Louisa May Alcott
Louisa May Alcott was an American novelist. She is best known for the novel Little Women, written and set in the Alcott family home, Orchard House in Concord, Massachusetts and published in 1868. This novel is loosely based on her childhood experiences with her three sisters.
In 1840, after several setbacks with the school, the Alcott family moved to a cottage 2 acres (8,100 m2) along the Sudbury River in Concord, Massachusetts. The Alcott family moved to the Utopian Fruitlands community for a brief interval in 1843-1844 and then, after its collapse, to rented rooms and finally to a house in Concord purchased with her mother's inheritance and financial help from Emerson. Alcott's ... more »
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Louisa May Alcott Poems
The moonlight fades from flower and rose And the stars dim one by one; The tale is told, the song is sung, And the Fairy feast is done.
A little kingdom I possess where thoughts and feelings dwell, And very hard I find the task of governing it well;
We sighing said, "Our Pan is dead; His pipe hangs mute beside the river Around it wistful sunbeams quiver, But Music's airy voice is fled.
A Little Bird I Am
'A little bird I am, Shut from the fields of air, And in my cage I sit and sing To Him who placed me there:
Now the day is done, Now the shepherd sun Drives his white flocks from the sky; Now the flowers rest
From The Short Story A Christmas Dream, ...
From our happy home Through the world we roam One week in all the year, Making winter spring
Mysterious death! who in a single hour Life's gold can so refine And by thy art divine Change mortal weakness to immortal power!
The Rock and The Bubble
Oh! a bare, brown rock Stood up in the sea, The waves at its feet Dancing merrily.
From The Short Story Shadow-Children
Little shadows, little shadows Dancing on the chamber wall, While I sit beside the hearthstone Where the red flames rise and fall.
Flowers, Dear Flowers, Farewell!
'We are sending you, dear flowers, Forth alone to die, Where your gentle sisters may not weep O'er the cold graves where you lie;
In a quiet, pleasant meadow, Beneath a summer sky, Where green old trees their branches waved, And winds went singing by;
From The Short Story What The Swallows D...
Swallow, swallow, neighbor swallow, Starting on your autumn flight, Pause a moment at my window, Twitter softly your good-night;
The Lay of a Golden Goose
Long ago in a poultry yard One dull November morn, Beneath a motherly soft wing A little goose was born.
Brighter Shone The Golden Shadows
Brighter shone the golden shadows; On the cool wind softly came The low, sweet tones of happy flowers, Singing little Violet's name.
Quotationsmore quotations »
''Housekeeping ain't no joke.''Louisa May Alcott (1832-1888), U.S. author. The cook Hannah, in Little Women, pt. 1, ch. 11 (1868).
Conceit spoils the finest genius. There is not much danger that real talent or goodness will be overlooked long; even if it is, the consciousness of possessing and using it well should satisfy one, an...Louisa May Alcott (1832-1888), U.S. author. Mrs. March, in Little Women, pt. 1, ch. 7 (1868). To her daughter Amy.
''People don't have fortunes left them in that style nowadays; men have to work and women to marry for money. It's a dreadfully unjust world.''Louisa May Alcott (1832-1888), U.S. author. Meg, in Little Women, pt. 1, ch. 15 (1868).
''Love is a great beautifier.''Louisa May Alcott (1832-1888), U.S. author. Little Women, pt. 2, ch. 1 (1869).
''Girls are so queer you never know what they mean. They say No when they mean Yes, and drive a man out of his wits for the fun of it.''Louisa May Alcott (1832-1888), U.S. author. Laurie, in Little Women, pt. 2, ch. 12 (1869).
(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)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
The moonlight fades from flower and rose
And the stars dim one by one;
The tale is told, the song is sung,
And the Fairy feast is done.
The night-wind rocks the sleeping flowers,
And sings to them, soft and low.
The early birds erelong will wake:
'T is time for the Elves to go.
O'er the sleeping earth we silently pass,
Unseen by mortal eye,
And send sweet dreams, as we lightly float
Through the quiet moonlit sky;--
For the stars' soft eyes alone may see,
And the flowers alone may know,
The feasts we hold, the tales we tell;