Free Great Poems by American Women by Susan L. Rattiner

forms so fair;
    Your velvet leaves are motionless,
    For beauty is sleeping there.
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    And the flower-spirit hovers near,
    And bears on its dove-like wing,
    A gem that was once a pearly tear
    On the infant cheek of spring.
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    Ye have a sad voice, sweet flowers!
    That whispers of quick decay;
    The garlands worn in happiest hours
    Are the soonest to pass away.
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    I know that the frost of death
    Ere long will silently chill;
    But the fragrance exhaling now
    Will linger around me still.
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    And thus doth a smile, the last
    By the lips of a fond friend given,
    A fragrance shed though that friend hath passed
    To his home in the starry heaven.
    The Dead Child
    She sat alone beside the couch of death,
And looked upon the features of her child;
The silken curls lay on its velvet cheek,
And as she stooped to kiss those parted lips
From which the ruby tints had scarcely fled,
It seemed as if her own sweet lullaby
Had hushed it to a soft and gentle sleep.
She clasped its little hands upon its breast,
And then in melancholy accents said:—
Oh no! it cannot be, thou art not dead!
Look up, my daughter! let me see again
Those laughing eyes in their long lashes hid;
’Tis hard to give thee up, in one short hour
To feel the hopes of years for ever crushed,
And severed one by one, those tender cords
That round the fibres of my heart were twined,
Till with my very life they seemed to blend.
Oh! there are wounds which time alone must heal,
And tears which only heaven can wipe away.
Thy mother’s hand a pencil sketch shall draw
Of thee, my child, so beautiful and young;
For I would keep thine image near me still.
A moment, and the painful task begun,
She had been weeping bitterly, but now
All trace of tears had vanished from her cheek;
And she prayed earnestly to God for strength.
Nor was that prayer unheard. A still small voice
Had whispered consolation to her heart;
A hand unseen, to firmness nerved her own,
And soon her infant’s picture was complete.

PHOEBE CARY (1824—1871)
    The younger sister of Alice Cary, Phoebe Cary regularly contributed poems to various periodicals. After the success of their 1850 book, Poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary , Phoebe joined her sister in New York. Her religious poem “Nearer Home” became quite a popular hymn, and was better known by its first line: “One sweetly solemn thought.” Phoebe’s poetry was published in two volumes, Poems and Parodies (1854) and Poems of Faith, Hope, and Love (1868). A proponent of the women’s rights movement, Phoebe worked briefly as an assistant editor of Revolution, Susan B. Anthony’s paper. Phoebe died of malaria on July 31, 1871, six months after the death of her older sister, Alice.
    Nearer Home
    One sweetly solemn thought
    Comes to me o’er and o’er;
    I am nearer home to-day
    Than I ever have been before;
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    Nearer my Father’s house,
    Where the many mansions be;
    Nearer the great white throne,
    Nearer the crystal sea;
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    Nearer the bound of life,
    Where we lay our burdens down;
    Nearer leaving the cross,
    Nearer gaining the crown.
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    But lying darkly between,
    Winding down through the night,
    Is the silent, unknown stream,
    That leads at last to the light.
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    Closer and closer my steps
    Come to the dread abysm:
    Closer Death to my lips
    Presses the awful chrism.
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    Oh, if my mortal feet
    Have almost gained the brink;
    If it be I am nearer home
    Even to-day than I think;
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    Father, perfect my trust;
    Let my spirit feel in death,
    That her feet are firmly set
    On the rock of a living faith!
    Advice Gratis to Certain Women
    By a Woman
    O, my strong-minded sisters, aspiring to vote,
And to row with your brothers, all in the same boat,
When you come out to speak to the public your mind,
Leave your tricks, and your airs, and your graces behind!
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    For instance, when you by the world would be seen
As reporter, or editor (first-class, I mean),
I think—just to come to the point