Amelia Josephine Burr
Biography of Amelia Josephine Burr
Amelia Josephine Burr (19 November 1878 - 15 June 1968) was an American poet. Born in New York City, she was educated at and graduated from Hunter College (New York). She worked for the Red Cross in 1917-18. She married Reverend Carl H. Elmore of Englewood, New Jersey.
She was described as a "popular lyricist, whose work yet flashes with genuine poetic feeling" and was reputed to have traveled widely. A contemporary source commented, "Her adventures in the Orient have colored her work, and with energy and charm she succeeded in getting to know much concerning the natives and their customs wherever she went. Much of her verse must, of course, be classed as balladry, and it is as a balladist that she has gained a wide audience, but, especially in her later work, there is much more than graceful appeal."
A Roadside Fire, 1913
Afterglow, a poem 1913
In Deep Places, 1914
Life and Living 1916
The Silver Trumpet 1918
Hearts Awake: The Pixy, A play, 1919
The above two volumes relate chiefly to World War I
A child garden in India, for very little people: Verses 1922
Little houses: A book of poems 1923
Selected lyrics 1927
Amelia Josephine Burr Poems
A Song Of Living
Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die. I have sent up my gladness on wings, to be lost in the blue of the sky. I have run and leaped with the rain, I have taken the wind to my breast. My cheeks like a drowsy child to the face of the earth I have pressed.
A Lynmouth Widow
He was straight and strong, and his eyes were blue As the summer meeting of sky and sea, And the ruddy cliffs had a colder hue Than flushed his cheek when he married me.
Where Love is
By the rosy cliffs of Devon, on a green hill's crest, I would build me a house as a swallow builds its nest; I would curtain it with roses, and the wind should breathe to me The sweetness of the roses and the saltness of the sea.
Pershing At The Tomb Of Lafayette
THEY knew they were fighting our war. As the months grew to years Their men and their women had watched through their blood and their tears
Spring comes laughing down the valley All in white, from the snow Where the winter's armies rally Loth to go.
We shall not shiver as we vainly try To stir cold ashes once again to fire, Nor bury a dead passion, you and I.
He was a French Boy Scout--a little lad No bigger than my Hansel. He refused
The End And The Beginning
The world of the elder gods is aflame. The smoke of its burning, Heavy with fumes of carnage, darkens the shuddering skies.
For the sake of a weathered gray city set high on a hill To the northward I go, Where Umbria's valley lies mile upon emerald mile
God has a house three streets away, And every Sunday, rain or shine, My nurse goes there her prayers to say.
Not the muffled drums for him Nor the wailing of the fife. Trumpets blaring to the charge Were the music of his life.
The world shall be made new Since thou hast found thy soul. There shall be freedom for the Jew And justice for the Pole.
Where Love is
By the rosy cliffs of Devon, on a green hill's crest,
I would build me a house as a swallow builds its nest;
I would curtain it with roses, and the wind should breathe to me
The sweetness of the roses and the saltness of the sea.
Where the Tuscan olives whiten in the hot blue day,
I would hide me from the heat in a little hut of gray,
While the singing of the husbandman should scale my lattice green
From the golden rows of barley that the poppies blaze between.