Honoring all Fathers || "Only a Dad" - Poem by Edgar Guest (1921)
•
06/21/26 at 04:22AM
•
Poetry
•
See more by Poetry Alley
Poetry Series
QUICK CATEGORY LINKS
%20R5%20-%209-14-26%20SQUARE.jpg?auto=format,compress&fit=crop&w=280&h=280&q=93)
"In March" || Poem by Max Eastman (1912)
•
03/05/26 at 03:49AM
•
Poetry
•
See more by Poetry Alley
On a soaked fence-post a little blue-backed bird,
Opening her sweet throat, has stirred
A million music-ripples in the air
That curl and circle everywhere.
They break not shallow at my ear,
But quiver far within. Warm days are near!
Max Forrester Eastman (1883 – 1969) was an American writer on literature, philosophy and society, a poet and a prominent political activist. Moving to New York City for graduate school, Eastman became involved with radical circles in Greenwich Village. He initially supported socialism but became highly critical first of Stalinism and then of communism and socialism in general, becoming an advocate of free market economics. He was also a leading patron of the Harlem Renaissance and an activist for a number of liberal and radical causes. In later life, he published more frequently in National Review and other conservative journals, but he always remained independent in his thinking. For instance, he publicly opposed United States involvement in the Vietnam War in the 1960s, earlier than most. Wikipedia
"LET AMERICA BE AMERICA AGAIN...." || Excerpt from Langston Hughes poem (1936)
•
01/08/26 at 02:45AM
•
Poetry
•
See more by Poetry Alley
My Heart Has Known Its Winter || Poem by Arna Bontemps (1927)
•
12/01/25 at 03:09AM
•
Poetry
•
See more by Poetry Alley
"Spring Night" || Poem by Sara Teasdale (1915)
•
05/01/25 at 03:38AM
•
Poetry
•
See more by Poetry Alley
Spring Night
The park is filled with night and fog,
The veils are drawn about the world,
The drowsy lights along the paths
Are dim and pearled.
Gold and gleaming the empty streets,
Gold and gleaming the misty lake,
The mirrored lights light sunken swords,
Glimmer and shake.
Oh, is it not enough to be
Here with this beauty over me?
My throat should ache with praise, and I
Should kneel in joy beneath the sky.
Oh, beauty, are you not enough?
Why am I crying after love
With youth, a singing voice and eyes
To take earth’s wonder with surprise?
Why have I put off my pride,
Why am I unsatisfied,
I for whom the pensive night
Binds her cloudy hair with light,
I for whom all beauty burns
Like incense in a million urns?
Oh, beauty, are you not enough?
Why am I crying after love?
This poem is in the public domain.
Sara Teasdale (1884 – 1933) was an American lyric poet. She was born Sarah Trevor Teasdale in St. Louis, Missouri, and used the name Sara Teasdale Filsinger after her marriage in 1914. She is the author of many poetry collections and was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for her "Love Songs" Read more
Powered by Volunteers | 360-794-7959
Snohomish, Skagit and Island County
Hunger impacts all of us | 360-435-1631
