chair, And my three old pals were with me there, Hunger and Thirst and Cold; Hunger scowled at his scurvy mate: Cold cowered down by the hollow grate, And I hated them with a deadly hate As old as life is old. […]...
18. 527. Song-Address to the Woodlark O STAY, sweet warbling woodlark, stay, Nor quit for me the trembling spray, A hapless lover courts thy lay, Thy soothing, fond complaining. Again, again that tender part, That I may catch thy melting art; For surely that wad touch her heart Wha kills me wi’ disdaining. Say, was thy little mate unkind, And heard […]...
19. Wind on the Hill No one can tell me, Nobody knows, Where the wind comes from, Where the wind goes. It’s flying from somewhere As fast as it can, I couldn’t keep up with it, Not if I ran. But if I stopped holding The string of my kite, It would blow with the wind For a day and […]...
20. Middle-Ages I heard a clash, and a cry, And a horseman fleeing the wood. The moon hid in a cloud. Deep in shadow I stood. ВЂ˜Ugly work! ’ thought I, Holding my breath. ВЂ˜Men must be cruel and proud, ВЂ˜Jousting for death’. With gusty glimmering shone The moon; and the wind blew colder. A man went […]...
21. The First Surveyor ‘The man who brought the railway through our friend the engineer.’ They cheer his pluck and enterprise and engineering skill! ‘Twas my old husband found the pass behind that big red hill. Before the engineer was born we’d settled with our stock Behind that great big mountain chain, a line of range and rock A […]...
22. Heine's "Widow or Daughter?&quot Shall I woo the one or other? Both attract me more’s the pity! Pretty is the widowed mother, And the daughter, too, is pretty. When I see that maiden shrinking, By the gods I swear I’ll get ‘er! But anon I fall to thinking That the mother ‘ll suit me better! So, like any idiot […]...
23. A Widow Bird Sate Mourning For Her Love A widow bird sate mourning for her Love Upon a wintry bough; The frozen wind crept on above, The freezing stream below. There was no leaf upon the forest bare, No flower upon the ground, And little motion in the air Except the mill-wheel’s sound....
24. Absence My shadow I woke to a wind swirling the curtains light and dark And the birds twittering on the roofs, I lay cold In the early light in my room high over London. What fear was it that made the wind sound like a fire So that I got up and looked out half-asleep At […]...
25. Mary – A Ballad Author Note: The story of the following ballad was related to me, when a school boy, as a fact which had really happened in the North of England. I have Adopted the metre of Mr. Lewis’s Alonzo and Imogene a poem deservedly Popular. I. Who is she, the poor Maniac, whose wildly-fix’d eyes Seem a […]...
26. Sonnet 10 How darkly o’er yon far-off mountain frowns The gather’d tempest! from that lurid cloud The deep-voiced thunders roll, aweful and loud Tho’ distant; while upon the misty downs Fast falls in shadowy streaks the pelting rain. I never saw so terrible a storm! Perhaps some way-worn traveller in vain Wraps his torn raiment round his […]...
27. Valley Candle My candle burned alone in an immense valley. Beams of the huge night converged upon it, Until the wind blew. The beams of the huge night Converged upon its image, Until the wind blew....
28. A True Story Little Ann and her mother were walking one day Through London’s wide city so fair, And business obliged them to go by the way That led them through Cavendish Square. And as they pass’d by the great house of a Lord, A beautiful chariot there came, To take some most elegant ladies abroad, Who straightway […]...
29. The Death of the Old Mendicant There was a rich old gentleman Lived on a lonely moor in Switzerland, And he was very hard to the wandering poor, ‘Tis said he never lodged nor served them at his door. ‘Twas on a stormy night, and Boreas blew a bitter blast, And the snowflakes they fell thick and fast, When a poor […]...
30. The Ballad Of Moll Magee Come round me, little childer; There, don’t fling stones at me Because I mutter as I go; But pity Moll Magee. My man was a poor fisher With shore lines in the say; My work was saltin’ herrings The whole of the long day. And sometimes from the Saltin’ shed I scarce could drag my […]...
31. Next Day Moving from Cheer to Joy, from Joy to All, I take a box And add it to my wild rice, my Cornish game hens. The slacked or shorted, basketed, identical Food-gathering flocks Are selves I overlook. Wisdom, said William James, Is learning what to overlook. And I am wise If that is wisdom. Yet somehow, […]...
32. How Samson Bore Away the Gates of Gaza (A Negro Sermon.) Once, in a night as black as ink, She drove him out when he would not drink. Round the house there were men in wait Asleep in rows by the Gaza gate. But the Holy Spirit was in this man. Like a gentle wind he crept and ran. (“It is midnight,” said […]...
33. Joy and Pleasure Now, joy is born of parents poor, And pleasure of our richer kind; Though pleasure’s free, she cannot sing As sweet a song as joy confined. Pleasure’s a Moth, that sleeps by day And dances by false glare at night; But Joy’s a Butterfly, that loves To spread its wings in Nature’s light. Joy’s like […]...
34. Come hither, child Come hither, child who gifted thee With power to touch that string so well? How darest thou rouse up thoughts in me, Thoughts that I would but cannot quell? Nay, chide not, lady; long ago I heard those notes in Ula’s hall, And had I known they’d waken woe I’d weep their music to recall. […]...
35. A Tale of Christmas Eve ‘Twas Christmastide in Germany, And in the year of 1850, And in the city of Berlin, which is most beautiful to the eye; A poor boy was heard calling out to passers-by. “Who’ll buy my pretty figures,” loudly he did cry, Plaster of Paris figures, but no one inclined to buy; His clothes were thin […]...
36. Winter: My Secret I tell my secret? No indeed, not I: Perhaps some day, who knows? But not today; it froze, and blows, and snows, And you’re too curious: fie! You want to hear it? well: Only, my secret’s mine, and I won’t tell. Or, after all, perhaps there’s none: Suppose there is no secret after all, But […]...
37. Denied The winds came out of the west one day, And hurried the clouds before them; And drove the shadows and mists away, And over the mountains bore them. And I wept, ‘Oh, wind, blow into my mind, Blow into my soul and heart, And scatter the clouds that hang lile shrouds, And make the shadows […]...
38. The City of Sleep “The Brushwood Boy” The Day’s Work Over the edge of the purple down, Where the single lamplight gleams, Know ye the road to the Merciful Town That is hard by the Sea of Dreams Where the poor may lay their wrongs away, And the sick may forget to weep? But we pity us! Oh, pity […]...
39. From the Bush The Channel fog has lifted – And see where we have come! Round all the world we’ve drifted, A hundred years from “home”. The fields our parents longed for – Ah! we shall ne’er know how – The wealth that they were wronged for We’ll see as strangers now! The Dover cliffs have passed on […]...
40. Virginity My mother she had children five and four are dead and gone; While I, least worthy to survive, persist in living on. She looks at me, I must confess, sometimes with spite and bitterness. My mother is three-score and ten, while I am forty-three, You don’t know how it hurts me when we go somewhere […]...