Helen Hunt Jackson

(18 October 1830 – 12 August 1885 / Amherst, Massachusetts)

poet Helen Hunt Jackson
#229 on top 500 poets

Helen Hunt Jackson Poems

41. Doubt 12/31/2002
42. Crossed Threads 1/3/2003
43. An Arctic Quest 1/3/2003
44. Danger 1/3/2003
45. A Calendar Of Sonnets: February 1/3/2003
46. A Calendar Of Sonnets: March 1/3/2003
47. Freedom 1/3/2003
48. A Calendar Of Sonnets: August 1/3/2003
49. Chance 1/3/2003
50. A Calendar Of Sonnets: July 1/3/2003
51. A Calendar Of Sonnets: December 1/3/2003
52. A Calendar Of Sonnets: September 1/3/2003
53. A Calendar Of Sonnets: November 1/3/2003
54. A Calendar Of Sonnets: April 1/3/2003
55. September 12/31/2002
56. A Calendar Of Sonnets: October 1/3/2003
57. A Dream 1/3/2003
58. A Calendar Of Sonnets: January 1/3/2003
59. October's Bright Blue Weather 1/3/2003

Comments about Helen Hunt Jackson

  • Danyell J. Bernier (7/17/2018 9:54:00 AM)

    No moew in heaven than earth will he find God
    Who does not know his loving mercy swift
    But waits the moment consummate and ripe,
    Each burden, from each human soul to lift.......................
    LOOK FOR REAL POEM.....................www.precandy.com

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  • angel (5/15/2018 3:31:00 PM)

    what's so peculiar about silence again''

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  • helen hunt (2/5/2018 2:12:00 PM)

    hello tapan my name is helen hunt

    0 person liked.
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  • sorry eli is very rude (2/5/2018 2:11:00 PM)

    eli she is syupid ans weird

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  • puppy dog (2/5/2018 2:10:00 PM)

    love her so pretty art

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  • hiiiii 1 (2/5/2018 2:09:00 PM)

    she is coolhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

    1 person liked.
    		1 person did not like.
  • Tapan M. Saren Tapan M. Saren (9/2/2016 11:32:00 PM)

    She was a very talented poetess.. I love her works ''Calender Of Sonnets...''

    2 person liked.
    		0 person did not like.
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Best Poem of Helen Hunt Jackson

October's Bright Blue Weather

O suns and skies and clouds of June,
And flowers of June together,
Ye cannot rival for one hour
October's bright blue weather;

When loud the bumblebee makes haste,
Belated, thriftless vagrant,
And goldenrod is dying fast,
And lanes with grapes are fragrant;

When gentians roll their fingers tight
To save them for the morning,
And chestnuts fall from satin burrs
Without a sound of warning;

When on the ground red apples lie
In piles like jewels shining,
And redder still on old stone walls
Are leaves of woodbine ...

Read the full of October's Bright Blue Weather

Morn

In what a strange bewilderment do we
Awake each morn from out the brief night's sleep.
Our struggling consciousness doth grope and creep
Its slow way back, as if it could not free
Itself from bonds unseen. Then Memory,
Like sudden light, outflashes from its deep
The joy or grief which it had last to keep
For us; and by the joy or grief we see
The new day dawneth like the yesterday;

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