Hattie Howard

Hattie Howard is recognized for her significant contributions to 19th-century American poetry. Her work, characterized by its wit and lyrical quality, often explored themes of nature, love, and social issues. She had a unique voice that resonated with many of her contemporaries and continues to be appreciated for its depth and artistry.

English

Hattie Howard

Page 4 of 5

Sonnet.

Upon my smile let none pass compliment
    If it but gleam like an enchanting ray
    Of sunshine caught from some sweet summer day,
    In atmosphere of rose and jasmine scent
And breath of honeysuckles redolent,
    When, with the birds that sing their lives away
    In harmony, the treetops bend and sway,
And all the world with joy is eloquent.

But in that day of gloom when skies severe
    Portend the tempest gathering overhead,
If by my face some token shall appear
    Inspiring hope, dispelling darksome dread,
    Oh, be the rapture mine that it be said,
"Her smile is like the rainbow, full of cheer."

Hattie Howard

Sorrow and Joy.

In sad procession borne away
    To sound of funeral knell,
Affection's tribute thus we pay,
And in earth's shelt'ring bosom lay
The friend to whom but yesterday
    We gave the sad farewell.

But scarce the melancholy sound
    Has died upon the ear,
Before the mournful dirge is drowned
By wedding-anthems' glad rebound,
That stir the solemn air around
    With merry peals and clear.

Within our home doth gladness tread
    So closely upon grief
That, in the tears of sorrow shed
O'er our beloved, lamented dead,
We see reflected joy instead
    That gives a blest relief.

A father and a daughter gone
    Beyond our fireside -
For one we loved and leaned upon
The skillful archer Death had drawn
His bow; and one in lif...

Hattie Howard

Storm-bound.

My careful plans all storm-subdued,
In disappointing solitude
    The weary hours began;
And scarce I deemed when time had sped,
Marked only by the passing tread
    Of some pedestrian.

But with the morrow's tranquil dawn,
A fairy scene I looked upon
    That filled me with delight;
Far-reaching from my own abode,
The world in matchless splendor glowed,
    Arrayed in spotless white.

The surface of the hillside slope
Gleamed in my farthest vision's scope
    Like opalescent stone;
Rich jewels hung on every tree,
Whose crystalline transparency
    Golconda's gems outshone.

Beyond the line where wayside posts
Stood up, like fear-inspiring ghosts
    Of awful form and mien,
A mansion tall, my neighbor's pride,
A see...

Hattie Howard

Supplicating.

One morn I looked across the way,
    And saw you fling your window wide
To welcome in the breath of May
    In breezes from the mountain-side,
And greet the sunlight's earliest ray
    With happy look and satisfied.

The pansies on your window-sill
    In terra cotta flowerpot,
Like royal gold and purple frill
    Upon the stony casement wrought,
Adorned your tasteful domicile
    And claimed your time and care and thought.

In cherry trees the robins sang
    Their sweetest carol to your ear,
And shouts of merry children rang
    Out on the dewy atmosphere,
But to my heart there came a pang
    That my salute you did not hear.

I envied then the favored breeze
    That dallied with your flowing hair,
Begrudged the songsters...

Hattie Howard

Sweet Peas.

By helpful fingers taught to twine
    Around its trellis, grew
A delicate and dainty vine;
The bursting bud, its blossom sign,
    Inlaid with honeyed-dew.

Developing by every art
    To floriculture known,
From tares exempt, and kept apart,
Careful, as if in some fond heart
    Its legume germs were sown.

So thriving, not for me alone
    Its beauty and perfume -
Ah, no, to rich perfection grown
By flower mission loved and known
    In many a darkened room.

And once in strange and solemn place,
    Mid weeping uncontrolled,
Upon the crushed and snowy lace
I saw them scattered 'round a face
    All pallid, still, and cold.

Oh, some may choose, as gaudy shows,
    Those saucy sprigs of pride
The peony, the ...

Hattie Howard

Syringas.

The smallest flower beside my path,
    In loveliness of bloom,
Some element of comfort hath
    To rid my heart of gloom;
But these, of spotless purity,
    And fragrant as the rose,
As sad a sight recall to me
    As time shall e'er disclose.

