Who is Isabella Valancy Crawford

Isabella Valancy Crawford (25 December 1846 – 12 February 1887) was an Irish-born Canadian writer and poet. She was one of the first Canadians to make a living as a freelance writer.

"Crawford is increasingly being viewed as Canada's first major poet." She is the author of "Malcolm's Katie," a poem that has achieved "a central place in the canon of nineteenth-century Canadian poetry."

Life

Isabella Valancy Crawford was the last surviving daughter of Dr. Stephen Crawford. She was born in Dublin, Ireland, on Christmas Day 1846. The family emigrated to Canada when she was ten years of age.Much of Isabella Crawford's early life is unknown. By her own account she was born in Dublin, Ireland, the sixth daughter of Dr. Stephen Dennis Crawford and Sydney Scott; ...
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Isabella Valancy Crawford Poems

  • My Ain Bonnie Lass O' The Glen.
    Ae blink o' the bonnie new mune,
    Ay tinted as sune as she's seen,
    Wad licht me to Meg frae the toun,
    Tho' mony the brae-side between: ...
  • Bite Deep And Wide, O Axe, The Tree!
    'BITE deep and wide, O Axe, the tree!
    What doth thy bold voice promise me?'

    'I promise thee all joyous things ...
  • The Farmer's Daughter Cherry
    The Farmer quit what he was at,
    The bee-hive he was smokin':
    He tilted back his old straw hat--
    Says he, 'Young man, you're jokin'! ...
  • His Wife And Baby
    In the lone place of the leaves,
    Where they touch the hanging eaves,
    There sprang a spray of joyous song that sounded sweet and sturdy;
    And the baby in the bed ...
  • A Battle
    SLOWLY the Moon her banderoles of light
    Unfurls upon the sky; her fingers drip
    Pale, silvery tides; her armoured warriors
    Leave Day's bright tents of azure and of gold, ...
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Top 10 most used topics by Isabella Valancy Crawford

Red 61 Heart 55 White 53 High 51 I Love You 51 Love 51 Silver 49 Sun 47 Bright 46 Sky 45


Isabella Valancy Crawford Quotes

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Edgar Albert Guest Poem
The Killing Place
 by Edgar Albert Guest

We're hiking along at a two-forty pace
We 're making life seem like a man-killing race,
With our nerves all on edge and our jaws firmly set
We go rushing along; with our brows lined with sweat
And our cheeks pale and drawn every minute we dash,
And the goal that we 're after is merely more cash.

We 're out for the money, the greenbacks and gold,
...

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