Frank Dempster Sherman

(1860--1916 / United States)

Frank Dempster Sherman Poems

1. Witchery 1/4/2003
2. Bacchus 1/4/2003
3. A Butterfly In Wall Street 4/22/2010
4. A Pacific Dawn 4/22/2010
5. At Midnight 4/22/2010
6. On A Greek Vase 4/22/2010
7. On Some Buttercups 4/22/2010
8. Quatrains 4/22/2010
9. The Rose’s Cup 4/22/2010
10. The Shadows 4/22/2010
11. To A Rose 4/22/2010
12. A Prayer 7/7/2015
13. Spinning Top 4/22/2010
14. A Dewdrop 4/22/2010
15. The Library 4/22/2010
16. Bees 4/22/2010
17. Daisies 4/22/2010
18. Love's Springtide 1/4/2003

Comments about Frank Dempster Sherman

  • Jim Wassman (12/5/2017 3:51:00 AM)

    Crocus song delineater magazine pg. 607 watercolor by taggin

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  • Juliet Coravere (3/19/2017 2:18:00 PM)

    Being a book lover myself, I thoroughly enjoy reading poems such as Sherman's, as they lend a sense of wonder to books and the vessels through which we enjoy them. I love poets from this time period as they are at the cusp of human language, in my opinion, with the well-educated writers having a vast reservoir of words to draw upon to create both a detailed picture and an enjoyable read. In his maze of descriptions he lies out a perfect library which most can agree with, who could reject a roaring fireplace and vast windows for a year-long tenancy in such a place? His adherence to the simple yet effective couplets add the nostalgic poem feel which entrance readers like myself.

Best Poem of Frank Dempster Sherman

Love's Springtide

My heart was winter-bound until
   I heard you sing;
O voice of Love, hush not, but fill
   My life with Spring!

My hopes were homeless things before
   I saw your eyes;
O smile of Love, close not the door
   To paradise!

My dreams were bitter once, and then
   I found them bliss;
O lips of Love, give me again
   Your rose to kiss!

Springtide of Love! The secret sweet
   Is ours alone;
O heart of Love, at last you beat ...

Read the full of Love's Springtide


Out of the purple drifts,
   From the shadow sea of night,
On tides of musk a moth uplifts
   Its weary wings of white.

Is it a dream or ghost
   Of a dream that comes to me,
Here in the twilight on the coast,
   Blue cinctured by the sea?

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