Helen Hunt Jackson

(18 October 1830 – 12 August 1885 / Amherst, Massachusetts)

Helen Hunt Jackson Poems

1. How Was It 4/25/2012
2. The Fountain Leaps As If Its Nearest Goal 4/25/2012
3. Faint And Weary Toiled A Pilgrim 4/25/2012
4. The End Of Harvest 4/25/2012
5. The Angel Of Pain 4/25/2012
6. The Gospel Of Mystery 4/25/2012
7. Draxy's Hymn 4/25/2012
8. Opportunity 4/25/2012
9. Unto One Who Lies At Rest 1/3/2003
10. The Poet's Forge 1/3/2003
11. Died 4/25/2012
12. Tryst 1/3/2003
13. Morn 1/3/2003
14. Spinning 4/14/2010
15. The Victory Of Patience 1/3/2003
16. Tides 1/3/2003
17. Couleur De Rose 4/25/2012
18. Habeas Corpus 12/31/2002
19. Forgiven 4/14/2010
20. Songs Of Battle 1/3/2003
21. My Tenants 1/3/2003
22. Where? 1/3/2003
23. Emigravit 4/14/2010
24. Best 4/14/2010
25. God's Light-Houses 12/31/2002
26. Poppies On The Wheat 1/3/2003
27. Silence Again 4/14/2010
28. Two Truths 1/3/2003
29. Coronation 4/14/2010
30. Refrain 1/3/2003
31. My Bees: An Allegory 1/3/2003
32. The Fir-Tree And The Brook 1/3/2003
33. My Strawberry 1/3/2003
34. New Year's Morning 1/3/2003
35. To An Absent Lover 1/3/2003
36. At Last 4/14/2010
37. Death 1/3/2003
38. A Calendar Of Sonnets: June 1/3/2003
39. A Calendar Of Sonnets: August 1/3/2003
40. Chance 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Helen Hunt Jackson

A Calendar Of Sonnets: October

The month of carnival of all the year,
When Nature lets the wild earth go its way,
And spend whole seasons on a single day.
The spring-time holds her white and purple dear;
October, lavish, flaunts them far and near;
The summer charily her reds doth lay
Like jewels on her costliest array;
October, scornful, burns them on a bier.
The winter hoards his pearls of frost in sign
Of kingdom: whiter pearls than winter knew,
Oar empress wore, in Egypt's ancient line,
October, feasting 'neath her dome of blue,
Drinks at a single draught, slow filtered ...

Read the full of A Calendar Of Sonnets: October

Morn

In what a strange bewilderment do we
Awake each morn from out the brief night's sleep.
Our struggling consciousness doth grope and creep
Its slow way back, as if it could not free
Itself from bonds unseen. Then Memory,
Like sudden light, outflashes from its deep
The joy or grief which it had last to keep
For us; and by the joy or grief we see
The new day dawneth like the yesterday;

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