Katharine Tynan

[Katharine Tynan Hinkson, Katharine Tynan-Hinkson, Katharine Hinkson-Tynan] (23 January 1861 - 2 Apirl 1931 / 23 January 1861 – 2 April 1931)

Katharine Tynan Poems

41. Old Song Re-Sung 1/3/2003
42. Prayer At Night 4/14/2010
43. Indian Summer 4/14/2010
44. The Lowlands Of Flanders 4/14/2010
45. The Watchers 4/14/2010
46. The Secret Foe 4/14/2010
47. Speeding 4/14/2010
48. Herbal 4/14/2010
49. Mediation 4/14/2010
50. Meetings 4/14/2010
51. To R A A 4/14/2010
52. The Weeping Babe 1/3/2003
53. Mater Dei 1/3/2003
54. Menace 4/14/2010
55. Lament 4/14/2010
56. Haymaking 4/14/2010
57. The Temple 4/14/2010
58. The Refreshment 4/14/2010
59. The Trust 4/14/2010
60. The Aerodrome 4/14/2010
61. The Deserted 4/14/2010
62. Emptiness 4/14/2010
63. The Widow 4/14/2010
64. To Two Bereaved 4/14/2010
65. The Boys Of The House: For Valentine And Hubert Blake 4/14/2010
66. Epiphany: (For Dora, 1918) 4/14/2010
67. Flower O' The Year 4/14/2010
68. His Footstep 4/14/2010
69. Mid The Piteous Heaps Of Dead 4/14/2010
70. The Open Road 4/14/2010
71. Good Friday, A.D. 33 4/14/2010
72. The Long Vacation 4/14/2010
73. The Last Parting 4/14/2010
74. The Perfect Playmate 4/14/2010
75. Song Of Going 4/14/2010
76. The Call 4/14/2010
77. The Comrades 4/14/2010
78. The Aerodrome 4/14/2010
79. The Heroes 4/14/2010
80. The Image 4/14/2010

Comments about Katharine Tynan

  • Charles Vaclavik (10/28/2012 2:52:00 PM)

    I would like to confirm that Katharine Tynan wrote the following, and in which poem.
    Far in the fields of France,
    My dear love lies asleep,
    But not for that my tears,
    Because he killed, I weep.

    Thank you,
    Charles Vaclavik
    Kaweah10@yahoo.com

    15 person liked.
    8 person did not like.
Best Poem of Katharine Tynan

A Song Of Spring

The Spring comes slowly up this way,
Slowly, slowly,
Under a snood of hodden grey.

The black and white for her array,
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.

Where is her green that was so gay?
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.

Unto a world too sick for May,
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.

Where are the lads that used to play?
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.

She has no heart for holiday,
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.

The ...

Read the full of A Song Of Spring

The Foggy Dew

A splendid place is London, with golden store,
For them that have the heart and hope and youth galore;
But mournful are its streets to me, I tell you true,
For I'm longing sore for Ireland in the foggy dew.

The sun he shines all day here, so fierce and fine,
With never a wisp of mist at all to dim his shine;
The sun he shines all day here from skies of blue:
He hides his face in Ireland in the foggy dew.

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