Edwin Markham

(23 April 1852 - 7 March 1940 / Oregon City, Oregon)

Edwin Markham Poems

1. The Humming Bird 4/21/2010
2. The Whirlwind Road 4/21/2010
3. The Last Furrow 4/21/2010
4. The Lizard 4/21/2010
5. The Joy Of The Hills 1/4/2003
6. The Wall Street Pit 4/21/2010
7. How Oswald Dined With God 1/27/2015
8. The Panther 4/21/2010
9. The Invisible Bride 1/4/2003
10. The Chant Of The Vultures 4/21/2010
11. A Workman To The Gods 4/21/2010
12. Rules For The Road 4/21/2010
13. Sing A While Longer 4/21/2010
14. A Lyric Of The Dawn 4/21/2010
15. The Cricket 4/21/2010
16. A Mendocino Memory 4/21/2010
17. My Comrade 4/21/2010
18. An Old Road 4/21/2010
19. A Song To A Tree 4/21/2010
20. Poetry 4/21/2010
21. The Christ Of The Andes 4/21/2010
22. A Prayer 4/21/2010
23. In Death Valley 4/21/2010
24. Lion And Lioness 4/21/2010
25. Preparedness 4/21/2010
26. The Daring One 4/21/2010
27. Anchored To The Infinite 4/21/2010
28. A Look Into The Gulf 4/21/2010
29. Joy Of The Morning 4/21/2010
30. Earth Is Enough 4/21/2010
31. Brotherhood 4/21/2010
32. A Creed 4/21/2010
33. Epigrams 4/21/2010
34. Lincoln, The Man Of The People 1/4/2003
35. The Man With The Hoe (Written After Seeing Millet's World-Famous Painting) 1/4/2003
Best Poem of Edwin Markham

The Man With The Hoe (Written After Seeing Millet's World-Famous Painting)

Bowed by the weight of centuries he leans
Upon his hoe and gazes on the ground,
The emptiness of ages in his face,
And on his back the burden of the world.
Who made him dead to rapture and despair,
A thing that grieves not and that never hopes,
Stolid and stunned, a brother to the ox?
Who loosened and let down this brutal jaw?
Whose was the hand that slanted back this brow?
Whose breath blew out the light within this brain?
Is this the Thing the Lord God made and gave
To have dominion over sea and land;
To trace the stars and search the heavens ...

Read the full of The Man With The Hoe (Written After Seeing Millet's World-Famous Painting)

The Joy Of The Hills

I ride on the mountain tops, I ride;
I have found my life and am satisfied.
Onward I ride in the blowing oats,
Checking the field-lark's rippling notes --
   Lightly I sweep
   From steep to steep:
Over my head through the branches high
Come glimpses of a rushing sky;
The tall oats brush my horse's flanks;

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