Celia Thaxter

(29 June 1835 – 25 August 1894 / Portsmouth, New Hampshire)

Celia Thaxter Poems

1. The Pimpernel 3/21/2012
2. Regret 3/21/2012
3. Alone 3/21/2012
4. Imprisoned 3/21/2012
5. Seaward To____ 3/21/2012
6. May Morning 3/21/2012
7. Song 3/21/2012
8. Spring 3/21/2012
9. Dust 1/3/2003
10. Connoisseurs 1/3/2003
11. The Shag 1/3/2003
12. Karen 1/3/2003
13. The Spaniards' Graves 1/3/2003
14. Thora 1/3/2003
15. Lars 1/3/2003
16. Slumber Song 1/3/2003
17. Compensation 1/3/2003
18. Guests 1/3/2003
19. A Tryst 1/3/2003
20. Off Shore 1/3/2003
21. Land-Locked 1/3/2003
22. The Sandpiper 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Celia Thaxter

The Sandpiper

Across the lonely beach we flit,
One little sandpiper and I,
And fast I gather, but by bit,
The scattered drift-wood, bleached and dry.
The wild waves reach their hands for it,
The wild wind raves, the tide runs high,
As up and down the beach we flit,
One little sandpiper and I.

Above our heads the sullen clouds
Scud, black and swift, across the sky:
Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds
Stand out the white light-houses high.
Almost as far as eye can reach
I see the close-reefed vessels fly,
As fast we flit along the beach,
One ...

Read the full of The Sandpiper

Dust

Here is a problem, a wonder for all to see.
Look at this marvelous thing I hold in my hand!
This is a magic surprising, a mystery
Strange as a miracle, harder to understand.

What is it? Only a handful of earth: to your touch
A dry rough powder you trample beneath your feet,
Dark and lifeless; but think for a moment, how much
It hides and holds that is beautiful, bitter, or sweet.

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