Henry Timrod

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

Henry Timrod Poems

81. A Year's Courtship 1/1/2004
82. Our Willie 1/1/2004
83. The Unknown Dead 1/1/2004
84. A Common Thought 1/1/2004
85. A Cry To Arms 1/1/2004
86. Youth And Manhood 1/1/2004
87. Retirement 1/1/2004
88. The Two Armies 1/1/2004
89. A Rhapsody Of A Southern Winter Night 1/1/2004
90. Charleston 1/1/2004
91. Carolina 1/1/2004
92. An Exotic 1/1/2004
93. A Mother Gazes Upon Her Daughter 1/1/2004
94. Baby's Age 1/1/2004

Comments about Henry Timrod

  • 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
    Asmus

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  • Heyyyyyyy (12/14/2017 9:10:00 AM)

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  • MEhhhh (12/14/2017 9:05:00 AM)

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  • 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]

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 01

Poet! if on a lasting fame be bent
Thy unperturbing hopes, thou will not roam
Too far from thine own happy heart and home;
Cling to the lowly earth, and be content!
So shall thy name be dear to many a heart;
So shall the noblest truths by thee be taught;
The flower and fruit of wholesome human thought
Bless the sweet labors of thy gentle art.
The brightest stars are nearest to the earth,

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