To Papa

    In high Olympus' sacred shade
    A gift Minerva wrought
    For her beloved philosopher
    Immersed in deepest thought.

    A shield to guard his aged breast
    With its enchanted mesh
    When he his nectar and ambrosia took
    To strengthen and refresh.

    Long may he live to use the life
    The hidden goddess gave,
    To keep unspotted to the end
    The gentle, just, and brave.

December, 1887.

Louisa May Alcott

Louisa May Alcott was an American novelist and poet best known as the author of the novel 'Little Women' and its sequels 'Little Men' and 'Jo's Boys.' Born in Germantown, Pennsylvania, she grew up in Massachusetts. She was an abolitionist and a feminist and was active in both the Transcendentalist and suffragist movements. Alcott began writing to support her family and went on to publish numerous works that have had a lasting impact on American literature.

Louisa May Alcott

In The Garret

Louisa May Alcott, Simple Poetry

Chingery Wangery Chan

Louisa May Alcott, Simple Poetry

Here's A Nut

Louisa May Alcott, Simple Poetry

He Prayeth Best Who Loveth Best

Louisa May Alcott, 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.

A. B. A. Lines Written by Louisa M. Alcott to Her Father

    Like Bunyan's pilgrim with his pack,
    Forth went the dreaming youth
    To seek, to find, and make his own
    Wisdom, virtue, and truth.
    Life was his book, and patiently
    He studied each hard page;
    By turns reformer, outcast, priest,
    Philosopher and sage.

    Christ was his Master, and he made
    His life a gospel sweet;
    Plato and Pythagoras in him
    Found a disciple meet.
    The noblest and best his friends,
    Faithful and fond, though few;
    Eager to listen, learn, and pay
    The love and honor due.

    Power and place, silver and gold,
    He neither asked nor sought;
    Only to serve his fellowmen,
    With heart and word and thought.
    A pilgrim still, but in his pack
    No sins ...

Louisa May Alcott

A Little Grey Curl

    A little grey curl from my father's head
    I find unburned on the hearth,
    And give it a place in my diary here,
    With a feeling half sadness, half mirth.
    For the long white locks are our special pride,
    Though he smiles at his daughter's praise;
    But, oh, they have grown each year more thin,
    Till they are now but a silvery haze.

    That wise old head! (though it does grow bald
    With the knocks hard fortune may give)
    Has a store of faith and hope and trust,
    Which have taught him how to live.
    Though the hat be old, there's a face below
    Which telleth to those who look
    The history of a good man's life,
    And it cheers like a blessed book.

    [A]A peddler of jewels, of clocks, and of books,
    ...

Louisa May Alcott

To My Father.


Oh that Pieria's spring¹ would thro' my breast
Pour its inspiring influence, and rush
No rill, but rather an o'erflowing flood!
That, for my venerable Father's sake
All meaner themes renounced, my Muse, on wings
Of Duty borne, might reach a loftier strain.
For thee, my Father! howsoe'er it please,
She frames this slender work, nor know I aught,
That may thy gifts more suitably requite;
Though to requite them suitably would ask
Returns much nobler, and surpassing far
The meagre stores of verbal gratitude.
But, such as I possess, I send thee all.
This page presents thee in their full amount
With thy son's treasures, and the sum is nought;
Naught, save the riches that from airy dreams
In secret grottos and in laurel bow'rs,
I have, by golden...

John Milton

To J.M.B.

    'Oh, were I a heliotrope,
    I would play poet,
    And blow a breeze of fragrance
    To you; and none should know it.


    'Your form like the stately elm
    When Phoebus gilds the morning ray;
    Your cheeks like the ocean bed
    That blooms a rose in May.


    'Your words are wise and bright,
    I bequeath them to you a legacy given;
    And when your spirit takes its flight,
    May it bloom aflower in heaven.


    'My tongue in flattering language spoke,
    And sweeter silence never broke
    in busiest street or loneliest glen.
    I take you with the flashes of my pen.


    'Consider the lilies, how they grow;
    They toil not, yet are fair,
    Gems and flowers and Solomon's seal.
 ...

Louisa May Alcott

In The Garret

    Four little chests all in a row,
    Dim with dust, and worn by time,
    All fashioned and filled, long ago,
    By children now in their prime.
    Four little keys hung side by side,
    With faded ribbons, brave and gay
    When fastened there, with childish pride,
    Long ago, on a rainy day.
    Four little names, one on each lid,
    Carved out by a boyish hand,
    And underneath there lieth hid
    Histories of the happy band
    Once playing here, and pausing oft
    To hear the sweet refrain,
    That came and went on the roof aloft,
    In the falling summer rain.


    "Meg" on the first lid, smooth and fair.
    I look in with loving eyes,
    For folded here, with well-known care,
    A goodly gathering lies,
 ...

Louisa May Alcott

To My Father.

Oh that Pieria's spring^[1] would thro' my breast
Pour its inspiring influence, and rush
No rill, but rather an o'erflowing flood!
That, for my venerable Father's sake
All meaner themes renounced, my Muse, on wings
Of Duty borne, might reach a loftier strain.
For thee, my Father! howsoe'er it please,
She frames this slender work, nor know I aught,
That may thy gifts more suitably requite;
Though to requite them suitably would ask
Returns much nobler, and surpassing far
The meagre stores of verbal gratitude.
But, such as I possess, I send thee all.
This page presents thee in their full amount
With thy son's treasures, and the sum is nought;
Naught, save the riches that from airy dreams
In secret grottos and in laurel bow'rs,
I have, by golden Cli...

William Cowper