Phoebe Cary
Phoebe Cary Poems
Suppose, my little lady,
Your doll should break her head,
Could you make it whole by crying
Till your eyes and nose are red?
...
A Story of Holland
The good dame looked from her cottage
At the close of the pleasant day,
...
One sweetly solemn thought
Comes to me o’er and o’er;
I am nearer home to-day
Than I ever have been before;
...
HE dwelt among 'apartments let,'
About five stories high;
A man I thought that none would get,
...
When lovely woman wants a favor,
And finds, too late, that man won't bend,
What earthly circumstance can save her
...
The crocus rose from her snowy bed
As she felt the spring’s caresses,
And the willow from her graceful head
Shook out her yellow tresses.
...
We were crowded in the cabin,
Not a soul had room to sleep;
It was midnight on the waters,
And the banks were very steep.
...
“Now, good-wife, bring your precious hoard,”
The Norland farmer cried,
“And heap the hearth, and heap the board,
For the blessed Christmas-tide.
...
My friend, 0, my dearly beloved!
O, do you feel, do you know,
How the times and the seasons are going;
...
The day is done, and darkness
From the wing of night is loosed,
As a feather is wafted downward,
From a chicken going to roost.
...
Sally Salter, she was a young teacher who taught,
And her friend, Charley Church, was a preacher who praught,
...
The long grass burned brown
In the summer's fierce heat,
Snaps brittle and dry
'Neath the traveller's feet,
...
Loaded with gallant soldiers,
A boat shot in to the land,
And lay at the right of Rodman's Point
With her keel upon the sand.
...
My father had a daughter got a man,
As it might be, perhaps, were I good-looking,
I should, your lordship.
And what's her residence?
...
Mr. Wren and his dear began early one year,—
They were married, of course, on St. Valentine’s day,—
To build such a nest as was safest and best,
...
Phoebe Cary Biography
Phoebe Cary (September 4, 1824 – July 31, 1871) was an American poet, and the younger sister of poet Alice Cary (1820–1871). The sisters co-published poems in 1849, and then each went on to publish volumes of her own. After their deaths in 1871, joint anthologies of the sisters' unpublished poems were also compiled. Phoebe Cary was born on September 4, 1824, in Mount Healthy, Ohio near Cincinnati, and she and her sister Alice were raised on the Clovernook farm in North College Hill, Ohio.[2] While she and her sister were raised in a Universalist household and held political and religious views that were liberal and reformist, they often attended Methodist, Presbyterian, and Congregationalist services and were friendly with ministers of all these denominations and others. While they occasionally attended school, the sisters were often needed to work at home and so were largely self-educated. The sisters' mother died in 1835, and two years afterward their father married again. The stepmother was wholly unsympathetic regarding their literary aspirations. For their part, while they were ready and willing to aid to the full extent of their strength in household labor, the sisters persisted in a determination to study and write when the day's work was done. Sometimes they were refused the use of candles to the extent of their wishes, and the device of a saucer of lard with a bit of rag for a wick was their only light after the rest of the family had retired. More outgoing than her sister, Phoebe was a champion of women's rights and for a short time edited The Revolution, a newspaper published by Susan B. Anthony. In 1848, their poetry was published in the anthology Female Poets of America edited by Rufus Wilmot Griswold and, with his help, Poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary was published in 1849.Poet John Greenleaf Whittier had been invited to provide a preface but refused. He believed their poetry did not need his endorsement and also noted a general dislike for prefaces as a method to "pass off by aid of a known name, what otherwise would not pass current".)
The Best Poem Of Phoebe Cary
Suppose
Suppose, my little lady,
Your doll should break her head,
Could you make it whole by crying
Till your eyes and nose are red?
And would n't it be pleasanter
To treat is as a joke;
And say you're glad ''Twas Dolly's
And not your head that broke?'
Suppose you're dressed for walking,
And the rain comes pouring down,
Will it clear off any sooner
Because you scold and frown?
And wouldn't it be nicer
For you to smile than pout,
And so make sunshine in the house
When there is none without?
Suppose your task, my little man,
Is very hard to get,
Will it make it easier
For you to sit and fret?
And wouldn't it be wiser
Than waiting like a dunce,
To go to work in earnest,
And learn the thing at once?
Suppose that some boys had a horse,
And some a coach and pair,
Will it tire you less by walking
To say, 'It is n't fair?'
And would n't it be nobler
To keep your temper sweet,
And in your heart be thankful
You can walk upon your feet?
And suppose the world don't please you,
Nor the way some people do,
Do you think the whole creation
Will be altered just for you?
And is n't it, my boy or girl,
The wisest, bravest plan,
Whatever comes, or does n't come,
To do the best you can?
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9/29/2023 6:19:15 AM # 1.0.0.1115
Her poems are legends