John Greenleaf Whittier

(17 December 1807 – 7 September 1892 / Haverhill, Massachusetts)

John Greenleaf Whittier Poems

361. We May Not Climb The Heavenly Steeps 4/6/2010
362. Andrew Rykman’s Prayer 4/6/2010
363. The Brewing Of Soma 4/6/2010
364. Anniversary Poem 4/6/2010
365. Within The Gate 4/6/2010
366. Freedom In Brazil 4/6/2010
367. The Battle Autumn Of 1862 4/6/2010
368. Ezekiel 4/6/2010
369. At School-Close 4/6/2010
370. Sunset On The Bearcamp 4/6/2010
371. Burial Of Barber 4/6/2010
372. Banished From Massachusetts 4/6/2010
373. St. Martin's Summer 4/6/2010
374. How The Women Went From Dover 4/6/2010
375. Giving And Taking 4/6/2010
376. On Receiving An Eagle's Quill From Lake Superior 4/6/2010
377. The Eternal Goodness 1/3/2003
378. Hazel Blossoms 4/6/2010
379. The Angel Of Patience 4/6/2010
380. Centennial Hymn 4/6/2010
381. My Soul And I 4/6/2010
382. Kathleen 4/6/2010
383. A Song Inscribed To The Fremont Clubs 4/6/2010
384. The Norsemen ( From Narrative And Legendary Poems ) 1/1/2004
385. Cobbler Keezar's Vision 4/6/2010
386. First-Day Thoughts 4/6/2010
387. Inscription On A Fountain 4/6/2010
388. From Perugia 4/6/2010
389. Trust 4/6/2010
390. My Playmate 4/6/2010
391. My Psalm 4/6/2010
392. The Angels Of Buena Vista 4/6/2010
393. Ego 4/6/2010
394. New Hampshire 4/6/2010
395. At Washington 4/6/2010
396. Amy Wentworth 4/6/2010
397. Gone 4/6/2010
398. Derne 4/6/2010
399. The Pipes At Lucknow 1/3/2003
400. All’s Well 4/6/2010

Comments about John Greenleaf Whittier

  • Robert Prindle (6/24/2018 12:32:00 PM)

    I have a poem by JGW written to an ancestor. She was Mary Esther Carter (my mother's maiden name) and lived next to him in Amesbury or Newburysport. All my Carters were from those two towns. Caroline was 32 at the time.
    The poem's titled Valentine. It ends with his signature and 42. Dated 1849. Not sure if this is just handed down through generations or it's publicized. RPrindle@verizon.net

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  • Bertha Haynes (bhaynes72@aol.com) (4/15/2018 7:41:00 PM)

    Sirs/Madam, I have a question: Would you please help me by telling me the date Don't Quit was written/published (was it written by John Greenleaf Whittier or Edgar Guest?) and the name of the publisher? If there is a cost for this info., please email me and let me know the cost. Thanks.

  • L.b. Strawn (4/23/2012 11:27:00 PM)

    I am not sure my PREVIOUS comment came through to you because I have had so much trouble with your verification codes. Several times I know the numbers were right but I was constantly informed that THE CODE THAT I GAVE WAS WRONG.

  • L.b. Strawn (4/23/2012 11:21:00 PM)

    J.G. Whittier
    I have a book of Longfellow poems, last copyrighted 1893 and published 1894, in which it has the name to whom it was given and the date Christmas '95. It was initialed by the giver as D.W. W. Then there is a very good, two verse poem, hand written, that is signed John G, Whittier, Since Whittier died in 1892, it evidently could not have been him who placed it in the book. Could it have been D.W.W. who placed it there and signed it with John's name just to show the he was the author?
    Do you ever consider the works of present day authors? Would you consider going to my web site and giving me your evaluation of the poems? The 2nd and 3rd are comical. After those are the better ones. Web address: http: //sbcglobalpwp.att.net/p/e/petezman/ email address: poetman99

Best Poem of John Greenleaf Whittier

In School-Days

Still sits the school-house by the road,
A ragged beggar sleeping;
Around it still the sumachs grow,
And blackberry-vines are creeping.

Within, the master's desk is seen,
Deep-scarred by raps official;
The warping floor, the battered seats,
The jack-knife's carved initial;

The charcoal frescoes on its wall;
Its door's worn sill, betraying
The feet that, creeping slow to school,
Went storming out to playing!

Long years ago a winter sun
Shone over it at setting;
Lit up its western window-panes,
And low eaves' icy fretting. ...

Read the full of In School-Days

Randolph Of Roanoke

O Mother Earth! upon thy lap
Thy weary ones receiving,
And o'er them, silent as a dream,
Thy grassy mantle weaving,
Fold softly in thy long embrace
That heart so worn and broken,
And cool its pulse of fire beneath
Thy shadows old and oaken.

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