Marjorie Pickthall Poems

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Marjorie Pickthall
Born near London at Gunnersbury on September 14, 1883, Marjorie Pickthall emigrated to Canada and settled in Toronto in 1889. After receiving her education at Bishop Strachan School for Girls, she worked in the library of Victoria College in the University of Toronto, where she helped compile a bibliography of Canadian poetry. Pickthall first published stories and poems in 1898 in the Toronto Globe and then very widely elsewhere. Her literary output, which includes several hundred short stories and five novels, nearly halted at her mother's death in 1910, but Pickthall returned to England from 1912 to 1920 and recovered her will to write. She lived both at a cottage at Bowerchalke, near Salisbury, and in London. During this period she published two volumes of poetry: The Drift of Pinions (1913) and The Map of Poor Souls (1916). Her war-time work overseas included farming, training as an ambulance driver, and working in the South Kensington Meteorological Office library. Late in this period she wrote the following in a letter dated December 27, 1919 (Lorne Pierce, Marjorie Pickthall: A Book of Remembrance [Toronto: Ryerson Press, 1925]: 104): To me the trying part is being a woman at all. I've come to the ultimate conclusion that I'm a misfit of the worst kind, in spite of a superficial femininity -- emotion with a foreknowledge of impermanence, a daring mind with only the tongue as an outlet, a greed for experience plus a slavery to convention -- what the deuce are you to make of that? -- as a woman? As a man, you could go ahead and stir things up fine. Homesick, she sailed back to Canada in 1920 and, after a brief time with her father in Toronto, settled in a cottage on Vancouver Island. She died unexpectedly from an embolus in the spring of 1922 following an operation in a Vancouver General Hospital for a recurrent ailment. She was interred in St. James' Cemetery in Toronto. After her death, three volumes of her poetry came out: The Woodcarver's Wife and Other Poems (1922), Little Songs (1925), and The Naiad and Five Other Poems (1931). Her father compiled and published her Collected Poems in 1925 and again, definitively, in 1936. Victoria College holds a major collection of her manuscripts. Biographical information Given name: Marjorie Family name: Pickthall Birth date: 1883 Death date: 1922 Nationality: Canadian Literary period: modern Cause of death: embolus Buried at: St. James Cemetery, Toronto

the french revolution

Thee the ancientest peer, Duke of Burgundy, rose from the monarch's right hand, re... [read poem]
the book of thel

Does the Eagle know what is in the pit?
Or wilt thou go ask the... [read poem]
adam and eve
When the first dark had fallen around them
And the leaves were weary of praise,
In the cle... [read poem]
the little black boy
My mother bore me in the southern wild,
And I am black, but O! my soul is white;
White as ... [read poem]
the tyger
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
C... [read poem]
the smile
There is a smile of love,
And there is a smile of deceit,
And there is a smile of smiles... [read poem]
the marriage of heaven and hell
In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.
Drive your cart and your plow over the b... [read poem]
the lamb
Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Gave thee life, and bid th... [read poem]
the chimney sweeper: a little black thing among the snow
A little black thing among the snow,
Crying "weep! 'weep!" in notes of woe!
"Where are thy... [read poem]
i saw a chapel
I saw a chapel all of gold
That none did dare to enter in,
And many weeping stood without,... [read poem]
the grey monk
"I die, I die!" the Mother said,
"My children die for lack of bread.
What more has the mer... [read poem]
the little vagabond
Dear mother, dear mother, the church is cold,
But the ale-house is healthy and pleasant and war... [read poem]
never seek to tell thy love
Never seek to tell thy love
Love that never told can be;
For the gentle wind does move... [read poem]
song: how sweet i roam'd from field to field
How sweet I roam'd from field to field,
And tasted all the summer's pride,
'Till I t... [read poem]
a poison tree
I was angry with my friend.
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe.... [read poem]
i heard an angel
I heard an Angel singing
When the day was springing,
"Mercy, Pity, Peace
Is the world... [read poem]
infant joy
"I have no name:
I am but two days old."
What shall I call thee?
"I happy am,
Jo... [read poem]
introduction to the songs of innocence
Piping down the valleys wild,
Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,... [read poem]
the sick rose
O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling sto... [read poem]
silent, silent night
Silent, silent Night
Quench the holy light
Of thy torches bright.

For possess'... [read poem]
the garden of love
I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen:
A Chapel was built in the mid... [read poem]
a divine image
Cruelty has a human heart
And jealousy a human face,
Terror the human form divine,
An... [read poem]
infant sorrow
My mother groan'd! my father wept.
Into the dangerous world I leapt:
Helpless, naked, pipi... [read poem]
milton: but in the wine-presses the human grapes sing not nor dance
But in the Wine-presses the human grapes sing not nor dance:
They howl and writhe in shoals of ... [read poem]
jerusalem: england! awake! awake! awake!
England! awake! awake! awake!
Jerusalem thy Sister calls!
Why wilt thou sleep the sl... [read poem]
holy thursday: is this a holy thing to see
Is this a holy thing to see
In a rich and fruitful land,
Babes reduc'd to misery,
Fed... [read poem]
earth's answer
Earth rais'd up her head
From the darkness dread and drear.
Her light fled,
Stony dre... [read poem]
holy thursday: 'twas on a holy thursday, their innocent faces clean
'Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean,
The children walking two and two, in red ... [read poem]
the chimney sweeper: when my mother died i was very young
When my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue
Could scar... [read poem]
the four zoas
"What is the price of Experience? do men buy it for a song?
Or wisdom for a dance in the street... [read poem]

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