Be inspired by these uplifting poems by Phoebe Cary. She was an American poet born in Ohio on September 4, 1824. She grew up on a farm with her older sister Alice Cary, who also wrote poetry.
She was mostly self-educated. She died on July 31, 1871. Her love of the language is shown in her poetry. We hope you enjoy the collection of Pheobe Cary's poems.
Popular Phoebe Cary Short Poems:
Poet: Phoebe Cary
I have been out to-day in field and wood,
Listening to praises sweet, and counsel good,
Such as a little child had understood,
That, in its tender youth,
Discerns the simple eloquence of truth.
The modest blossoms, crowding round my way.
Though they had nothing great or grand to say.
Gave out their fragrance to the wind all day;
Because his loving breath,
With soft persistence, won them back from death.
The stately maize, a fair and goodly sight.
With serried spear-points bristling sharp and bright
Shook out his yellow tresses, for delight,
To all their tawny length.
Like Samson, glorying in his lusty strength.
And every little bird upon the tree,
Ruffling his plumage bright, for ecstacy.
Sang in the wild insanity of glee;
And seemed, in the same lays.
Calling his mate, and uttering songs of praise.
The golden grasshopper did chirp and sing;
The plain bee, busy with her housekeeping.
Kept humming cheerfully upon the wing.
As if she understood
That, with contentment, labor was a good.
I saw each creature, in his own best place.
To the Creator lift a smiling face.
Praising continually his wondrous grace;
As if the best of all
Life's countless blessings was to live at all!
So, with a book of sermons, plain and true.
Hid in my heart, where I might turn them through,
I went home softly, through the falling dew.
Still listening, rapt and calm,
To Nature giving out her evening psalm.
While, far along the west, mine eyes discerned,
Where, lit by God, the fires of sunset burned,
The tree-tops, unconsumed, to flame were turned;
And I, in that great hush.
Talked with his angels in each burning bush!
Laugh out, O Stream, from your bed of green,
Where you lie in the sun's embrace;
And talk to the reeds that o'er you lean
To touch your dimpled face;
But let your talk be sweet as it will.
And your laughter be as gay.
You cannot laugh as I laugh in my heart,
For my lover will come to-day!
Sing sweet, little bird, sing out to your mate
That hides in the leafy grove;
Sing clear and tell him for him you wait,
And tell him of all your love;
But though you sing till you shake the buds
And the tender leaves of May,
My spirit thrills with a sweeter song.
For my lover must come to-day!
Come up, O winds, come up from the south
With eager hurrying feet,
And kiss your red rose on her mouth
In the bower where she blushes sweet;
But you cannot kiss your darling flower,
Though you clasp her as you may,
As I kiss in my thought the lover dear
I shall hold in my arms to-day!