10 Lucy Larcom Poems

Be inspired by these poems by Lucy Larcom. Lucy was born in Essex County, Massachusetts, on March 5, 1824. As she grew up, she took great delight in all schemes for mutual improvement furnished by the churches and societies, and to the magazine managed by the mill-girls, she contributed her first literary work.

Her spiritual life was also developed by the conditions about her. Naturally of a religious cast of mind, she had been led by her parental training to trust in God, while her heart bade her love Him.

In 1862, forced by ill health to give up teaching, she turned her attention more closely to literary work. For the weekly papers, she composed homely fireside verses, and sometimes, stirred by her patriotic feeling, wrote bright, forcible poems on the war then raging.

In 1868 she published her first collection of poems, which contained many of her best lyrics, and was valuable to her as a vantage ground for future literary efforts. Her work in general was deeply appreciated by her contemporaries, while her old friend Whittier was earnest in his praise. "I have always liked your poetry, and now I like it more than ever," wrote Longfellow after the publication of the Cape Ann volume. She was pleased with such tributes to well-earned merit, and saw with delight her verses placed in many collections beside the poems of other well-known writers.

For several years her health had been gradually failing, and on April 17, 1893, she died. She was buried in her native town of Beverly, which she had loved so long.

Famous Poets    /   Lucy Larcom Poems

Lucy Larcom  
Lucy Larcom

Popular Short  Famous Poems by Lucy Larcom:

  1. A Friend
    Poet: Lucy Larcom

    Life offers no joy like a friend:
    Fulfillment and prophecy blend
    In the throb of a heart with our own,
    A heart where we know and are known.

    Yet more than thy friend unto thee
    Is the friendship hereafter to be,
    When the flower of thy life shall unfold
    Out of hindering darkness and cold.

    Love mocks thee, whose mounting desire
    Doth not to the Perfect aspire;
    Nor lovest thou the soul thou wouldst win
    To shut with thine emptiness in.

    A friend! Deep is calling to deep!
    A friend! The heart wakes from its sleep,
    To behold the worlds lit by one face,
    With one heavenward step to keep pace.

    O Heart wherein all hearts are known,
    Whose infinite throb stirs our own!
    O Friend beyond friends! what are we,
    Who ask so much less, yet have Thee!

  2. Friendship Poems
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  3. If I Were A Sunbeam
    Poet: Lucy Larcom

    If I were a sunbeam,
    I know what I'd do:
    I would seek white lilies
    Rainy woodlands through;
    I would steal among them,
    Softest light I'd shed,
    Until every lily
    Raised its drooping head.

    "If I were a sunbeam,
    I know where I'd go:
    Into lowliest hovels,
    Dark with want and woe;
    Till sad hearts looked upward,
    I would shine and shine;
    Then they'd think of heaven,
    Their sweet home and mine."

    Art thou not a sunbeam,
    Child, whose life is glad
    With an inner radiance
    Sunshine never had?
    Oh, as God has blessed thee,
    Scatter rays divine!
    For there is no sunbeam
    But must die, or shine.

  4. Poems Of Encouragement
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  5. Heavenly Helper
    Poet: Lucy Larcom

    Heavenly Helper, Friend divine,
    Friend of all men, therefore mine,
    Let my heart as Thy heart be!
    Breathe Thy living breath through me!

    Only at Thy love's pure tide
    Human thirst is satisfied:
    He who fills his chalice there,
    Fills, with thirstier souls to share.

    Undefiled One, who dost win
    All Thine own from paths of sin,
    Never let me dread to go
    Where is guilt, or want, or woe!

    If another lose the way,
    My feet also go astray :
    Sleepless Watcher, lead us back,
    Safe into the homeward track!

    As a bird unto its nest,
    Flies the tired soul to Thy breast.
    Let not one an alien be!
    Lord, we have no home but Thee!

