(1753 – 5 December 1784 / Gambia)

poet Phillis Wheatley
#88 on top 500 poets

Comments about Phillis Wheatley

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  • Charisse Harrison (6/2/2013 11:53:00 AM)

    Claudia you are a racist her work does not appeal to you because you don't understand how it is to one minute be at home with your family then another be around strange people on a ship coughing and gagging and seeing people die right before your very eyes wondering are you next then be sold off like a dog to strangers and have to endorse racism with people calling you offensive names and not caring who hears you i am very offended by the ignorance of your comment its very sad i have nothing left to say

    3 person liked.
    		0 person did not like.
  • Sanskruti Siras (12/8/2011 7:57:00 AM)

    thanks for the witty poem sir....

    199 person liked.
    		165 person did not like.
  • Claudia Krizay (4/25/2011 4:51:00 PM)

    One poet I am not crazy about is Phillis Wheatley Maybe it is because I can't relate to her work. I am not saying she is a bad poet- to others she might be great. Maybe I am the stupid one because her writing doesn't appeal to me- but I think no poet is loved by everyone and nobody is perfect. I am sure a lot of people dislike my poetry and I am interested in why they don't just as I am interested in why others do like it. It is all in the eyes of the beholder but Phillis Wheatley's poetry I just cannot relate to. I won't say why because other readers might call me a racist. But people have to be willing to accept negative comments as well as the positive ones! ! !

    204 person liked.
    		283 person did not like.
  • Linda Stroud (2/27/2006 1:38:00 PM)

    This poem is awesome Phillis. You are a good poet, I really enjoyed thath one especially.Keep up the good work. Truly Awesome.............

    220 person liked.
    		70 person did not like.

An Hymn To The Evening

SOON as the sun forsook the eastern main
The pealing thunder shook the heav'nly plain;
Majestic grandeur! From the zephyr's wing,
Exhales the incense of the blooming spring.
Soft purl the streams, the birds renew their notes,
And through the air their mingled music floats.
Through all the heav'ns what beauteous dies are
spread!
But the west glories in the deepest red:

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