Harriet Monroe

(23 December 1860 – 26 September 1936 / Chicago, Illinois)

Harriet Monroe Poems

1. With A Copy Of Shelley 2/17/2015
2. The Garden 4/16/2010
3. The Meeting 4/16/2010
4. New-Born 4/16/2010
5. Quatrains 4/16/2010
6. Rubens 4/16/2010
7. Sierran Song 4/16/2010
8. March 4/16/2010
9. Maternity 4/16/2010
10. Mountain Song 4/16/2010
11. The River Kern 4/16/2010
12. The Peacemaker 4/16/2010
13. The Legend Of A Pass Christian 4/16/2010
14. The Giant Cactus Of Arizona 4/16/2010
15. Lullaby 4/16/2010
16. Wings 4/16/2010
17. On The Porch 4/16/2010
18. The Model 4/16/2010
19. The Tower 4/16/2010
20. The Hotel 4/16/2010
21. The Pine At Timber-Line 4/16/2010
22. Melodies 4/16/2010
23. Washington 4/16/2010
24. Why Not? 4/16/2010
25. Night In State Street 4/16/2010
26. The Blue Ridge 4/16/2010
27. The Childless Woman 4/16/2010
28. Winter 4/16/2010
29. The Sage 4/16/2010
30. The Woman 4/16/2010
31. Pain 4/16/2010
32. The Fortunate One 4/16/2010
33. The Princess And The Page 4/16/2010
34. The Humming-Bird 4/16/2010
35. To Idleness 4/16/2010
36. The Turbine 4/16/2010
37. In Tuolumne Meadows 4/16/2010
38. The Inner Silence 4/16/2010
39. Two Capitals—1910 4/16/2010
40. Titanic Requiem 4/16/2010
Best Poem of Harriet Monroe

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,
Pattern...

Read the full of April -- North Carolina

A Letter From Peking

October I5th, 1910.
My friend, dear friend, why should I hear your voice
Over the Babel of voices, suddenly
Calling as from the new world to the old?
Hush!—are you weary? would you follow me?
Would you make dark the house, and shut the door,
Summon steam-pacing trains, wave-racing ships,
To bear you past the high assembled nations—
Past the loud cries, the plucking hands of the age—

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