Poetry Books by Hilda Conkling

Hilda Conkling Books, Hilda Conkling poetry book Poems by a Little Girl. with a Pref. by Amy Lowell and a Portrait by James Chapin Authors: Hilda Conkling
Publisher: Franklin Classics Trade Press
Published Date: 2018-11-09
Categories:
This work has been selected by scholars as being culturally important and is part of the knowledge base of civilization as we know it. This work is in the public domain in the United States of America, and possibly other nations. Within the United States, you may freely copy and distribute this work, as no entity (individual or corporate) has a copyright on the body of the work. Scholars believe, and we concur, that this work is important enough to be preserved, reproduced, and made generally available to the public. To ensure a quality reading experience, this work has been proofread and republished using a format that seamlessly blends the original graphical elements with text in an easy-to-read typeface. We appreciate your support of the preservation process, and thank you for being an important part of keeping this knowledge alive and relevant.

Hilda Conkling Books, Hilda Conkling poetry book Ten Little Ducks Authors: Hilda Conkling, Shortland, Jeff Evans
Publisher:
Published Date: 2001-01-01
Categories: Children's stories, New Zealand
Suggested level: junior.

Hilda Conkling Books, Hilda Conkling poetry book Shoes of the Wind Authors: Hilda Conkling
Publisher:
Published Date: 1922
Categories: Children's literature, American
This collection of poetry by American poet Hilda Conkling is one of three collections published during her lifetime. Conkling composed all of her poetry verbally (her mother actually wrote down the poems) when she was between the ages of four and ten.



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Poem of the day

Wilfrid Scawen Blunt Poem
Her Name Liberty
 by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

I thought to do a deed of chivalry,
An act of worth, which haply in her sight
Who was my mistress should recorded be
And of the nations. And, when thus the fight
Faltered and men once bold with faces white
Turned this and that way in excuse to flee,
I only stood, and by the foeman's might
Was overborne and mangled cruelly.
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