John Greenleaf Whittier

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

John Greenleaf Whittier Poems

281. St. John. 1647 4/6/2010
282. O. W. Holmes On His Eightieth Birth-Day 4/6/2010
283. In Quest 4/6/2010
284. Italy 4/6/2010
285. How The Robin Came 4/6/2010
286. Lines On The Death Of S. Oliver Torrey 4/6/2010
287. Leggett’s Monument 4/6/2010
288. Revelation 4/6/2010
289. Miriam 4/6/2010
290. Moloch In State Street 4/6/2010
291. King Solomon And The Ants 4/6/2010
292. Haverhill 4/6/2010
293. Garrison 4/6/2010
294. Derne 4/6/2010
295. St.Gregory's Guest 4/6/2010
296. Palestine 4/6/2010
297. In Peace 4/6/2010
298. Laying Up Treasure 4/6/2010
299. Funeral Tree Of The Sokokis 4/6/2010
300. In Memory: James T. Fields 4/6/2010
301. Tauler 4/6/2010
302. Invocation 4/6/2010
303. Official Piety 4/6/2010
304. An Artist Of The Beautiful 4/6/2010
305. William Forster 4/6/2010
306. Hymn Of The Children 4/6/2010
307. Inscription-For The Relief By Preston Powers 4/6/2010
308. Aechdeacon Barbour 4/6/2010
309. Song Of Slaves In The Desert 4/6/2010
310. Voyage Of The Jettie 4/6/2010
311. Kenoza Lake 4/6/2010
312. After Election 4/6/2010
313. Dedication - Songs Of Labor 4/6/2010
314. What Of The Day 4/6/2010
315. Howard At Atlanta 4/6/2010
316. Extract From 4/6/2010
317. Astræa At The Capitol 4/6/2010
318. Lines On A Fly-Leaf 4/6/2010
319. Wilson 4/6/2010
320. On The Big Horn 4/6/2010
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

What The Birds Said

The birds against the April wind
Flew northward, singing as they flew;
They sang, "The land we leave behind
Has swords for corn-blades, blood for dew."

"O wild-birds, flying from the South,
What saw and heard ye, gazing down?"
"We saw the mortar's upturned mouth,
The sickened camp, the blazing town!

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