Harriet Monroe was an American editor, scholar, literary critic, and patron of the arts. Monroe is best known as the founder and long time editor of Poetry Magazine. She was born in Chicago, Illinois. She graduated from the Visitation Academy of Georgetown, D.C., in 1879, and afterward devoted herself to literary work.
Monroe was the first editor at Poetry Magazine when she founded it in 1912. From her position as editor, she played a role in the development of modern poetry, both as an early publisher and as a supporter of poets such as Ezra Pound, H. D., T. S. Eliot, William Carlos Williams , Carl Sandburg and others.
Additionally, Monroe was a long time ... more »
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Harriet Monroe Poems
April -- North Carolina
Would you not be in Tryon Now that the spring is here, When mocking-birds are praising The fresh, the blossomy year?
The Message Of The Wind
The wind comes riding down from heaven. Ho! wind of heaven, what do you bring? Cool for the dawn, dew for the even, And every sweetest thing.
In The Beginning
WHEN sunshine met the wave, Then love was born; Then Venus rose to save A world forlorn.
GOOD-BY: nay, do not grieve that it is over— The perfect hour; That the winged joy, sweet honey-loving rover, Flits from the flower.
The forest was a shrine for her, A temple richly dressed; And worshippers the tall trees were, Each to his prayer addressed.
The Fisk Street turbine power station in Chicago The invisible wheels go softly round and round— Light is the tread of brazen-footed Power.
You are a painter—listen— I'll paint you a picture too! Of the long white lights that glisten Through Michigan Avenue;
A Letter To One Far Away
Dear Wanderer— The sky is gray, With flecks of blue The clouds rush over.
Dance Of The Seasons
Allegro Wake ! wake ! Out of the snow and the mist,
A Little Old Maid
She grew, like other girls and flowers, Sheltered and tended daintily; And told her dolls, through sunny hours,
For A Child
Still he lies, Pale, wan, and strangely wise. Under the white coverlet He lies here sleeping yet,
In The Louvre
Queen Karomana, slim you stand, In bronze with little flecks of gold— Queen Karomana. O royal lady, lift your hand,
Battle-Flags Of Illinois
Through the red dusk of war they flew From Shiloh to the sea. Black fumes from shattered bolts that blew Withered the colors three,
He loved her and he was untrue— Untrue he was, let loved her still; For out of nether darkness drew
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
April -- North Carolina
Would you not be in Tryon
Now that the spring is here,
When mocking-birds are praising
The fresh, the blossomy year?
Look -- on the leafy carpet
Woven of winter's browns
Iris and pink azaleas
Flutter their gaudy gowns.
The dogwood spreads white meshes --
So white and light and high --
To catch the drifting sunlight
Out of the cobalt sky.
The pointed beech and maple,
The pines, dark-tufted, tall,