Edith M. Thomas- forgotten poet

Just a word about edith, my favorite nineteenth century girlfriend. I am relatively sure that you have never heard of her, or read any of her works. Before they cut me off, I used to check out her books from the Brookline Public Library. In almost every case, the last time the books had been checked out was in 1927. Edith died in 1925, after a long and productive life as a poet. During her lifetime she was very well known, but as she was relatively without connections or wealth, she faded quickly from the conciousness of the american public after her death. I came across her by accident, using the power of serendipity, and in a strange way, fell in love with her. I have collected most of her published volumes, and you can read her works in the old Century Magazine if you search her name in the Cornell University online project called the Making of America. The collection of old magazines and journals there could occupy you for days, it does me, and you will get a great first hand impression of what our country was like before the horrible twentieth century took place. Her gentle and sad poetry is an echo of that earlier time. Edith Mathilda Thomas was born in Chatham Township, Ohio, in 1854. Among other things, this made her a seven year old girl at the beginning of the Civil War, just to give you a grip on her time line. Let me quote you one of her most beautiful poems, written in the memory of the garden created by her beloved mother, who raised her alone after her father died when she was just a girl. This is one of the few poems by her which you will find online.

FROST TONIGHT BY EDITH M. THOMAS

APPLE-GREEN west and an orange bar,
And the crystal eye of a lone, one star...
And, "Child, take the shears and cut what you will.
Frost to-night--so clear and dead-still."

Then, I sally forth, half sad, half proud,
And I come to the velvet, imperial crowd,
The wine-red, the gold, the crimson, the pied,
The dahlias that reign by the garden-side.

The dahlias that I might not touch till tonight!
A gleam of the shears in the fading light,
And I gathered them all,--the splendid throng,
And in one great sheaf I bore them along.

In my garden of Life with its all-late flowers,
I heed a Voice in the shrinking hours:
"Frost to-night--so clear and dead-still..."
Half sad, half proud, my arms I fill.

Hope you love her as I do. I'll post more of her in days to come. So that she will not be forgotten. Bye for now.