Elizabeth Oakes Smith

American poet (1806-1893)

Elizabeth Oakes Smith (née Prince; August 12, 1806 – November 16, 1893) was an American poet, fiction writer, editor, lecturer, and women's rights activist whose career spanned six decades, from the 1830s to the 1880s.

The measure of capacity is the measure of sphere for either man or woman.
The tender violet bent in smiles
   To elves that sported nigh,
Tossing the drops of fragrant dew
   To scent the evening sky.

Quotes

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  • 'Tis the summer prime, when the noiseless air
       In perfumed chalice lies,
    And the bee goes by with a lazy hum
       Beneath the sleeping skies.
  • 'Tis rushing now adown the spout
       And gushing out below,
    Half frantic in its joyousness,
       And wild in eager flow.
    The earth is dried and parch’d with heat,
       And it hath longed to be
    Released from out the selfish cloud,
       To cool the thirsty tree.
    • "The Water", st. 2
  • How beautiful the water is!
       To me 'tis wondrous fair—
    No spot can ever lonely be
       If water sparkle there—
    It hath a thousand tongues of mirth,
       Of grandeur, or delight;
    And every heart is gladder made
       When water greets the sight.
  •          Faith is the subtle chain,
    Which binds us to the Infinite: the voice
    Of a deep life within, that will remain
    Until we crowd it thence.
  • White-winged angels meet the child
       On the vestibule of life,
    And they offer to his lips
       All that cup of mingled strife.
    • "Ministering Spirits", st. 1; Poetical Writings, 2nd ed. (New York, 1846), p. 167
  • My friends, do we realize for what purpose we are convened? Do we fully understand that we aim at nothing less than an entire subversion of the present order of society, a dissolution of the whole existing compact? Do we see that it is not an error of today, nor of yesterday against which we are lifting up the voice of dissent but that it is against the ... error of all times — error borne onward from the footprints of the first pair ejected from Paradise, down to our own time? ... Bitterness is the child of wrong; if any of our number has become embittered ... it is because social wrong has so penetrated to the inner life that we are crucified today.
  • How few women have any history after the age of thirty!
  • The tender violet bent in smiles
       To elves that sported nigh,
    Tossing the drops of fragrant dew
       To scent the evening sky.
    • "Field Elves"; reported in Hoyt's, 4th ed. (1882), p. 160
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