James Russell Lowell

(22 February 1819 – 12 August 1891 / Cambridge, Massachusetts)

James Russell Lowell Poems

1. The Present Crisis 8/13/2015
2. Palinode 10/31/2015
3. Heartsease And Rue: Friendship 3/26/2016
4. What Is So Rare As A Day In June 3/26/2015
5. Slaves 1/5/2015
6. Song: To M.L. 5/10/2012
7. The Candidate's Creed 5/10/2012
8. May Is A Pious Fraud 5/10/2012
9. Winter Evening Hymn To My Fire 5/10/2012
10. Hakon's Lay 5/10/2012
11. For An Autograph 5/10/2012
12. Sonnet-Ii 5/10/2012
13. The Forlorn 5/10/2012
14. Agro-Dolce 5/10/2012
15. With A Pressed Flower 5/10/2012
16. Hebe 5/10/2012
17. The Birch-Tree 5/10/2012
18. Self-Study 5/10/2012
19. The Beggar 5/10/2012
20. To Miss D. T. On Her Giving Me A Drawing Of Little Street Arabs 5/10/2012
21. Jonathan To John 5/10/2012
22. Impartiality 5/10/2012
23. An Indian Summer Reverie 5/10/2012
24. The Washers Of The Shroud 5/10/2012
25. An Ode Of Thanks For Certain Cigars 5/10/2012
26. An Autograph 5/10/2012
27. Jeffries Wyman Died September 4, 1874. 5/10/2012
28. What Mr. Robinson Thinks 5/10/2012
29. The Shepherd Of King Admetus 5/10/2012
30. The Pregnant Comment 5/10/2012
31. The Fountain Of Youth 5/10/2012
32. The Rose: A Ballad 5/10/2012
33. To Perdita, Singing 5/10/2012
34. An Incident In A Railroad Car 5/10/2012
35. The Fatherland 5/10/2012
36. Allegra 5/10/2012
37. Rhoecus 5/10/2012
38. Trial 5/10/2012
39. Sonnet Xi 5/10/2012
40. Abscence 5/10/2012
Best Poem of James Russell Lowell

A Stanza On Freedom

THEY are slaves who fear to speak
For the fallen and the weak;
They are slaves who will not choose
Hatred, scoffing, and abuse,
Rather than in silence shrink
From the truth they needs must think;
They are slaves who dare not be
In the right with two or three.

Read the full of A Stanza On Freedom

Sonnet

The Maple puts her corals on in May,
While loitering frosts about the lowlands cling,
To be in tune with what the robins sing,
Plastering new log-huts 'mid her branches gray;
But when the Autumn southward turns away,
Then in her veins burns most the blood of Spring,
And every leaf, intensely blossoming,
Makes the year's sunset pale the set of day.
O Youth unprescient, were it only so

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