The Noble Woman.

    A woman on an empire's throne
        Has sat in queenly pride,
    And swayed the sceptre of her power
        O'er land and ocean wide:
    A crown of gold adorned the head
        That held a nation's fate,
    And courtly knights and princely peers
        Did on her bidding wait.

    A woman too in ancient days
        Has borne the warrior's brand,
    And by heroic deed performed
        Has saved her native land.
    She too has sung inspiring songs,
        And told entrancing tales;
    Has softened and has swayed the mind
        Where bolder genius fails.

    But nobler far than thronèd queen,
        Or heroine of fame,
    Or she who by her potent pen
        Has won illustrious name,
    Is she who seeks the needy out,
        Nor scorns the wretched's door,
    But, with compassion Christlike, loves
        To help the humble poor.

W. M. MacKeracher

W. M. MacKeracher was a poet known for his contributions to Canadian literature during the early 20th century. His works often focused on themes of nature, human emotion, and the simplicity of rural life. Though not as widely known as some of his contemporaries, MacKeracher's poetry has been appreciated for its lyrical quality and depth. Much of his work was published in regional journals and anthologies, capturing the essence of Canadian landscapes and the human experience within them. His exact birth and death dates remain obscure.

W. M. MacKeracher

Dominion Day.

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

Nothing Too Good For The Irish.

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

A Late Spring.

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

Montcalm.

W. M. MacKeracher, 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.

Woman's Help.

Sometimes I long to write an ode
    And magnify his name,
The man of honor, on the road
    To opulence and fame,
On whom was never aid bestowed
    By any helpful dame.

To all the world I fain would show
    That talent widely known,
Rare eloquence, of burning glow
    To melt a heart of stone,
That all his gifts, a dazzling row,
    Are his, and his alone.

But him, of character and mind
    Superb, alert, and strong,
I never study but to find
    The subject of my song,
Some paragon of womankind,
    Has helped him all along.

He may not know, he may not guess,
    How much to her he owes,
How every scion of success
    That in his nature grows,
Developed by her watchfulness,
    Becomes a blooming rose.

Hattie Howard

Sovereign Woman. A Ballad.

The dance was o'er, yet still in dreams
    That fairy scene went on;
Like clouds still flusht with daylight gleams
    Tho' day itself is gone.
And gracefully to music's sound,
The same bright nymphs were gliding round;
While thou, the Queen of all, wert there--
The Fairest still, where all were fair.
The dream then changed--in halls of state,
    I saw thee high enthroned;
While, ranged around, the wise, the great,
    In thee their mistress owned;
And still the same, thy gentle sway
O'er willing subjects won its way--
Till all confest the Right Divine
To rule o'er man was only thine!

But, lo, the scene now changed again--
    And borne on plumed steed,
I saw thee o'er the battle-plain
    Our land's defenders lead:
And stronger in ...

Thomas Moore

Love Letters of a Violinist. Letter XI. Faith.



Letter XI. Faith.


I.

    Now will I sing to God a song of praise,
    And thank the morning for the light it brings,
    Aye! and the earth for every flower that springs,
    And every tree that, in the jocund days,
    Thrills to the blast. My voice I will upraise
    To thank the world for every bird that sings.


II.

    I will unpack my mind of all its fears,
    I will advance to where the matin fires
    Absorb the hills. My hopes and my desires
    Will lead me safe; and day will have no tears
    And night no torture, as i...

Eric Mackay

To The Queen

Revered, belovedO you that hold
A nobler office upon earth
Than arms, or power of brain, or birth
Could give the warrior kings of old,

Victoria,since your Royal grace
To one of less desert allows
This laurel greener from the brows
Of him that utterd nothing base;

And should your greatness, and the care
That yokes with empire, yield you time
To make demand of modern rhyme
If aught of ancient worth be there;

Thenwhile a sweeter music wakes,
And thro wild March the throstle calls,
Where all about your palace-walls
The sun-lit almond-blossom shakes

Take, Madam, this poor book of song;
For tho the faults were thick as dust
In vacant chambers, I could trust
Your kindness. May you rule us long,

And leave us rul...

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The Needed One.

'Twas not rare versatility,
    Nor gift of poesy or art,
Nor piquant, sparkling jeux d'esprit
    Which at the call of fancy come,
    That touched the universal heart,
    And won the world's encomium.

It was not beauty's potent charm;
    For admiration followed her
Unmindful of the rounded arm,
    The fair complexion's brilliancy,
    If form and features shapely were
    Or lacked the grace of symmetry.

So not by marked, especial power
    She grew endeared to human thought,
But just because, in trial's hour,
    Was loving service to be done
    Or sympathy and counsel sought,
    She made herself the needed one.

    Oh, great the blessedness must be
    Of heart and hand and brain alert
    In projects wise ...

Hattie Howard

Honor To Woman.

[Literally "Dignity of Women."]

Honor to woman! To her it is given
To garden the earth with the roses of heaven!
All blessed, she linketh the loves in their choir
In the veil of the graces her beauty concealing,
She tends on each altar that's hallowed to feeling,
And keeps ever-living the fire!

From the bounds of truth careering,
Man's strong spirit wildly sweeps,
With each hasty impulse veering
Down to passion's troubled deeps.
And his heart, contented never,
Greeds to grapple with the far,
Chasing his own dream forever,
On through many a distant star!
But woman with looks that can charm and enchain,
Lureth back at her beck the wild truant again,
By the spell of her presence beguiled
In the home of the mother her modest abode,
And m...

Friedrich Schiller