Lady Jane Wilde

(27 December 1821 – 3 February 1896)

Lady Jane Wilde Poems

81. Dedication To Ireland 8/2/2012
82. A Remonstrance 8/2/2012
83. France In '93 8/2/2012
84. The Old Man's Blessing 8/2/2012
85. The Dying Christian 8/2/2012
86. Sympathies With The Universal 8/2/2012
87. Destiny 8/2/2012
88. A Lament For The Potato 8/2/2012
89. La Via Dolorosa 8/2/2012
90. Why Weepest Thou? 8/2/2012
91. The Exodus 8/2/2012
92. Tristan And Isolde. The Love Sin. 8/2/2012
93. The Famine Year 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...

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The Brothers

Tis midnight, falls the lamp‐light dull and sickly,
On a pale and anxious crowd,
Through the court, and round the judges, thronging thickly,
With prayers none dare to speak aloud.
Two youths, two noble youths, stand prisoners at the bar
You can see them through the gloom
In pride of life and manhood’s beauty, there they are
Awaiting their death doom.

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