Edgar Albert Guest Poems

  • 451.  
    ACONVALESCIN' woman does the strangest sort o' things,
    An' it's wonderful the courage that a little new strength brings; O, it's never safe to leave her for an hour or two alone,
  • 452.  
    I sink my piers to the solid rock,
    And I send my steel to the sky, And I pile up the granite, block by block
  • 453.  
    I've watched him change from his bibs and things, from bonnets known as 'cute,'
    To little frocks, and later on I saw him don a suit; And though it was of calico, those knickers gave him joy,
  • 454.  
    He came down the stairs on the laughter-filled grill
    Where patriots were eating and drinking their fill, The tap of his crutch on the marble of white
  • 455.  
    The bright spots in my life are when the servant quits the place,
    Although that grim disturbance brings a frown to Nellie's face; The week between the old girl's' reign and entry of the new
  • 456.  
    The little house has grown too small, or rather we have grown
    Too big to dwell within the walls where all our joys were known. And so, obedient to the wish of her we love so well,
  • 457.  
    If I had lived in Franklin's time I'm most afraid that I,
    Beholding him out in the rain, a kite about to fly, And noticing upon its tail the barn door's rusty key,
  • 458.  
    There's a twinkle in her eye,
    O, so merry! O, so sly! That you never see the wrinkles in her face;
  • 459.  
    IT 'S a wonderful world when you sum it all up,
    And we ought to be glad we are in it; The fellow who drinks from old Misery's cup
  • 460.  
    He was just a small church parson when the war broke out, and he
    Looked and dressed and acted like all parsons that we see. He wore the cleric's broadcloth and he hooked his vest behind,
  • 461.  
    Last night I got to thinkin' of the pleasant long ago,
    When I still had on knee breeches, an' I wore a flowing bow, An' my Sunday suit was velvet. Ma an' Pa thought it was fine,
  • 462.  
    Who has a troop of romping youth
    About his parlour floor, Who nightly hears a round of cheers,
  • 463.  
    Mothers dream such splendid dreams when their little babies smile,
    Dreams of wondrous deeds they'll do in the happy after- while; Every mother of a boy knows that in her arms is curled
  • 464.  
    SAY, Mister Carpenter, you know, you got me spanked last night,
    I guess your Pa and Ma forgot to teach you what was right; An' I can't come here any more to watch you build that fence,
  • 465.  
    The other night 'bout two o'clock, or maybe it was three,
    An elephant with shining tusks came chasing after me. His trunk was wavin' in the air an' spoutin' jets of steam
  • 466.  
    The good old-fashioned mothers and the good old-fashioned dads,
    With their good old-fashioned lassies and their good old-fashioned lads, Still walk the lanes of loving in their simple, tender ways,
  • 467.  
    She never closed her eyes in sleep till we were all in bed;
    On party nights till we came home she often sat and read. We little thought about it then, when we were young and gay,
  • 468.  
    Seems only just a year ago that he was toddling round the place
    In pretty little colored suits and with a pink and shining face. I used to hold him in my arms to watch when our canary sang,
  • 469.  
    The little kindergarten miss,
    Source of all my joy and bliss, Every evening in the window
  • 470.  
    This I heard the Old Flag say
    As I passed it yesterday: 'Months ago your friendly hands
  • 471.  
    FULL many a flag the breeze has kissed;
    Through ages long the morning sun Has risen over the early mist
  • 472.  
    â??TIS friendship's test to guard the name
    Of him you love from all attack, As you are to his face, the same
  • 473.  
    You're just a little fellow with a lot of funny ways,
    Just three-foot-six of mischief set with eyes that fairly blaze; You're always up to something with those busy hands o' yours,
  • 474.  
    There's no lock upon your door,
    And the polish that you wore In the years ago when you were bright and new
  • 475.  
    When we've honored the heroes returning from France,
    When we've mourned for the heroes who fell, When we've done all we can for the home-coming man,
  • 476.  
