John Greenleaf Whittier

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

John Greenleaf Whittier Poems

161. The Emancipation Group 4/6/2010
162. The Grave By The Lake 4/6/2010
163. The Homestead 4/6/2010
164. The Kansas Emigrants 4/6/2010
165. The Exiles. 1660 4/6/2010
166. The Reformer 4/6/2010
167. The Pine Tree 4/6/2010
168. To A Friend 4/6/2010
169. The Quaker Of The Olden Time 4/6/2010
170. The Red River Voyageur 4/6/2010
171. The River Path 4/6/2010
172. The Robin 4/6/2010
173. The Garrison Of Cape Ann 4/6/2010
174. The Drovers 4/6/2010
175. The Hive At Gettysburg 4/6/2010
176. The Mystic’s Christmas 4/6/2010
177. The Library 4/6/2010
178. The Crisis 4/6/2010
179. The Gallows 4/6/2010
180. The Fishermen 4/6/2010
181. The Ship-Builders 4/6/2010
182. The Panorama 4/6/2010
183. The Wreck Of Rivermouth 4/6/2010
184. The New Wife And The Old 4/6/2010
185. The Clear Vision 4/6/2010
186. To Charles Sumner 4/6/2010
187. The Friend’s Burial 4/6/2010
188. The Holy Land. From Lamartine 4/6/2010
189. The Peace Convention At Brussels 4/6/2010
190. The Eve Of Election 4/6/2010
191. The Common Question 4/6/2010
192. The Trailing Arbutus 4/6/2010
193. The Christmas Of 1888 4/6/2010
194. The Rock In El Ghor 4/6/2010
195. The Christian Slave 4/6/2010
196. The Yankee Girl 4/6/2010
197. The Slave Ships 4/6/2010
198. Thy Will Be Done 4/6/2010
199. The Witch Of Wenham 4/6/2010
200. The Countess 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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