Lily of the Nile, by Martha Lavinia Hoffman
Queenly lily, fair and fragrant,
I have watc...
Rose Poems
On the Evening Train, by Martha Lavinia Hoffman
Night after night, week after week, month aft...
The Reign of the Roses, by Martha Lavinia Hoffman
Room for the roses, make room for the roses,
...
The Roses, by Martha Lavinia Hoffman
I would sing of the roses
Their fragrance, th...
Summer Clouds, by Martha Lavinia Hoffman
I watched the clouds at evening
When the Summe...
To the Birds, by Martha Lavinia Hoffman
O lark, whose joyous warbling comes
Across th...
The Voice of the Clock, by Martha Lavinia Hoffman
"Tick, tick, tick, " for many a long, long y...
Atlantis, by Mary C. Gillington
I When the long twilight waned upon the rim
O...
A Recipe for Summer, by Mary Dow Brine
What is summer made of?
Of opening buds and fl...
The Rejected Rose, by Mary Dow Brine
Only a rosebud, sweet and fair,
Down by the ...
Spring-Time, by Mary Dow Brine
It means a glad up-springing of all things swee...
Why the Daisies are White, by Mary Dow Brine
Once on a time a quarrel rose,
'Tis said, be...
1857-1882, by Mary T. Lathrap
We were wont to dread November
With its garmen...
Breaking of the Ice, by Mary T. Lathrap
Under the winter moon they lay--
Frozen river,...
The Changed Life, by Mary T. Lathrap
'T is a land of old romance and story, --
The ...
Evening, by Mary T. Lathrap
Marshall, May 31, 1859 The meek stars are br...
An Indian Legend, by Mary T. Lathrap
Far, far away, where the sun goes down,
And...
A Woman's Answer to a Man's Question, by Mary T. Lathrap
Do you know you have asked for the costliest th...
At Dawn, by Maurice Browne
No wild-foot Dryad haunts this leafless glade
...
A Thanksgiving Prayer, by May Riley Smith
For toil that is a medicine for woe,
For stre...
The Mountain in the West, by M.H. Cobb
Last eve the sunset winds upheaved
A mountain ...
Eunica; or, The Herdsman, by Moschus
When lately I offer'd Eunica to kiss,
She fle...
Europa, by Moschus
Cypris, when all but shone the dawn's glad bea...
Freedom, by Mrs. O. M. Livingston
The winds of heaven are sweeping free,
They c...
The Slave's Soliloquy, by Mrs. O. M. Livingston
I am a slave! Oh why was I born!
Why was I mad...