Helen Hunt Jackson

(18 October 1830 – 12 August 1885 / Amherst, Massachusetts)

Helen Hunt Jackson Poems

1. Faint And Weary Toiled A Pilgrim 4/25/2012
2. The Fountain Leaps As If Its Nearest Goal 4/25/2012
3. The Gospel Of Mystery 4/25/2012
4. How Was It 4/25/2012
5. The End Of Harvest 4/25/2012
6. Draxy's Hymn 4/25/2012
7. Opportunity 4/25/2012
8. Unto One Who Lies At Rest 1/3/2003
9. Died 4/25/2012
10. The Poet's Forge 1/3/2003
11. My Tenants 1/3/2003
12. Tryst 1/3/2003
13. Habeas Corpus 12/31/2002
14. Morn 1/3/2003
15. Forgiven 4/14/2010
16. Spinning 4/14/2010
17. Songs Of Battle 1/3/2003
18. Tides 1/3/2003
19. The Angel Of Pain 4/25/2012
20. The Victory Of Patience 1/3/2003
21. Couleur De Rose 4/25/2012
22. Emigravit 4/14/2010
23. God's Light-Houses 12/31/2002
24. Poppies On The Wheat 1/3/2003
25. Where? 1/3/2003
26. Silence Again 4/14/2010
27. Coronation 4/14/2010
28. Best 4/14/2010
29. Refrain 1/3/2003
30. My Bees: An Allegory 1/3/2003
31. To An Absent Lover 1/3/2003
32. My Strawberry 1/3/2003
33. Two Truths 1/3/2003
34. New Year's Morning 1/3/2003
35. The Fir-Tree And The Brook 1/3/2003
36. At Last 4/14/2010
37. Death 1/3/2003
38. A Last Prayer 4/14/2010
39. A Calendar Of Sonnets: May 1/3/2003
40. A Calendar Of Sonnets: June 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Helen Hunt Jackson

A Calendar Of Sonnets: January

O Winter! frozen pulse and heart of fire,
What loss is theirs who from thy kingdom turn
Dismayed, and think thy snow a sculptured urn
Of death! Far sooner in midsummer tire
The streams than under ice. June could not hire
Her roses to forego the strength they learn
In sleeping on thy breast. No fires can burn
The bridges thou dost lay where men desire
In vain to build.
O Heart, when Love's sun goes
To northward, and the sounds of singing cease,
Keep warm by inner fires, and rest in peace.
Sleep on content, as sleeps the patient rose.
Walk ...

Read the full of A Calendar Of Sonnets: January

Morn

In what a strange bewilderment do we
Awake each morn from out the brief night's sleep.
Our struggling consciousness doth grope and creep
Its slow way back, as if it could not free
Itself from bonds unseen. Then Memory,
Like sudden light, outflashes from its deep
The joy or grief which it had last to keep
For us; and by the joy or grief we see
The new day dawneth like the yesterday;

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