Robert Hayden

(4 August 1913 – 25 February 1980 / Detroit)

Robert Hayden Poems

If you see a poem only with title, it is listed that way because of copyright reasons.
1. Mourning Poem For The Queen Of Sunday 4/6/2010
2. The Ballad Of Nat Turner 4/6/2010
3. Witch Doctor 4/6/2010
4. O Daedalus, Fly Away Home 1/3/2003
5. Perseus 1/20/2003
6. Soledad 1/3/2003
7. Frederick Douglass 1/3/2003
8. Monet's Waterlilies 1/3/2003
9. Runagate Runagate 1/3/2003
10. El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz (Malcolm X) 1/20/2003
11. The Prisoners 1/3/2003
12. Full Moon 1/3/2003
13. Middle Passage 1/3/2003
14. The Whipping 1/3/2003
15. Those Winter Sundays 1/3/2003

Comments about Robert Hayden

  • Israel (2/17/2019 2:47:00 PM)

    He inspired me a lot and I really respect him as a poet and during his childhood it shocks me that after tramu at such a young age he can still write great poetry

    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • nickg (5/14/2018 12:00:00 PM)

    how many poems did he write

  • Elizabeth E. Marshall (3/5/2018 2:49:00 PM)

    What a joyful discovery! Hayden's poetry is ideal for the hospitalized veterans I work with.

  • your mom (2/27/2018 12:37:00 PM)

    WHAT IS UP B****

  • Walled Taha (5/14/2007 5:17:00 PM)

    he is one of my favourable poets in the English language
    walled mohammed taha tanboul sinbellaween dakahlia

  • Brianne Edwards (3/24/2005 3:42:00 PM)

    If there is anyone who can analize each line of Robert Hayden's ' Those Winter Sundays', please contact me as soon as posible. Bbefore April 10,2005. Thank you.

  • Walled Taha (3/7/2005 7:19:00 PM)


Best Poem of Robert Hayden

Those Winter Sundays

Sundays too my father got up early
And put his clothes on in the blueback cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love's austere and lonely offices?

Read the full of Those Winter Sundays
[Report Error]