James Ephraim McGirt

(1874-1930 / USA)

James Ephraim McGirt Poems

1. A Balm For Weary Minds 10/19/2010
2. A Drunken A.B. 10/19/2010
3. A Lecture 10/19/2010
4. A Mystery 10/19/2010
5. A Quest 10/19/2010
6. A Sailor’s Departure 10/19/2010
7. A Slothful Youth 10/19/2010
8. A Song Of Love 10/19/2010
9. A Test Of Love 10/19/2010
10. A View Of Childhood 10/19/2010
11. A Warrior’s Judgement 10/19/2010
12. Africa’s Cry 10/19/2010
13. Ambition 10/19/2010
14. An Appeal 10/19/2010
15. An Appeal 10/19/2010
16. Anna Won’t You Marry Me? 10/19/2010
17. Avenging The Maine 10/19/2010
18. Blame Not The Poet 10/19/2010
19. Born Like The Pines 10/19/2010
20. Classes 10/19/2010
21. De ‘scursion Dat Yer Rode 10/19/2010
22. Defeated 10/19/2010
23. Des Fo’ Day 10/19/2010
24. Don’t Laugh, Boys 10/19/2010
25. Edith 10/19/2010
26. Envy 10/19/2010
27. Experience 10/19/2010
28. For The Private Soldier 10/19/2010
29. Fortune’s Wheel 10/19/2010
30. Gib Ter Me Er Lock Ob Yer Hair 10/19/2010
31. God Bless Our Country 10/19/2010
32. God Bless The Sailors 10/19/2010
33. Herod’s Slaughter Of The Babes 10/19/2010
34. Home Sick 10/19/2010
35. I Shall Succeed 10/19/2010
36. I’ll Enter The Saloon No More 10/19/2010
37. If Love Could See 10/19/2010
38. If Loving Were Wooing 10/19/2010
39. Inspiration 10/19/2010
40. Life And Love 10/19/2010

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Best Poem of James Ephraim McGirt

The Death Of Hector

I'll not attempt the task
Of the Iliad to relate;
But I will tell of Hector
And how he met his fate.

The Trojan war was o'er,
With glowing chariot wheels
The Greeks were driving madly
The Trojans from the field.

The Trojans fled for safety
To wall which they had planned;
They heard the voice of Priam;
High on the wall he stands.

'O, wanderer, haste!' he cried.
'Pray open wide the gate,
Unless the fleeing Trojans
This day will meet their fate.'

The watchman seized the gate,
So swift at Priam's command,
And ...

Read the full of The Death Of Hector

No Use In Signs

'Tain't no usen being skar'd of congers,
E'n lettin black cats turn ur back;
Jest go'n er bout yuh bisnes,
An let the congers hav yer track.

Frida' aint no wus dan Monday,
Ez fur ez luck is consern;
Ef yuh han ich, don't spit in it:
Wont git nusin but what's u'rn.

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