John Greenleaf Whittier

(17 December 1807 – 7 September 1892 / Haverhill, Massachusetts)

John Greenleaf Whittier Poems

1. The Rock In El Ghor 4/6/2010
2. The Christian Tourists 4/6/2010
3. The Christmas Of 1888 4/6/2010
4. The Cities Of The Plain 4/6/2010
5. The Conquest Of Finland 4/6/2010
6. The Crisis 4/6/2010
7. The Curse Of The Charter-Breakers 4/6/2010
8. The Dead Feast Of The Kol-Folk 4/6/2010
9. The Disenthralled 4/6/2010
10. The Dole Of Jarl Thorkell 4/6/2010
11. The Dream Of Pio Nono 4/6/2010
12. The Drovers 4/6/2010
13. The Familist's Hymn 4/6/2010
14. The Fountain 4/6/2010
15. The Freed Islands 4/6/2010
16. The Friend’s Burial 4/6/2010
17. The Garrison Of Cape Ann 4/6/2010
18. The Golden Wedding Of Longwood 4/6/2010
19. The Haschish 4/6/2010
20. The Hive At Gettysburg 4/6/2010
21. The Huskers 4/6/2010
22. The Inward Judge 4/6/2010
23. The Khan's Devil 4/6/2010
24. The Lakeside 4/6/2010
25. The Last Eve Of Summer 4/6/2010
26. The Legend Of St. Mark 4/6/2010
27. The Library 4/6/2010
28. The Lost Statesman 4/6/2010
29. The Maids Of Attitash 4/6/2010
30. The Meeting 4/6/2010
31. The Memory Of Burns 4/6/2010
32. The Men Of Old 4/6/2010
33. The Merrimac 4/6/2010
34. The Old Burying-Ground 4/6/2010
35. The Pageant 4/6/2010
36. The Palm-Tree 4/6/2010
37. The Pass Of The Sierra 4/6/2010
38. The Pastoral Letter 4/6/2010
39. The Peace Of Europe 4/6/2010
40. The Poet And The Children 4/6/2010
Best Poem of John Greenleaf Whittier

In School-Days

Still sits the school-house by the road,
A ragged beggar sleeping;
Around it still the sumachs grow,
And blackberry-vines are creeping.

Within, the master's desk is seen,
Deep-scarred by raps official;
The warping floor, the battered seats,
The jack-knife's carved initial;

The charcoal frescoes on its wall;
Its door's worn sill, betraying
The feet that, creeping slow to school,
Went storming out to playing!

Long years ago a winter sun
Shone over it at setting;
Lit up its western window-panes,
And low eaves' icy fretting. ...

Read the full of In School-Days

The Pumpkin

Oh, greenly and fair in the lands of the sun,
The vines of the gourd and the rich melon run,
And the rock and the tree and the cottage enfold,
With broad leaves all greenness and blossoms all gold,
Like that which o'er Nineveh's prophet once grew,
While he waited to know that his warning was true,
And longed for the storm-cloud, and listened in vain
For the rush of the whirlwind and red fire-rain.

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