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
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.
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?
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.
Dance Of The Seasons
Allegro Wake ! wake ! Out of the snow and the mist,
The Fisk Street turbine power station in Chicago The invisible wheels go softly round and round— Light is the tread of brazen-footed Power.
Flowers grow in the grass, Baby footfalls pass Over the fields once red, Over the hero's head—
A Letter To One Far Away
Dear Wanderer— The sky is gray, With flecks of blue The clouds rush over.
The little world span round and round, Singing along her sunny ways, And all the glory she unwound She gave to him for joy and praise.
Why do the wheels go whirring round, Mother, mother? Oh, mother, are they giants bound, And will they growl forever?
In The Louvre
Queen Karomana, slim you stand, In bronze with little flecks of gold— Queen Karomana. O royal lady, lift your hand,
You are a painter—listen— I'll paint you a picture too! Of the long white lights that glisten Through Michigan Avenue;
O Love, my love, it's over then— Your heart flies free; And it's now no more us two again, The door on you and me.
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
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.
O wind of heaven, from pink clouds driven,
What do you bring to me?
The low call of thy love who waits
Under the willow tree,
Whose boat upon the water waits
For me, for thee.