Henry Timrod

(8 December 1828 - 7 October 1867 / Charleston, South Carolina)

Henry Timrod Poems

1. To A Captive Owl 4/16/2010
2. Ode At Magnolia Cemetery 4/28/2012
3. The Problem 4/16/2010
4. To Rosa ----: Acrostic 4/16/2010
5. Ethnogenesis 4/16/2010
6. Hymn Sung At An Anniversary Of The Asylum Of Orphans At Charleston 4/16/2010
7. Lines: 4/16/2010
8. Sonnet 11 1/1/2004
9. Hymn Sung At The Consecration Of Magnolia Cemetery, Charleston, S.C. 4/16/2010
10. Stanzas: A Mother Gazes Upon Her Daughter, Arrayed For An Approaching Bridal. 4/16/2010
11. I Saw, Or Dreamed I Saw 1/1/2004
12. Sonnet 08 1/1/2004
13. Lines: 4/16/2010
14. Sonnet 10 1/1/2004
15. Hymn Sung At A Sacred Concert At Columbia, S.C. 4/16/2010
16. Sonnet Xvi 4/16/2010
17. Sonnet 09 1/1/2004
18. La Belle Juive 1/1/2004
19. Ripley 1/1/2004
20. Quatorzain 4/16/2010
21. Hymn - A Sacred Concert 1/1/2004
22. Serenade 1/1/2004
23. Lines To R. L. 1/1/2004
24. Love's Logic 1/1/2004
25. Carmen Triumphale 4/16/2010
26. A Vision Of Poesy - Part 01 1/1/2004
27. Ode:Sung On The. Occasion Of Decorating The Graves Of The Confederate Dead 4/16/2010
28. The Cotton Boll 4/16/2010
29. Sonnet 05 1/1/2004
30. Sonnet 04 1/1/2004
31. Song Composed For Washington's Birthday 1/1/2004
32. Sonnet 01 1/1/2004
33. Pr |aeceptor Amat 1/1/2004
34. Katie 1/1/2004
35. Dedication 4/16/2010
36. Sonnet 14 1/1/2004
37. Storm And Calm 1/1/2004
38. 1866 -- Addressed To The Old Year 1/1/2004
39. Why Silent? 1/1/2004
40. To Thee 1/1/2004

Comments about Henry Timrod

  • zudrejigna (9/24/2019 3:20:00 PM)

    my ­n­e­i­g­h­b­or's ­ex-w­i­f­e ­m­A­k­es $81 ­ev­ery ­h­our ­o­n t­h­e ­i­nt­er­n­et. S­h­e ­h­As ­b­e­e­n w­it­h­out w­or­k ­f­or s­ix ­m­o­nt­hs ­but ­l­Ast ­m­o­nt­h ­h­er ­c­h­e­c­k w­As $19008 just w­or­k­i­n­g ­o­n t­h­e ­i­nt­er­n­et ­f­or ­A ­f­ew ­h­ours. R­e­A­d ­m­or­e ­o­n t­h­is w­e­b s­it­e ­g­o t­o t­h­is s­it­e ­h­o­m­e t­A­b ­f­or ­m­or­e ­d­et­A­i­l HERE======►► www.more.cash61.com ★★★COPY THIS SITE★★★

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  • Terry the Cork (4/13/2019 9:27:00 PM)

    We read this poem in High School in Charleston in 1970, never really giving it any credence. It is the perfect poem for a military funeral of ANY kind. At my funeral, I want this poem read and Gordon Lightfoot's " Don Quixote" played to a silent congregation.

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  • Asmus (8/17/2018 5:22:00 AM)

    Hi there,
    I find it hard to understand the poem starting with these lines:
    I stooped from star-bright regions where/ Thou canst not enter even in prayer...
    Can anybody give me a clue what is hidden in these lines? What did Henry Timrod stand for in his lifetime?
    I am grateful for a kind reply.
    Best wishes from Cologne/Germany

    1 person liked.
    1 person did not like.
  • Heyyyyyyy (12/14/2017 9:10:00 AM)

    You suck nikka ggg bbb cc

    1 person liked.
    3 person did not like.
  • MEhhhh (12/14/2017 9:05:00 AM)


    1 person liked.
    5 person did not like.
  • Fabrizio Frosini Fabrizio Frosini (10/14/2015 1:30:00 PM)

    '' Timrod is, after Poe, the most important Southern poet of the nineteenth century. The quality of his best work, though small in bulk, exceeds that of Sidney Lanier and Hayne, and his contributions to war and nature poetry also exceed theirs. He is not a major poet, but he is a significant minor poet. ''
    [Rayburn S. Moore, University of Georgia]

    6 person liked.
    8 person did not like.
Best Poem of Henry Timrod

Baby's Age

She came with April blooms and showers;
We count her little life by flowers.
As buds the rose upon her cheek,
We choose a flower for every week.
A week of hyacinths, we say,
And one of heart's-ease, ushered May;
And then because two wishes met
Upon the rose and violet --
I liked the Beauty, Kate, the Nun --
The violet and the rose count one.
A week the apple marked with white;
A week the lily scored in light;
Red poppies closed May's happy moon,
And tulips this blue week in June.
Here end as yet the flowery links;
To-day begins the week of ...

Read the full of Baby's Age

Sonnet 03

Life ever seems as from its present site
It aimed to lure us. Mountains of the past
It melts, with all their crags and caverns vast,
Into a purple cloud! Across the night
Which hides what is to be, it shoots a light
All rosy with the yet unrisen dawn.
Not the near daisies, but yon distant height
Attracts us, lying on this emerald lawn.
And always, be the landscape what it may --