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African-American American Black History Celebration Phillis Wheatley Poetry

“To S. M. A Young African Painter, On Seeing His Works” by Phillis Wheatley


Phyllis WheatleyTO show the lab’ring bosom’s deep intent,
And thought in living characters to paint,
When first thy pencil did those beauties give,
And breathing figures learnt from thee to live,
How did those prospects give my soul delight,
A new creation rushing on my sight?
Still, wond’rous youth! each noble path pursue,
On deathless glories fix thine ardent view:
Still may the painter’s and the poet’s fire
To aid thy pencil, and thy verse conspire!

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African-American American Black History Phillis Wheatley Poetry

“On Virtue” by Phillis Wheatley


Phyllis Wheatley

O Thou bright jewel in my aim I strive
To comprehend thee. Thine own words declare
Wisdom is higher than a fool can reach.
I cease to wonder, and no more attempt
Thine height t’ explore, or fathom thy profound.
But, O my soul, sink not into despair,
Virtue is near thee, and with gentle hand

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African-American American Black History Phyllis Wheatley

“A Rebus” by Phillis Wheatley


I.Phyillis Wheatley
A bird delicious to the taste,
On which an army once did feast,
Sent by an hand unseen;
A creature of the horned race,
Which Britain’s royal standards grace;
A gem of vivid green;
II.
A town of gaiety and sport,
Where beaux and beauteous nymphs resort,

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African-American American Black History Phyllis Wheatley Poetry Reflect

“An Hymn to Evening” by Phillis Wheatley


Phyillis Wheatley

SOON as the sun forsook the eastern main
The pealing thunder shook the heav’nly plain;
Majestic grandeur! From the zephyr’s wing,
Exhales the incense of the blooming spring.
Soft purl the streams, the birds renew their notes,
And through the air their mingled music floats.
Through all the heav’ns what beauteous dies are
spread!
But the west glories in the deepest red:
So may our breasts with ev’ry virtue glow,
The living temples of our God below!
Fill’d with the praise of him who gives the light,
And draws the sable curtains of the night,
Let placid slumbers sooth each weary mind,
At morn to wake more heav’nly, more refin’d;
So shall the labours of the day begin
More pure, more guarded from the snares of sin.
Night’s leaden sceptre seals my drowsy eyes,

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Sneak Peak of GoodPoetry’s New Facelift— Just in time for National Poetry Month beginning April 1


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Emily Dickinson Hope Love Poetry Reflect

“I had no time to hate, because” by Emily Dickinson (December 10th, 1830 – May 15th, 1886 / Amherst / Massachusetts)


Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson (Photo credit: Amherst College Archives)

I had no time to hate, because

The grave would hinder me,

And life was not so ample I
Could finish enmity.Nor had I time to love, but since
Some industry must be,
The little toil of love, I thought,
Was large enough for me.