John Greenleaf Whittier

(17 December 1807 – 7 September 1892 / Haverhill, Massachusetts)

John Greenleaf Whittier Poems

1. The Rock In El Ghor 4/6/2010
2. The Christian Tourists 4/6/2010
3. The Christmas Of 1888 4/6/2010
4. The Conquest Of Finland 4/6/2010
5. The Crisis 4/6/2010
6. The Cry Of A Lost Soul 4/6/2010
7. The Curse Of The Charter-Breakers 4/6/2010
8. The Dead Feast Of The Kol-Folk 4/6/2010
9. The Disenthralled 4/6/2010
10. The Dole Of Jarl Thorkell 4/6/2010
11. The Dream Of Pio Nono 4/6/2010
12. The Drovers 4/6/2010
13. The Eve Of Election 4/6/2010
14. The Familist's Hymn 4/6/2010
15. The Fountain 4/6/2010
16. The Freed Islands 4/6/2010
17. The Friend’s Burial 4/6/2010
18. The Garrison Of Cape Ann 4/6/2010
19. The Golden Wedding Of Longwood 4/6/2010
20. The Haschish 4/6/2010
21. The Huskers 4/6/2010
22. The Inward Judge 4/6/2010
23. The Khan's Devil 4/6/2010
24. The Lakeside 4/6/2010
25. The Last Eve Of Summer 4/6/2010
26. The Legend Of St. Mark 4/6/2010
27. The Library 4/6/2010
28. The Lost Statesman 4/6/2010
29. The Meeting 4/6/2010
30. The Memory Of Burns 4/6/2010
31. The Men Of Old 4/6/2010
32. The Merrimac 4/6/2010
33. The Maids Of Attitash 4/6/2010
34. The Old Burying-Ground 4/6/2010
35. The Pageant 4/6/2010
36. The Pass Of The Sierra 4/6/2010
37. The Pastoral Letter 4/6/2010
38. The Palm-Tree 4/6/2010
39. The Peace Of Europe 4/6/2010
40. The Prayer Of Agassiz 4/6/2010
Best Poem of John Greenleaf Whittier

Barbara Frietchie

Up from the meadows rich with corn,
Clear in the cool September morn,

The clustered spires of Frederick stand
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.

Round about them orchards sweep,
Apple and peach tree fruited deep,

Fair as the garden of the Lord
To the eyes of the famished rebel horde,

On that pleasant morn of the early fall
When Lee marched over the mountain-wall;

Over the mountains winding down,
Horse and foot, into Frederick town.

Forty flags with their silver stars,
Forty flags with their crimson bars,

Flapped in the ...

Read the full of Barbara Frietchie

What The Birds Said

The birds against the April wind
Flew northward, singing as they flew;
They sang, "The land we leave behind
Has swords for corn-blades, blood for dew."

"O wild-birds, flying from the South,
What saw and heard ye, gazing down?"
"We saw the mortar's upturned mouth,
The sickened camp, the blazing town!

[Hata Bildir]