Alice Duer Miller

(28 July 1874 - 22 August 1942 / New York City, New York)

Alice Duer Miller Poems

1. Forsaking All Others Part 4 3/15/2012
2. Forsaking All Others Part 5 3/15/2012
3. Song 3/15/2012
4. Sonnet 3/15/2012
5. Overheard In A Conservatory 3/15/2012
6. To The Night Breeze 3/15/2012
7. The Snare Of The Fowler 3/15/2012
8. Invocation 3/15/2012
9. Late Comers 3/15/2012
10. The Heritage 3/15/2012
11. Harbor 3/15/2012
12. After A Quarrel 3/15/2012
13. Song In Exile 3/15/2012
14. The Party 3/15/2012
15. Before Spring 3/15/2012
16. An American To France 3/15/2012
17. Strange Gods 3/15/2012
18. Newport 3/15/2012
19. To Remorse 3/15/2012
20. The Price To Peace 3/15/2012
21. Brandon 3/15/2012
22. Final Poem 3/15/2012
23. To A Certain Gentleman 3/15/2012
24. House Pets 3/15/2012
25. Spring 3/15/2012
26. A Bread And Butter Letter 3/15/2012
27. Won'T It Be Curious 3/15/2012
28. The Penintent 3/15/2012
29. From The German 3/15/2012
30. Forsaking All Others Part 1 3/15/2012
31. Forsaking All Others Part 3 3/15/2012
32. An Exhortation To Gentleness 3/15/2012
33. The Way 3/15/2012
34. A Dialouge 3/15/2012
35. In A School Chapel 3/15/2012
36. To An Old Lady In A Train 3/15/2012
37. Easton's Beach 3/15/2012
38. The Railroad Station 3/15/2012
39. The Stars 3/15/2012
40. The History Of A Minute 3/15/2012
Best Poem of Alice Duer Miller

The White Cliffs

I
I have loved England, dearly and deeply,
Since that first morning, shining and pure,
The white cliffs of Dover I saw rising steeply
Out of the sea that once made her secure.
I had no thought then of husband or lover,
I was a traveller, the guest of a week;
Yet when they pointed 'the white cliffs of Dover',
Startled I found there were tears on my cheek.
I have loved England, and still as a stranger,
Here is my home and I still am alone.
Now in her hour of trial and danger,
Only the English are really her own.

II
It happened the first...

Read the full of The White Cliffs

After A Year

YES, you have guessed it. Do not blame me, dear.
Indeed, I did not dream, 0 tender eyes,
When first we met, that in a little year
My words would dim you with pain's dumb surprise.

Do not reproach me, for I suffer too ­
An agony of shame and self-contempt;
And know that I shall miss, far more than you,
The lost illusions of this dream we've dreamt.

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