Oh, there are pictures on the brain
    Sometimes by shadows made,
Till dust is blent with dust again,
    That never, never fade;
And things supremely bright and fair
    As ever known in life
Suggest the darkness of despair,
    And sanguinary strife.

I shut my eyes; 'tis all in vain -
    The battle-field appears,
And one among the thousands slain
    In manhood's brilliant years;
An elbow pillowing his head,
    And on the crimson sand
Syringa-blooms, distained and dead,

Hattie Howard

Thanksgiving.

Nature, erewhile so marvelously lovely, is bereft
    Of her supernal charm;
And with the few dead garlands of departed splendor left,
    Like crape upon her arm,
    In boreal hints, and sudden gusts
    That fan the glowing ember,
    By multitude of ways fulfills
    The promise of November.

Upon the path where Beauty, sylvan priestess, sped away,
    Lies the rich afterglow
Of Indian Summer, bringing round the happy holiday
    That antedates the snow:
    The glad Thanksgiving time, the cheer,
    The festival commotion
    That stirs fraternal feeling from
    The mountains to the ocean.

O Hospitality! unclose thy bounty-laden hand
    In generous dealing, where
Is gathered in reunion each long-severed household band,
    And ...

Hattie Howard

The Antiquarian.

Millions have been and passed from view
Benignity who never knew;
    No aspiration theirs, nor aim;
Existence soulless as the clay
From whence they sprang, what right have they
    To eulogy or fame?

So multitudes have been forgot -
But drones or dunces, good for naught;
    Like clinging parasites or burrs
Taking from others all they dared,
Yet little they for others cared
    Except as pilferers.

Not so with that majestic man
The all-round antiquarian -
    No model his nor parallel;
From selfishness inviolate
Are his achievements good and great,
    And thus shall ages tell.

A love for the antiquities
His honest hold, his birthright is!
    And things unheard of or unread,
Defaced by moth or rust or mold,
To ...

Hattie Howard

The Apple Tree.

Has ever a tree from the earth upsprung
Around whose body have children clung,
Whose bounteous branches the birds among
Have pecked the fruit, and chirped and sung -
Was ever a tree, or shall there be,
So hardy, so sturdy, so good to see,
So welcome a boon to the family,
Like the pride of the farmer, the apple tree?

How he loves to be digging about its root,
Or grafting the bud in the tender shoot,
The daintiest palate that he may suit
With the fairest and finest selected fruit.
How he boasts of his Sweetings, so big for size;
His delicate Greenings - made for pies;
His Golden Pippins that take the prize,
The Astrachans tempting, that tell no lies.

How he learns of the squirrel a thing or two
That the wise little rodents always knew,
And ...

Hattie Howard

The Beauty of Nature.

Oh bud and leaf and blossom,
    How beautiful they are!
Than last year's vernal season
    'Tis lovelier by far;
This earth was never so enchanting
    Nor half so bright before -
But so I've rhapsodized, in springtime,
    For forty years or more.

What luxury of color
    On shrub and plant and vine,
From pansies' richest purple
    To pink of eglantine;
From buttercups to "johnny-jump-ups,"
    With deep cerulean eyes,
Responding to their modest surname
    In violet surprise.

Sometimes I think the sunlight
    That gilds the emerald hills,
And makes Aladdin dwellings
    Of dingy domiciles,
Is surplus beauty overflowing
    That Heaven cannot hold -
The topaz glitter, or the jacinth,
    The glare of streets o...

Hattie Howard

The Bell(e) of Baltimore.

[One of the notable features of Baltimore is the big bell that hangs in the city hall tower, to strike the hour and sound the fire alarm. It is called "Big Sam," and weighs 5,000 pounds]


A million feet above the ground
(For so it seemed in winding round),
    A million, and two more,
    The latter stiff and sore,
While perspiration formed a part
    Of every reeking pore,
I viewed the city like a chart
    Spread out upon the floor.

And said: "Great guide Jehoiakin,
To me is meagre pleasure in
    The height of spires and domes,
    Of walls like ancient Rome's;
Nor care I for the marts of trade,
    Or shelves of musty tomes,
Nor yet for yonder colonnade
    Before your palace homes;

"But curiosity is keen
To know the city's...

Hattie Howard

The Charity Ball.

