Celia Thaxter

Rating: 5
Rating: 5

Celia Thaxter Biography

Celia Laighton Thaxter was an American writer of poetry and stories. She was born in Portsmouth, New Hampshire.

Life and work

Thaxter grew up in the Isles of Shoals, first on White Island, where her father, Thomas Laighton, was a lighthouse keeper, and then on Smuttynose and Appledore Islands.

When she was sixteen, she married Levi Thaxter and moved to the mainland, residing first in Watertown, Massachusetts at a property his father owned. In 1854, they accepted an offer to use a house in Newburyport. The couple then acquired their own home, today called the Celia Thaxter House, built in 1856 near the Charles River at Newtonville. She had a son, Roland, born August 28, 1858, who would later become a prominent plant pathologist. Her first published poem, Landlocked, was writ ...

Celia Thaxter Comments

Another Someone 08 January 2021

I love this poem. I can picture it clearly in my head and can almost hear the waves crashing and feel the salty breeze before the storm. Beautiful.

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Someone else 26 April 2019

i agree with someone

1 0 Reply
Someone 14 May 2018

I really like your poem the sandpiper

4 0 Reply

The Best Poem Of Celia Thaxter

The Sandpiper

Across the lonely beach we flit,
One little sandpiper and I,
And fast I gather, but by bit,
The scattered drift-wood, bleached and dry.
The wild waves reach their hands for it,
The wild wind raves, the tide runs high,
As up and down the beach we flit,
One little sandpiper and I.

Above our heads the sullen clouds
Scud, black and swift, across the sky:
Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds
Stand out the white light-houses high.
Almost as far as eye can reach
I see the close-reefed vessels fly,
As fast we flit along the beach,
One little sandpiper and I.

I watch him as he skims along,
Uttering his sweet and mournful cry;
He starts not at my fitful song,
Nor flash of fluttering drapery.
He has no thought of any wrong,
He scans me with a fearless eye;
Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong,
The little sandpiper and I.

Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night,
When the loosed storm breaks furiously?
My drift-wood fire will burn so bright!
To what warm shelter canst thou fly?
I do not fear for thee, though wroth
The tempest rushes through the sky;
For are we not God's children both,
Thou, little sandpiper, and I?

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