  6. Christian Poems
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  7. A Christmas Thought
    Poet: Lucy Larcom

    Oh, Christmas is coming again, you say,
    And you long for the things he is bringing:
    But the costliest gift may not gladden the day,
    Nor help on the merry bells ringing.
    Some getting is losing, you understand,
    Some hoarding is far from saving;
    What you hold in your hand may slip from your hand;
    There is something better than having:
    We are richer for what we give;
    And only by giving we live.

    Your last year's presents are scattered and gone;
    You have almost forgotten who gave them;
    But the loving thoughts you bestow live on
    As long as you choose to have them.
    Love, love is your riches, though ever so poor;
    No money can buy that treasure;
    Yours always, from robber and rust secure,
    Your own, without stint or measure:
    It is only love that can give;
    It is only by loving we live.

    For who is it smiles through the Christmas morn,
    The Light of the wide creation?
    A dear little Child in a stable born,
    Whose love is the world's salvation.
    He was poor on earth, but He gives us all
    That can make our life worth the living;
    And happy the Christmas Day we call
    That is spent, for His sake, in giving:
    He shows us the way to live;
    Like Him, let us love and give!

  8. Christmas Poems
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  9. Three Old Saws
    Poet: Lucy Larcom

    If the world seems cold to you,
    Kindle fires to warm it!
    Let their comfort hide from view
    Winters that deform it.
    Hearts as frozen as your own
    To that radiance gather:
    You will soon forget to moan
    "Ah! the cheerless weather!"

    If the world's a wilderness,
    Go, build houses in it!
    Will it help your loneliness
    On the winds to din it?
    Raise a hut, however slight;
    Weeds and brambles smother;
    And to roof and meal invite
    Some forlorner brother.

    If the world's a vale of tears,
    Smile, till rainbows span it!
    Breathe the love that life endears,
    Clear of clouds to fan it!
    Of your gladness lend a gleam
    Unto souls that shiver;
    Show them how dark Sorrow's stream
    Blends with Hope's bright river!

  10. poems about hope
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  11. Divine And Human
    Poet: Lucy Larcom

    Jesus, Saviour, Friend most dear!
    Dwell Thou with us daily here!
    By Thine own life teach us this
    How divine, the human is!

    One with God, as heart with heart,
    Saviour, lift us where Thou art!
    Join us to His life, through Thine,
    Human still, though all divine!

  12. poems about Jesus
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  13. Getting Along
    Poet: Lucy Larcom

    We trudge on together, my good man and I,
    Our steps growing slow as the years hasten by;
    Our children are healthy, our neighbors are kind,
    And with the world 'round us we've no fault to find.

    'Tis true that he sometimes will choose the worst way
    For sore feet to walk in, a weary hot day;
    But then my wise husband can scarcely go wrong,
    And, somehow or other, we're getting along.

    There are soft summer shadows beneath our home trees:
    How handsome he looks, sitting there at his ease!
    We watch the flocks coming while sunset grows dim,
    His thoughts on the cattle, and mine upon him.

    The blackbirds and thrushes come chattering near;
    I love the thieves' music, but listen with fear:
    He shoots the gay rogues I would pay for their song;
    We're different, sure; still, we're getting along.

    He seems not to know what I eat, drink, or wear;
    He's trim and he's hearty, so why should I care?
    No harsh word from him my poor heart ever shocks:
    I wouldn't mind scolding, so seldom he talks.

    Ah, well! 'tis too much that we women expect:
    He only has promised to love and protect.
    See, I lean on my husband, so silent and strong;
    I'm sure there's no trouble; we're getting along.

    Life isn't so bright as it was long ago,
    When he visited me amid tempest and snow,
    And would bring me a ribbon or jewel to wear,
    And sometimes a rosebud to twist in my hair:

    But when we are girls, we can all laugh and sing;
    Of course, growing old, life's a different thing!
    My good man and I have forgot our May song,
    But still we are quietly getting along.

    It is true I was rich; I had treasures and land;
    But all that he asked was my heart and my hand:
    Though people do say it, 'tis what they can't prove, -
    "He married for money; she, poor thing! for love."

