Love's Lesson.

    One lesson let us bear in mind -
    Be very gentle with our own,
    Be to their faults a little blind,
    Nor wound them by a look or tone.

    Put self behind! turn tender eyes;
    Keep back the words that hurt and sting;
    We learn, when sorrow makes us wise,
    Forbearance is the grandest thing.

    Be patient lest some day we turn
    Our eyes on loved one fast asleep,
    And whisper, as we lean and yearn,
    "How often I have made you weep!

    "Some loved you not and words let fall
    That must have piercèd your gentle breast,
    But I, who loved you best of all,
    Hurt you far more than all the rest."

    One lesson let us keep in mind -
    To hold our dear ones close and fast,
    Since loyal hearts are hard to find,
    And life and love so soon are past.

Jean Blewett

Jean Blewett was a Canadian author, journalist, and poet. Born in Scotia, Ontario, she became well-known for her poetry and was awarded the part of lyrical poet at the World’s Fair in Chicago, 1893. Her notable works were often published in literary magazines. Besides poetry, Blewett also wrote stories and worked as a journalist, gaining considerable respect in both fields. She passed away in Chatham, Ontario, in 1934. Her legacy remains a significant part of Canadian literary history.

Jean Blewett

The Quarrel.

Jean Blewett, Simple Poetry

A Boy's Trials.

Jean Blewett, Simple Poetry

Quebec.

Jean Blewett, Simple Poetry

Woman.

Jean Blewett, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Forgive And Forget.

    I'll tell you the sweetest thing, dear heart,
    I'll tell you the sweetest thing -
    'Tis saying to one that we love: "Forgive
    The careless words and the sting;
    Forgive and forget, and be friends once more,
    For the world is an empty place
    Without the light of your warm, true eyes,
    And the smile of your tender face."

    O the kissing and making up again,
    And the tender whispering!
    I'll tell you the sweetest thing, dear heart,
    I'll tell you the sweetest thing.

    I'll tell you the saddest thing, dear heart,
    I'll tell you the saddest thing:
    'Tis coming to one that we love full well,
    Some tender message to bring.
    And loitering, loitering, by the way -
    Held back by a foolish pride -

Jean Blewett

The Teacher's Lesson.

I saw a child some four years old,
Along a meadow stray;
Alone she went unchecked untold
Her home not far away.

She gazed around on earth and sky
Now paused, and now proceeded;
Hill, valley, wood, she passed them by,
Unmarked, perchance unheeded.

And now gay groups of roses bright,
In circling thickets bound her
Yet on she went with footsteps light,
Still gazing all around her.

And now she paused, and now she stooped,
And plucked a little flower
A simple daisy 'twas, that drooped
Within a rosy bower.

The child did kiss the little gem,
And to her bosom pressed it;
And there she placed the fragile stem,
And with soft words caressed it.

I love to read a lesson true,
From nature's open book
And oft I lear...

Samuel Griswold Goodrich

When The Dusk Comes Down.

    Do you know what I will love best of all
    To do when I'm old? At the close of day
    When the dusk comes down and the shadows play,
    And the wind sings loud in the poplars tall,
    I will love to get into my corner here -
    The curtains drawn, and never a one
    To break the stillness - to sit here alone
    And dream of these good old times, my dear.

    In fancy you'll come and sit by my side -
    I can see your face with my eyes close shut,
    With the pride and the softness clearly cut,
    The obstinate chin and the forehead wide,
    The oval cheek and the smile so warm,
    The dark eyes full of their fun and power,
    With the tender light for the tender hour,
    And the flash of fire that was half their charm.

    I'll w...

Jean Blewett

Two Ways To Love.

"Entre deux amants il y a toujours l'an qui baise et l'autre qui tend la joue."


I says he loves me well, and I
Believe it; in my hands, to make
Or mar, his life lies utterly,
Nor can I the strong plea deny.
Which claims my love for his love's sake.

He says there is no face so fair
As mine; when I draw near, his eyes
Light up; each ripple of my hair
He loves; the very clunk I wear
He touches fondly where it lies.

And roses, roses all the way,
Upon my path fall, strewed by him;
His tenderness by night, by day,
Keeps faithful watch to heap alway
My cup of pleasure to the brim.

The other women, full of spite,
Count me the happiest woman born
To be so worshipped; I delight
To flaunt his homage in their sight,--
For ...

Susan Coolidge

A Mother Showing The Portrait Of Her Child.

(F.M.L.)


Living child or pictured cherub,
Ne'er o'ermatched its baby grace;
And the mother, moving nearer,
Looked it calmly in the face;
Then with slight and quiet gesture,
And with lips that scarcely smiled,
Said - "A Portrait of my daughter
When she was a child."

Easy thought was hers to fathom,
Nothing hard her glance to read,
For it seemed to say, "No praises
For this little child I need:
If you see, I see far better,
And I will not feign to care
For a stranger's prompt assurance
That the face is fair."

Softly clasped and half extended,
She her dimpled hands doth lay:
So they doubtless placed them, saying -
"Little one, you must not play."
And while yet his work was growing,
This the painter's hand hath...

Jean Ingelow

The Parting.

    One summer's morning I heard a lark
    Singing to heaven, a sweet-throated bird;
    One winter's night I was glad in the dark
    Because of the wondrous song I had heard.

    The joy of life, I have heard you say,
    Is my love, my laughter, my smiles and tears;
    When I have gone on the long, strange way,
    Let these stay with you through all the years -

    These be the lark's song. What is love worth
    That cannot crowd, in the time that's given
    To two like us on this gray old earth,
    Such bliss as will last till we reach heaven?

    Dear one, think oft of the full, glad years,
    And, thinking of them, forget to weep.
    Whisper: "Remembrance holds no tears!"
    And kiss my mouth when I fall on sleep.

Jean Blewett