There was many a token of festal display,
And reveling crowds who were never so gay,
And, as it were Æolus charming the hours,
An orchestra hidden by foliage and flowers;
There were tapestries fit for the home of a queen,
And mirrors that glistened in wonderful sheen;
There was feasting and mirth in the banqueting-hall,
For this was the annual Charity Ball.

There were pompous civilians, in wealth who abide,
Displaying their purses, the source of their pride;
And plethoric dealers in margins and stocks,
And owners of acres of elegant blocks,
And tenement-landlords who cling to a cent
When from the poor widow exacting her rent -
Immovable, stern, as an adamant wall -
And yet, who "came down" to this Charity Ball.

There was Beauty whose toilet, superb...

Hattie Howard

The Charter Oak.

I seem to see the old tree stand,
    Its sturdy, giant form
A spectacle remembered, and
A pilgrim-shrine for all the land
    Before it met the storm.

Unnumbered gales the tree defied;
    It towered like a king
Above his courtiers, reaching wide,
And sheltering scions at its side
    As with protecting wing.

Revered as one among the trees
    To mark the seasons born,
To watchful aborigines
It told by leafy indices
    The time of planting corn.

The landmark of the past is gone,
    Its site is overgrown;
A mansion overlooks the lawn
Where history is traced upon
    A parapet of stone.

Shall e'er Connecticut forget
    What unto it we owe -
How Wadsworth coped with Andros' threat,
And tyranny, in cou...

Hattie Howard

The Little Clock.

Kind friend, you do not know how much
    I prize this time-ly treasure,
So dainty, diligent, and such
    A constant source of pleasure.

The man of brains who could invent
    So true a chrono-meter
Has set a charming precedent,
    And made a good repeater.

It speaks with clear, commanding clicks,
    Suggestive of the donor;
And 'tends to business - never sick
    A bit more than the owner.

It goes when I do; when I stop
    (As by the dial showing)
It never lets a second drop,
    But simply keeps on going.

It tells me when I am to eat,
    Which isn't necessary;
When food with me is obsolete,
    I'll be a reliquary.

It tells me early when to rise,
    And bother with dejeuner;
To sally fo...

Hattie Howard

The Master of the Grange.

The type of enterprise is he,
    Of sense and thrift and toil;
Who reckons less on pedigree
    Than rich, productive soil;
And no "blue blood" - if such there be -
    His veins can ever spoil.

And yet on blood his heart is set;
    He has his sacred cow,
Some Alderney or Jersey pet,
    The mistress of the mow;
His favorite pig is (by brevet)
    "Lord Suffolk" - of the slough.

To points of stock is he alive
    As keenest cattle king;
A thoroughbred he deigns to drive,
    But not a mongrel thing;
The very bees within his hive
    Are crossed - without a sting.

If apple-boughs drop pumpkins and
    Tomatoes grow on trees,
It is because his grafting hand
    Has so diverted these
That alien shoots with native ...

Hattie Howard

The Miracle of Spring.

What touch is like the Spring's?
By dainty fingerings
    Such rare delight to give,
    'Tis luxury to live
Amid florescent things.

Through weary months of snow
When Boreas swept low,
    How many an anxious hour
    We watched one little flower,
And tried to make it grow;

And thrilled with ecstasy
When, half distrustfully,
    A timid bud appeared,
    A tender scion reared
In window greenery.

But lo! Spring's wealth of bloom
And richness of perfume
    Comes as by miracle;
    Then why not possible
Within a curtained room?

Ah, no! that everywhere
The earth is passing fair,
    And strange new life hath caught,
    Is but the marvel wrought
By sunlight, rain, and air.

Hattie Howard

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

The Salt of the Earth.

The salt of the earth - what a meaningful phrase
From the lips of the Saviour, and one that conveys
A sense of the need of a substance saline
This pestilent sphere to refresh and refine,
And a healthful and happy condition secure
By making it pure as the ocean is pure.

In all the nomenclature known to the race,
In all appellations of people or place,
Was ever a name so befitting, so true
Of those who are seeking the wrong to undo,
With naught of the Pharisee's arrogant air
Their badge of discipleship humbly who wear?

Do beings, forsooth, fashioned out of the mold,
So secretly, strangely, those elements hold
That may be developed in goodness and grace
To shine in demeanor, in form and in face
Till they, by renewal of heavenly birth,
Shall merit...

Hattie Howard

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