Charles Edwin Anson Markham was an American poet.
Edwin Markham was born in Oregon City, Oregon and was the youngest of 10 children; his parents divorced shortly after his birth. At the age of four, he moved to Lagoon Valley, an area northeast of San Francisco; there, he lived with his sister and mother. He worked on the family’s farm beginning at twelve. Although his mother was opposed to his pursuing higher education, he studied literature at the California College in Vacaville, California, and received his teacher's certificate in 1870. In 1872 he graduated from San Jose State Normal School, and in 1873 finished his studies of classics at Christian College in ... more »
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Edwin Markham Poems
The Man with the Hoe (Written after seei...
Bowed by the weight of centuries he leans Upon his hoe and gazes on the ground, The emptiness of ages in his face, And on his back the burden of the world.
Lincoln, the Man of the People
When the Norn Mother saw the Whirlwind Hour Greatening and darkening as it hurried on, She left the Heaven of Heroes and came down To make a man to meet the mortal need.
For all your days prepare, And meet them ever alike: When you are the anvil, bear-- When you are the hammer, Strike.
There is a destiny that makes us brothers: None goes his way alone: All that we send into the lives of others Comes back into our own.
The crest and crowning of all good, Life's final star, is brotherhood; For it will bring again to Earth Her long-lost Poesy and Mirth;
For all your days prepare, And meet them ever alike: When you are the anvil, bear—
Joy Of The Morning
I hear you, little bird, Shouting a-swing above the broken wall. Shout louder yet: no song can tell it all.
Lion And Lioness
ONE night we were together, you and I, And had unsown Assyria for a lair, Before the walls of Babylon rose in air.
The Daring One
I would my soul were like the bird That dares the vastness undeterred. Look, where the bluebird on the bough Breaks into rapture even now!
A Song to a Tree
Give me the dance of your boughs, O tree, Whenever the wild wind blows; And when the wind is gone, give me Your beautiful repose.
Earth Is Enough
We men of Earth have here the stuff Of Paradise - we have enough! We need no other stones to build
Teach me, Father, how to go Softly as the grasses grow; Hush my soul to meet the shock
Anchored To The Infinite
The builder who first bridged Niagara’s gorge, Before he swung his cable, shore to shore, Sent out across the gulf his venturing kite
An Old Road
A host of poppies, a flight of swallows; A flurry of rain, and a wind that follows Shepherds the leaves in the sheltered hollows
Comments about Edwin Markham
(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 Man with the Hoe (Written after seeing Millet's world-famous painting)
Bowed by the weight of centuries he leans
Upon his hoe and gazes on the ground,
The emptiness of ages in his face,
And on his back the burden of the world.
Who made him dead to rapture and despair,
A thing that grieves not and that never hopes,
Stolid and stunned, a brother to the ox?
Who loosened and let down this brutal jaw?
Whose was the hand that slanted back this brow?
Whose breath blew out the light within this brain?
Is this the Thing the Lord God made and gave
To have dominion over sea and land;
To trace the stars and search the heavens ...