The 6 poems for sisters, by 6 poets, ranked by third-party data. How poems are ranked
In 0 Wikipedias 1 anthology Poet in 4 Wikipedias
Gone are those three, those sisters rareWith wonder-lips and eyes ashine.One was wise and one was fair,And one was mine.
Ye mourners, weave for the sleeping hairOf only two your ivy vine.For one was wise and one was fair,But one was mine.
The Home Book of Verse, ed. Burton Egbert Stevenson
In 0 Wikipedias 1 anthology Poet in 2 Wikipedias
My sister's best feller is 'most six-foot-three,And handsome and strong as a feller can be;And Sis, she's so little, and slender, and small,You never would think she could boss him at all;But, my jing!She don't do a thingBut make him jump 'round, like he worked with a string!It jest made me 'shamed of him sometimes, you know,To think that he'll let a girl bully him so.
He goes to walk with her and carries her muffAnd coat and umbrella, and that kind of stuff;She loads him with things that must weigh 'most a ton;
And, honest, he likes it,--as if it was fun!And, oh, say!When they go to a play,He'll sit in the parlor and fidget away,And she won't come down till it's quarter past eight,And then she'll scold him 'cause they get there so late.
He spends heaps of money a-buyin' her things,Like candy, and flowers, and presents, and rings;And all he's got for 'em's a handkerchief case--A fussed-up concern, made of ribbons and lace;But, my land! He thinks it's just grand,"'Cause she made it," he says, "with her own little hand";He calls her "an angel"--I heard him--and "saint,"And "beautif'lest bein' on earth"--but she ain't,
'Fore I go on an errand for her any time,I just make her coax me, and give me a dime;But that great big silly--why, honest and true--He'd run forty miles if she wanted him to.Oh, gee whiz!I tell you what 'tis!I jest think it's awful--those actions of his.I won't fall in love, when I'm grown--no sir-ee!My sister's best feller's a warnin' to me!
Poems Teachers Ask For
In 0 Wikipedias 1 anthology Poet in 0 Wikipedias
Her face was very fair to see,So luminous with purity:--It had no roses, but the hueOf lilies lustrous with their dew--Her very soul seemed shining through!
Her quiet nature seemed to beTuned to each season's harmony.The holy sky bent near to her;She saw a spirit in the stirOf solemn woods. The rills that beatTheir mosses with voluptuous feet,Went dripping music through her thought.
Sweet impulse came to her unsoughtFrom graceful things, and beauty tookA sacred meaning in her look.
In the great Master's steps went sheWith patience and humility.The casual gazer could not guessHalf of her veiled loveliness;Yet ah! what precious things lay hidBeneath her bosom's snowy lid:--What tenderness and sympathy,What beauty of sincerity,What fancies chaste, and loves, that grewIn heaven's own stainless light and dew!
True woman was she day by dayIn suffering, toil, and victory.Her life, made holy and sereneBy faith, was hid with things unseen.She knew what they alone can knowWho live above but dwell below.
The Home Book of Verse, ed. Burton Egbert Stevenson
In 0 Wikipedias 0 anthologies Poet in 91 Wikipedias
THE fire advances along the log Of the tree we felled, Which bloomed and bore striped apples by the peck Till its last hour of bearing knelled.
The fork that first my hand would reach And then my foot In climbings upward inch by inch, lies now Sawn, sapless, darkening with soot.
Where the bark chars is where, one year, It was pruned, and bled— Then overgrew the wound. But now, at last, Its growings all have stagnated.
My fellow-climber rises dim From her chilly grave— Just as she was, her foot near mine on the bending limb, Laughing, her young brown hand awave.
December 1915.
Moments of Vision and Miscellaneous Verses, 1929
In 0 Wikipedias 0 anthologies Poet in 79 Wikipedias
THE shorn moon trembling indistinct on her path,Frail as a scar upon the pale blue sky,Draws towards the downward slope; some sorrow hathWorn her down to the quick, so she faintly faresAlong her foot-searched way without knowing whyShe creeps persistent down the sky's long stairs.
Some say they see, though I have never seen,The dead moon heaped within the new moon's arms;For surely the fragile, fine young thing had beenToo heavily burdened to mount the heavens so.But my heart stands still, as a new, strong dread
alarmsMe; might a young girl be heaped with such shadow of woe?
Since Death from the mother moon has pared us down to the quick,And cast us forth like shorn, thin moons, to travelAn uncharted way among the myriad thickStrewn stars of silent people, and luminous litterOf lives which sorrows like mischievous dark mice chavelTo nought, diminishing each star's glitter,
Since Death has delivered us utterly, naked and white,Since the month of childhood is over, and we stand alone,Since the beloved, faded moon that set us alightIs delivered from us and pays no heed though we moanIn sorrow, since we stand in bewilderment, strangeAnd fearful to sally forth down the sky's long range.
We may not cry to her still to sustain us here,We may not hold her shadow back from the dark.Oh, let us here forget, let us take the sheerUnknown that lies before us, bearing the arkOf the covenant onwards where she cannot go.Let us rise and leave her now, she will never know.
Amores: Poems, 1916
In 0 Wikipedias 0 anthologies Poet in 0 Wikipedias
SISTER, in thy spirit home, Knowest thou my path below?Knowest thou the steps I roam, And the devious road I go?Many years have past since I Bade thee here a sad farewell;Many past since thou didst die, Since I heard thy funeral knell.Thou didst go when thou wast young; Scarcely hadst thou oped thine eyesTo the world, and it had flung Its bright sunshine from the skies,
Ere thy Maker called for thee, Thou obeyed his high behest;Then I mourned, yet knew thou 'dst be Throned on high among the blest.Gently thou didst fold thy wing, Gently thou didst sink in sleep;Birds their evening songs did sing, And the evening shades did creepThrough the casement, one by one, Telling of departing day;Then, thou and the glorious sun Didst together pass away.Yet that sun hath rose since then, And hath brought a joy to me;Emblem 't is time will be when Once again I shall see thee,--See thee in immortal bloom, Numbered with the ransomed throng,Where no sorrow sheds its gloom O'er the heart, or chills the song.Spirit sister, throned on high, Now methinks I hear thee speakFrom thy home within the sky, In its accents low and meek.Thou art saying, "Banish sadness; God is love,--O, trust him over!Heaven is filled with joy and gladness- It shall be thy home forever."This thou sayest, and thy voice, Like to none of earth I've heard,Bids my fainting soul rejoice; Follow God's reveal‚d word,Follow that, 't is faithful true; 'Mid the trackless maze of this,It will guide the pilgrim through To a world of endless bliss.Sister, in thy spirit home, Thou dost know my path below,Thou dost know the steps I roam, And the road I fain would go.If my steps would err from right, If I'd listen to the wrong,If I'd close my eyes to light, Mingle with earth's careless throng:Then wilt thou with power be nigh; Power which angel spirits wield,That temptation may pass by, Be thou near my soul to shield!As I close this simple lay, As I over it do bow,Sister, thou art round my way, Thou art standing near me now.
Town and Country; Or, Life at Home and Abroad, Without and Within Us, 1855
6 poets
| Century | Poems |
|---|---|
| 19th | 2 |
| 20th | 4 |