Edmund Clarence Stedman
Edmund Clarence Stedman
Edmund Clarence Stedmanwas an American poet, critic, essayist, banker, and scientist...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth8 October 1833
CountryUnited States of America
light gold hoboken
No, he was no such charlatan-- Count de Hoboken Flash-in-the-Pan-- Full of gasconade and bravado, But a regular, rich Don Rataplane, Santa Claus de la Muscavado, Senor Grandissimo Bastinado! His was the rental of half Havana And all Matanzas; and Santa Ana, Rich as he was, could hardly hold A candle to light the mines of gold Our Cuban owned.
strong future flames
Is there a rarer being, Is there a fairer sphere Where the strong are not unseeing, And the harvests are not sere; Where, ere the seasons dwindle They yield their due return; Where the lamps of knowledge kindle While the flames of youth still burn?
hands looks mould
Look on this cast, and know the hand That bore a nation in its hold; From this mute witness understand What Lincoln was - how large of mould.
blow wind may
Let the winds blow! a fiercer gale Is wild within me! what may quell That sullen tempest? I must sail Whither, O whither, who can tell!
poet accepting critics
A critic must accept what is best in a poet, and thus become his best encourager.
summer song fall
The weary August days are long; The locusts sing a plaintive song, The cattle miss their master's call When they see the sunset shadows fall.
strong drawing gold
But every human path leads on to God; He holds a myriad finer threads than gold, And strong as holy wishes, drawing us With delicate tension upward to Himself.
art excellence chiefs
Poetry is an art, and chief of the fine art; the easiest to dabble in, the hardest in which to reach true excellence.
military honor birthright
Worth, courage, honor, these indeed Your sustenance and birthright are.
fashion science accounts
Science has but one fashion-to lose nothing once gained.
heart fire snow
Do your heart and head keep pace? When does hoary Love expire, When do frosts put out the fire? Can its embers burn below All that chill December snow?
song spring color
Whither away, Bluebird, Whither away? The blast is chill, yet in the upper sky Thou still canst find the color of thy wing, The hue of May. Warbler, why speed, thy southern flight? ah, why, Thou, too, whose song first told us of the Spring? Whither away?
fate sea rude
Alas, by what rude fate Our lives, like ships at sea, an instant meet, Then part forever on their courses fleet.
special needs genius
Genius does not need a special language; it uses newly whatever tongue it finds.