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| Poems by Women |
The Bitter Herb
O bitter herb, Forgetfulness,
I search for you in
vain;
You are the only growing thing
Can take away my pain.
When I was young, this bitter herb
Grew wild on every hill;
I should
have plucked a store of it,
And kept it by me still.
I hunt through all the meadows
Where once I wandered free,
But the rare
herb, Forgetfulness,
It hides away from me.
O bitter herb, Forgetfulness,
Where is your drowsy breath?
Oh, can it
be your seed has blown
Far as the Vales of Death?
From: Rittenhouse, Jessie B.
The Second Book of Modern Verse (1919).
This poet:
[Author index]
This collection assembled by Jone Johnson Lewis.
Collection © 1999-2002 Jone Johnson Lewis.
Citing poems from these pages:
| Author. "Poem Title." Women's History: Poems by Women. Jone Johnson Lewis, editor. URL: (date of logon) |
