Helen Hunt Jackson

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

Helen Hunt Jackson Poems

1. A Calendar Of Sonnets: April 1/3/2003
2. A Calendar Of Sonnets: August 1/3/2003
3. A Calendar Of Sonnets: December 1/3/2003
4. A Calendar Of Sonnets: February 1/3/2003
5. A Calendar Of Sonnets: January 1/3/2003
6. A Calendar Of Sonnets: July 1/3/2003
7. A Calendar Of Sonnets: June 1/3/2003
8. A Calendar Of Sonnets: March 1/3/2003
9. A Calendar Of Sonnets: May 1/3/2003
10. A Calendar Of Sonnets: November 1/3/2003
11. A Calendar Of Sonnets: October 1/3/2003
12. A Calendar Of Sonnets: September 1/3/2003
13. A Dream 1/3/2003
14. A Last Prayer 4/14/2010
15. An Arctic Quest 1/3/2003
16. At Last 4/14/2010
17. Best 4/14/2010
18. Chance 1/3/2003
19. Coronation 4/14/2010
20. Couleur De Rose 4/25/2012
21. Crossed Threads 1/3/2003
22. Danger 1/3/2003
23. Death 1/3/2003
24. Died 4/25/2012
25. Doubt 12/31/2002
26. Draxy's Hymn 4/25/2012
27. Emigravit 4/14/2010
28. Faint And Weary Toiled A Pilgrim 4/25/2012
29. Forgiven 4/14/2010
30. Freedom 1/3/2003
31. God's Light-Houses 12/31/2002
32. Habeas Corpus 12/31/2002
33. How Was It 4/25/2012
34. Morn 1/3/2003
35. My Bees: An Allegory 1/3/2003
36. My Strawberry 1/3/2003
37. My Tenants 1/3/2003
38. New Year's Morning 1/3/2003
39. October's Bright Blue Weather 1/3/2003
40. Opportunity 4/25/2012
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

Where?

My snowy eupatorium has dropped
Its silver threads of petals in the night;
No signal told its blossoming had stopped;
Its seed-films flutter silent, ghostly white:
No answer stirs the shining air,
As I ask, "Where?"

Beneath the glossy leaves of winter-green
Dead lilly-bells lie low, and in their place

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