Lady Jane Wilde

(27 December 1821 – 3 February 1896)

Lady Jane Wilde Poems

1. Foreshadowings 8/2/2012
2. Man's Mission 8/2/2012
3. A Lament 8/2/2012
4. The Young Patriot Leader 8/2/2012
5. Attendite Popule 8/2/2012
6. Forward 8/2/2012
7. The Year Of Revolutions 8/2/2012
8. Ruins 8/2/2012
9. The Voice Of The Poor 8/2/2012
10. A Supplication 8/2/2012
11. To A Despondent Nationalist 8/2/2012
12. The Brothers 8/2/2012
13. Work While It Is Called To-Day 8/2/2012
14. To Day 8/2/2012
15. The Fall Of The Tyrants 8/2/2012
16. Who Will Show Us Any Good? 8/2/2012
17. William Carleton. Died, January 30th, 1869. 8/2/2012
18. The New Path 8/2/2012
19. Aspirations 8/2/2012
20. The Parable Of Life 8/2/2012
21. Vanitas 8/2/2012
22. Fatality.From The German 8/2/2012
23. Corinne’s Last Love-Song 8/2/2012
24. Our Fatherland 8/2/2012
25. Opportunity.From The Italian Of Machiavelli 8/2/2012
26. King Erick's Faith 8/2/2012
27. 'For Norge' From The Danish 8/2/2012
28. Salvation 8/2/2012
29. Misery Is Mystery 8/2/2012
30. Shadows From Life 8/2/2012
31. The Mystic Tree.From Ölenschlager 8/2/2012
32. The Poet At Court 8/2/2012
33. Farawell 8/2/2012
34. Catarian. From The Portuguese Of Camoens 8/2/2012
35. The Waiwode.From The Russian 8/2/2012
36. Budris And His Sons. From The Russian. 8/2/2012
37. Instability. From The Spanish.—sixteenth Century 8/2/2012
38. The Past 8/2/2012
39. The Fisherman 8/2/2012
40. The Ideal.From Schiller 8/2/2012

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Best Poem of Lady Jane Wilde

The Famine Year

Weary men, what reap ye? —Golden corn for the stranger.
What sow ye? —Human corses that wait for the avenger.
Fainting forms, hunger‐stricken, what see you in the offing?
Stately ships to bear our food away, amid the stranger's scoffing.
There's a proud array of soldiers—what do they round your door?
They guard our masters' granaries from the thin hands of the poor.
Pale mothers, wherefore weeping? —Would to God that we were dead
Our children swoon before us, and we cannot give them bread.

Little children, tears are strange upon your infant faces,
God meant you...

Read the full of The Famine Year

A Supplication

“De profundis clamavi ad te Domine.”
BY our looks of mute despair,
By the sighs that rend the air,
From lips too faint to utter prayer,
Kyrie Eleison.

By the last groans of our dying,
Echoed by the cold wind’s sighing
On the wayside as they’re lying,

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