Henry Timrod

(8 December 1828 - 7 October 1867 / Charleston, South Carolina)

Henry Timrod Poems

1. Baby's Age 1/1/2004
2. Hymn - A Sacred Concert 1/1/2004
3. Sonnet 01 1/1/2004
4. Sonnet 10 1/1/2004
5. La Belle Juive 1/1/2004
6. Katie 1/1/2004
7. The Summer Bower 1/1/2004
8. Sonnet 11 1/1/2004
9. Sonnet 14 1/1/2004
10. Hymn - Consecration Of Magnolia Cemetery 1/1/2004
11. Love's Logic 1/1/2004
12. Sonnet 04 1/1/2004
13. Sonnet 05 1/1/2004
14. Hark To The Shouting Wind 1/1/2004
15. Song Composed For Washington's Birthday 1/1/2004
16. Vox Et Pr 1/1/2004
17. A Vision Of Poesy - Part 01 1/1/2004
18. 1866 -- Addressed To The Old Year 1/1/2004
19. A Bouquet 1/1/2004
20. To Fairy 1/1/2004
21. Spring 1/1/2004
22. Dramatic Fragment 1/1/2004
23. The Rosebuds 1/1/2004
24. Sonnet 08 1/1/2004
25. On Pressing Some Flowers 1/1/2004
26. Serenade 1/1/2004
27. A Mother's Wail 1/1/2004
28. A Prize Poem 1/1/2004
29. Why Silent? 1/1/2004
30. To Thee 1/1/2004
31. A Summer Shower 1/1/2004
32. Ripley 1/1/2004
33. Our Willie 1/1/2004
34. The Lily Confidante 1/1/2004
35. A Dedication - To K.S.G. 1/1/2004
36. Too Long, O Spirit Of Storm 1/1/2004
37. A Vision Of Poesy - Part 02 1/1/2004
38. Address Delivered At The Opening Of The New Theatre At Richmond 4/16/2010
39. At Magnolia Cemetery 4/16/2010
40. Carmen Triumphale 4/16/2010
Best Poem of Henry Timrod

A Mother Gazes Upon Her Daughter

Is she not lovely! Oh! when, long ago,
My own dead mother gazed upon my face,
As I stood blushing near in bridal snow,
I had not half her beauty and her grace.

Yet that fond mother praised, the world caressed,
And ONE adored me -- how shall HE who soon
Shall wear my gentle flower upon his breast,
Prize to its utmost worth the priceless boon?

Shall he not gird her, guard her, make her rich,
(Not as the world is rich, in outward show,)
With all the love and watchful kindness which
A wise and tender manhood may bestow?

Oh! I shall part from her ...

Read the full of A Mother Gazes Upon Her Daughter

Sonnet 03

Life ever seems as from its present site
It aimed to lure us. Mountains of the past
It melts, with all their crags and caverns vast,
Into a purple cloud! Across the night
Which hides what is to be, it shoots a light
All rosy with the yet unrisen dawn.
Not the near daisies, but yon distant height
Attracts us, lying on this emerald lawn.
And always, be the landscape what it may --

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