    When sorrow comes, as come it must,
    In God a man must place his trust. There is no power in mortal speech
  • 477.  
    You can boast your round of pleasures, praise the sound of popping corks,
    Where the orchestra is playing to the rattle of the forks; And your after-opera dinner you may think superbly fine,
  • 478.  
    WHOM is your boy going to for advice?
    Tough Johnny Jones at the end of the street, Rough Billy Green or untaught Jimmy Price?
  • 479.  
    I do not say new friends are not considerate and true,
    Or that their smiles ain't genuine, but still I'm tellin' you That when a feller's heart is crushed and achin' with the pain,
  • 480.  
    Does the grouch get richer quicker than the friendly sort of man?
    Can the grumbler labor better than the cheerful fellow can? Is the mean and churlish neighbor any cleverer than the one
  • 481.  
    Don't want medals on my breast,
    Don't want all the glory, I'm not worrying greatly lest
  • 482.  
    Seemed like I couldn't stand it any more,
    The factory whistles blowin' day by day, An' men an' children hurryin' by the door,
  • 483.  
    We have boasted our courage in moments of ease,
    Our star-spangled banner we've flung on the breeze; We have taught men to cheer for its beauty and worth,
  • 484.  
    This I would like to be- braver and bolder,
    Just a bit wiser because I am older, Just a bit kinder to those I may meet,
  • 485.  
    Who once has had a friend has found
    The link 'twixt mortal and divine; Though now he sleeps in hallowed ground,
  • 486.  
    HE WAS bo'n way down in Texas, where the sun is allus shinin'.
    An' a cloud's so thin it's easy to observe the silver linin'. An' he grew among the quaint folk an' the simple folk that labored
  • 487.  
    The golden dreamboat's ready, all her silken sails are spread,
    And the breeze is gently blowing to the fairy port of Bed, And the fairy's captain's waiting while the busy sandman flies
  • 488.  
    If you can smooth his path a bit,
    Bring laughter to his worried face, Restore today his stock of grit
  • 489.  
    For all the beauties of the day,
    The innocence of childhoodâ??s play, For health and strength and laughter sweet,
  • 490.  
    If nobody smiled and nobody cheered and nobody helped us along,
    If each every minute looked after himself and good things all went to the strong,
  • 491.  
    The world is full of roses, blooming red for me I and you,
    They smile a morning welcome and are wet with heavenly dew, And every oak and maple, and every apple thorn
  • 492.  
    THE way to make friends is as easy
    As breathing the fresh morning air; It isn't an art to be studied
  • 493.  
    If I had youth I'd bid the world to try me;
    I'd answer every challenge to my will. And though the silent mountains should defy me,
  • 494.  
    FAME is a fickle jade at best,
    And he who seeks to win her smile Must trudge, disdaining play or rest,
  • 495.  
    'Dear Father,' he wrote me from Somewhere in France,
    Where he's waiting with Pershing to lead the advance, 'There's little the censor permits me to tell
  • 496.  
    We're queer folks here.
    We'll talk about the weather, The good times we have had together,
  • 497.  
    Lady in the show case carriage,
    Do not think that I'm a bear; Not for worlds would I disparage
  • 498.  
    Way out in the woods there are brothers who read
    By the light of a candle, in Greek, And in far away places are thousands, indeed,
  • 499.  
    We were settin' there an' smokin' of our pipes, discussin' things,
    Like licker, votes for wimmin, an' the totterin'thrones o' kings, When he ups an' strokes his whiskers with his hand an' says t'me:
  • 500.  
    I might wish the world were better,
    I might sit around and sigh For a water that is wetter
Total 945 poems written by Edgar Albert Guest

Poem of the day

Two Songs For Solitude: The Solitary
 by Sara Teasdale

Let them think I love them more than I do,
Let them think I care, though I go alone,
If it lifts their pride, what is it to me
Who am self-complete as a flower or a stone?

It is one to me that they come or go
If I have myself and the drive of my will,
And strength to climb on a summer night

Read complete poem

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