Jean Blewett

(4 November 1872 - 1934 / Scotia, Lake Erie, Ontario)

Jean Blewett Poems

81. When Trees Are Green 5/8/2012
82. To-Day You Understand 5/8/2012
83. The Treasure Box 5/8/2012
84. The Trust 5/8/2012
85. Woman 5/8/2012
86. The Wooing O' Katie 5/8/2012
87. The Grave 5/8/2012
88. The Mother's Lecture 5/8/2012
89. The Firstborn 5/8/2012
90. Youth And June 9/28/2010
91. O Radiance Of Life's Morning 5/8/2012
92. The Cornflower 5/8/2012
93. The Song Of The Bells 5/8/2012
94. Love's Service 5/8/2012
95. Wild Strawberries 5/8/2012
96. The Tryst 5/8/2012
97. October 5/8/2012
98. Remembrance 5/8/2012
99. Love's Lesson 5/8/2012
100. To Lillian Massey Treble 5/8/2012
101. Life's Grandest Things 5/8/2012
102. St. Patrick's Day 5/8/2012
103. St. Andrew's Day-A Toast 5/8/2012
104. The Barley Fields 5/8/2012
105. The Lake Shore Road 5/8/2012
106. A Song Of Harvest Home 5/8/2012
107. April 5/8/2012
108. Chore Time 9/28/2010
109. A Hint 5/8/2012
110. August 5/8/2012
111. An April Fool Of Long Ago 5/8/2012
112. Archibald Lampman 5/8/2012
113. All On An April Morning 5/8/2012
114. Dawn 5/8/2012
115. Decorating The Old Church 5/8/2012
116. Despair 5/8/2012
117. A Bit O' Shamrock 5/8/2012
118. A Song Of Cheer 5/8/2012
119. Billy 5/8/2012
120. A Prayer Of Love 5/8/2012

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Best Poem of Jean Blewett

At The Sick Children's Hospital

A little crippled figure, two big pathetic eyes,
A face that looked unchildish, so wan it was and wise;
I watched her as the homesick tears came chasing down each cheek.
'I had to come,' she whispered low, 'I was so tired and weak.
My spine, you know! I used to be so strong, and tall, and straight!
I went to school and learned to read and write upon a slate,
And add up figures-such a lot, and play with all my might,
Until I hurt my back-since then I just ache day and night.
'Tis most a year since I could stand, or walk around at all;
All I am good for now, you see, ...

Read the full of At The Sick Children's Hospital

The Usurer

FATE says, and flaunts her stores of gold,
'I'll loan you happiness untold.
What is it you desire of me?'
A perfect hour in which to be
In love with life, and glad, and good,
The bliss of being understood,
Amid life's cares a little space
To feast your eyes upon a face,
The whispered word, the love-filled tone,

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