Virna Sheard (1865-1943) is a Canadian poet and novelist.
She was born Virna Stanton in Coburg, Ontario, and was educated in Coburg and Toronto. She married Dr. Charles Sheard of Toronto in 1885, and bore him four sons.
She began publishing stories and poems in 1898, and publishing several novels and a collection of poetry.
The Globe (Toronto): "A study of The Miracle and Other Poems shows at once that the author is not merely a Canadian poet; her outlook and her range know little of time or place; she belongs to the readers of poetry at large.... Though Mrs. Sheard's poems are by no means of uniform quality, there are ... more »
Click here to add this poet to your My Favorite Poets.
Virna Sheard Poems
April again! the willow wands are yellow Rose-red the brambles that the passing wind knows, Comes a robin's note like the note of a 'cello, And across the valley, the calling of the crows,- 'April again!'
Windy March weather, with a lone crow flying, A little ebony airship careening down the blue, And high, high above him a wild goose crying, The leading cry, the clarion cry, that guides his grey lines through!
The Heart Courageous
Who hath a heart courageous Will fight with right good cheer; For well may he his foes out-face Who owns no foe called Fear!
April! April! April! With a mist of green on the trees-- And a scent of the warm brown broken earth On every wandering breeze;
A Song Of Roses
'Tis time to sing of roses: of roses all ablow, To every vagrant passing breeze they dip a courtesy low,
A Song Of Poppies
I love red poppies! Imperial red poppies! Sun-worshippers are they; Gladly as trees live through a hundred summers They live one little day.
All day the wife of Pharaoh had paced the palace hall Or the long white pillared court that was open to the sky;
When April Comes!
When April comes with softly shining eyes, And daffodils bound in her wind-blown hair, Oh, she will coax all clouds from out the skies,
Hark! Hark to the wind! 'Tis the night, they say, When all souls come back from the far away-- The dead, forgotten this many a day!
Throughout the sunny day he whistled on his way-- Oh high and low, and gay and sweet, The melody rang down the street,
When Christmas Comes
For thee, my small one--trinkets and new toys, The wine of life and all its keenest joys, When Christmas comes.
O mighty men of England Who sleep on land and sea, How swiftly you would join our ranks If Death could set you free!
To One Who Sleeps
Fare not too far, my own, Down ways all strange and new, For I must find alone, The road that leads to you.
A War Chant
O England! Thy foe hath hated thee long, And his hate is a deadly thing; It was held in his heart till its growth was strong, Now, words have woven it into a song
Comments about Virna Sheard
(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)
April again! the willow wands are yellow
Rose-red the brambles that the passing wind knows,
Comes a robin's note like the note of a 'cello,
And across the valley, the calling of the crows,-
April again! and the marsh birds swinging
Over the rushes that belong to yester-year;
Silver shines the river, and young lips are singing
Songs as old as Eden-as old and as dear;
April again! with a wet wind blowing,
And along the western sky a pathway of gold;
Sounds a call to follow the road we're not knowing,
A new road-a wild ...