    My fortune is his, and he saves me its care;
    To make his home cheerful 's enough for my share.
    He seems always happy our broad fields among;
    And so I'm contented: we're getting along.

    With stocks to look after, investments to find,
    It's not very strange that I'm seldom in mind:
    He can't stop to see how my time's dragging on,
    And oh ! would he miss me, if I should be gone?

    Should he be called first, I must follow him fast,
    For all that's worth living for then will be past.
    But I'll not think of losing him; fretting is wrong,
    While we are so pleasantly getting along.

  14. poems about aging
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  15. Violets
    Poet: Lucy Larcom

    They neither toil nor spin;
    And yet their robes have won
    A splendor never seen within
    The courts of Solomon.

    Tints that the cloud-rifts hold,
    And rainbow-gossamer,
    The violet's tender form enfold;
    No queen is draped like her.

    All heaven and earth and sea
    Have wrought with subtlest power
    That clothed in purple she might be,
    This little fading flower.

    We, who must toil and spin,
    What clothing shall we wear?
    The glorious raiment we shall win,
    Life shapes us, everywhere.

    God's inner heaven hath sun,
    And rain, and space of sky,
    Wherethrough for us his spindles run,
    His mighty shuttles fly.

    His seamless vesture white
    He wraps our spirits in;
    He weaves his finest webs of light
    For us, who toil and spin.

    Flower Poem
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  16. Better
    Poet: Lucy Larcom

    That haunting dream of Better,
    Forever at our side!
    It tints the far horizon,
    It sparkles on the tide.
    The cradle of the Present
    Too narrow is for rest:
    The feet of the Immortal

    Leap forth to seek the Best.
    O beauty, trailing sadness!
    Despair, hope's loftiest birth!
    With tears and aspirations
    Have ye bedewed the earth.
    The opening buds of April
    Untimely frost may chill;
    The soul of sweet October
    Faints out in mystery still.

    What buriest thou, gay childhood?
    Swift youth, what fled with thee?
    Laugh'st at our losses, Sorrow,
    As in some godlike glee?
    Away, away forever
    Our vessels seem to sail:
    The Eternal Breath o'ertakes them;
    Home speeds them every gale.

    The filmy gold and purple
    Swathed not the hills we trod:
    'T was hard and common climbing,
    The bramble and the clod.
    The bitterness we tasted
    Was Truth's most wholesome leaven
    The friends who left us lonely
    Are opening doors in heaven.

    And now the deeper midnight
    Uncovers larger stars;
    And grafts of glory bourgeon
    From earthly blights and scars.
    And now the mists are lifting
    The tides are rushing in
    'Tis sunrise on the mountains!
    Lo! life is yet to win!

  17. Poems About Life
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  18. Entangled
    Poet: Lucy Larcom

    Birds among the budding trees,
    Blossoms on the ringing ground:
    Light from those? or song from these?
    Can the tangle be unwound?

    For the bluebird's warbled note,
    Violet-odors hither flung;
    And the violet curved her throat,
    Just as if she sat and sung.

    Dandelions dressed in gold,
    Give out echoes clear and loud,
    To the oriole's story, told
    With gay poise and gesture proud.

    And the swaying yellow-bird,
    Trilling, thrills their hollow stems,
    Until every root is stirred,
    Under their dropped diadems.

    Swallows thicken through the air,
    Curve and drift of plumy brown,
    Wafting, showering everywhere,
    Melody's light seed-notes down.

    Beauty, music on the earth;
    Music, beauty in the sky ;
    Guess the mystery of their birth!
    All the haunting what and why.

    Nature weaves a marvellous braid;
    Tints and tones how deftly blent!
    Who unwinds the web she made?
    Thou, who wearest her wise content.

    Wrapped within her beauty's fold,
    Of her song thyself a part,
    Plainly are her secrets told
    Unto thee, O pure of heart!

  19. Nature Poems
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