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. The Turbine 4/16/2010
36. In Tuolumne Meadows 4/16/2010
37. To Idleness 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

The Water Ouzel

Little brown surf-bather of the mountains!
Spirit of foam, lover of cataracts, shaking your wings in falling waters!
Have you no fear of the roar and rush when Nevada plunges --
Nevada, the shapely dancer, feeling her way with slim white fingers?
How dare you dash at Yosemite the mighty --
Tall, white limbed Yosemite, leaping down, down over the cliff?
Is it not enough to lean on the blue air of mountains?
Is it not enough to rest with your mate at timberline, in bushes that hug

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