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

81. The Trust 4/14/2010
82. The Vestal 4/14/2010
83. The Vision 4/14/2010
84. The Vision: (Katia: Easter Sunday, 1916) 4/14/2010
85. The Wall Between 4/14/2010
86. The Watchers 4/14/2010
87. The Young Soldier 4/14/2010
88. They Who Return 4/14/2010
89. To One In Grief 4/14/2010
90. To R A A 4/14/2010
91. Unfit 4/14/2010
92. Unhousel'D, Unanointed, Unanel'D 4/14/2010
93. Vigil 4/14/2010
94. What She Said 4/14/2010
95. When You Come Home 4/14/2010
96. The Wild Geese 4/14/2010
97. What Turned The Germans Back 4/14/2010
98. To The Others 4/14/2010
99. To Two Bereaved 4/14/2010
100. The Widow 4/14/2010
101. The Open Road 4/14/2010
102. The Old Soldier 4/14/2010
103. The Great Mercy 4/14/2010
104. The Fields Of France 4/14/2010
105. The Call 4/14/2010
106. Comfort 4/14/2010
107. Dead- A Prisoner 4/14/2010
108. Autumnal 4/14/2010
109. Lambs 1/3/2003
110. The Weeping Babe 1/3/2003
111. Adveniat Regnum Tuum 1/3/2003
112. The Nurse 1/3/2003
113. A Birth-Night Song 4/14/2010
114. A Prayer { For Those Who Shall Return} 4/14/2010
115. Christmas In The Year Of The War 4/14/2010
116. High Summer 4/14/2010
117. Song Of Going 4/14/2010
118. The Perfect Playmate 4/14/2010
119. The Young Mother 4/14/2010
120. The Heart Of A Boy 4/14/2010

Comments about Katharine Tynan

  • rabbitrose@gmail.com (4/27/2018 3:37:00 PM)

    When did Katherine tynan die?

    0 person liked.
    1 person did not like.
  • 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

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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