The Greatest Female Poets of All Time

These are the greatest female poets of all time, from around the globe, in one poetry lover's opinion...

Apr 03, 2025

*Gleyre Le Coucher de Sappho* by Marc-Charles-Gabriel Gleyre

THE GREATEST FEMALE POETS OF ALL TIME
by Michael R. Burch

This is my personal ranking of the greatest female poets, or greatest poetesses, of all time. I have not ranked some popular poets, like Maya Angelou and Rupi Kaur, because I haven’t read enough of their work to judge them fairly. If you disagree, please let me know why in the comments.

Sappho of Lesbos

Eros harrows my heart:
wild winds whipping desolate mountains
uprooting oaks.
—Sappho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

She keeps her scents
in a dressing-case.
And her sense?
In some undiscoverable place.
—Sappho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

May the gods prolong the night
—yes, let it last forever!—
as long as you sleep in my sight.
—Sappho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

A short transparent frock?
It's just my luck
your lips were made to mock!
—Sappho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Emily Dickinson

These Strangers
by Emily Dickinson

These Strangers, in a foreign World,
Protection asked of me―
Befriend them, lest Yourself in Heaven
Be found a Refugee―

Come Slowly, Eden
by Emily Dickinson

Come slowly—Eden
Lips unused to thee—
Bashful—sip thy jasmines—
As the fainting bee—

Reaching late his flower,
Round her chamber hums—
Counts his nectars—alights—
And is lost in balms!
Christina Rossetti

When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.
Ono no Komachi was an ancient Japanese poet (circa 850 AD) and a legendary beauty who wrote tanka (also known as waka), the most traditional form of Japanese lyric poetry. Although little is known about her life with any surety, Ono no Komachi continues to speak eloquently through her poetry. Komachi is best known for her recurring themes of autumn rains, wilting flowers and passionate dreams, and for her pensive, melancholic and erotic poems…

If fields of autumn flowers
can shed their blossoms, shameless,
why can’t I also frolic here —
as fearless, wild and blameless?
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I had thought to pluck
the flower of forgetfulness
only to find it
already blossoming in his heart.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Tzu Yeh, an ancient Chinese poet and courtesan.

Tzu Yeh
loose translations/interpretations by Michael R. Burch

I heard my love was going to Yang-chou
So I accompanied him as far as Ch'u-shan.
For just a moment as he held me in his arms
I thought the swirling river ceased flowing and time stood still.

Will I ever hike up my dress for you again?
Will my pillow ever caress your arresting face?

I will wear my robe loose, not bothering with a belt;
I will stand with my unpainted face at the reckless window;
If my petticoat insists on fluttering about, shamelessly,
I'll blame it on the unruly wind!
Li Qingzhao (1084-1151 AD) was a poet and essayist during the Song dynasty. She is generally considered to be one of the greatest Chinese poets. In English she is known as Li Qingzhao, Li Qing Zhao, Li Ching-chao and The Householder of Yi’an.

The Plum Blossoms
Li Qingzhao
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Here nearing autumn's end
I observe my reflection graying at the temples.
Now that the evening wind gathers force,
what shall become of the plum blossoms?

The Songbird
Li Qingzhao
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The migrant songbird on the nearby yew
brings tears to my eyes with her melodious trills;
this fresh downpour reminds me of similar spills:
another spring gone, and still no word from you ...
Anna Akhmatova, a Russian poet.

THE MUSE
by Anna Akhmatova
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My being hangs by a thread tonight
as I await a Muse no human pen can command.
The desires of my heart — youth, liberty, glory —
now depend on the Maid with the flute in her hand.

Look! Now she arrives; she flings back her veil;
I meet her grave eyes — calm, implacable, pitiless.
“Temptress, confess!
Are you the one who gave Dante hell?”

She answers, “Yes.”
Marina Tsvetaeva, a Russian poet.

Excerpt from “Poems for Akhmatova”
by Marina Tsvetaeva
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

You outshine everything, even the sun
at its zenith. The stars are yours!
If only I could sweep like the wind
through some unbarred door,
gratefully, to where you are ...
to hesitantly stammer, suddenly shy,
lowering my eyes before you, my lovely mistress,
petulant, chastened, overcome by tears,
as a child sobs to receive forgiveness ...

I Know The Truth
by Marina Tsvetaeva
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I know the truth—abandon lesser truths!
There's no need for anyone living to struggle!
See? Evening falls, night quickly descends!
So why the useless disputes, generals, poets, lovers?

The wind is calming now; the earth is bathed in dew;
the stars' infernos will soon freeze in the heavens.
And soon we'll sleep together, under the earth,
we who never gave each other a moment's rest above it.
Sylvia Plath

Empty, I echo to the least footfall,
Museum without statues, grand with pillars, porticoes, rotundas.
In my courtyard a fountain leaps and sinks back into itself,
Nun-hearted and blind to the world. Marble lilies
Exhale their pallor like scent.
Enheduanna, the daughter of the famous King Sargon the Great of Akkad, is the first ancient writer whose name remains known today. She appears to be the first named poet in human history, the first known author of prayers and hymns, and the first librarian and anthologist. Enheduanna was an innovator, doing things that had never been done before, as she said herself:

These are my innovations,
O Mighty Queen, Inanna, that I made for You!
What I composed for You by the dark of night,
The cantor will chant by day.
—Enheduanna, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Erinna is widely considered second only to Sappho among the ancient Greek female poets. Little is known about her life; Erinna has been called a contemporary of Sappho and her most gifted student, but she may have lived up to a few hundred years later. This poem, about a portrait of a girl or young woman named Agatharkhis, has been called the earliest Greek ekphrastic epigram (an epigram describing a work of art):

This portrait is the work of sensitive, artistic hands.
See, noble Prometheus, you have human equals!
For if whoever painted this girl had only added a voice,
she would have been Agatharkhis entirely.
—Erinna, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Louise Bogan

Now that I have your face by heart, I look
Less at its features than its darkening frame
Where quince and melon, yellow as young flame,
Lie with quilled dahlias and the shepherd's crook.
Beyond, a garden. There, in insolent ease
The lead and marble figures watch the show
Of yet another summer loath to go
Although the scythes hang in the apple trees.
Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Fukuda Chiyo-ni, a Japanese poet.

Ah butterfly,
what dreams do you ply
with your beautiful wings?
― Fukuda Chiyo-ni, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Because morning glories
hold my well-bucket hostage
I go begging for water
― Fukuda Chiyo-ni, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Fadwa Tuqan, a Palestinian poet known as the Grand Dame of Palestinian poetry. Moshe Dayan, the famous eye-patched Israeli general, said that facing a Fadwa Tuqan poem was like facing 20 commandos.

Enough for Me
by Fadwa Tuqan, a Palestinian poet
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Enough for me to lie in the earth,
to be buried in her,
to sink meltingly into her fecund soil, to vanish ...
only to spring forth like a flower
brightening the play of my countrymen's children.

Enough for me to remain
in my native soil's embrace,
to be as close as a handful of dirt,
a sprig of grass,
a wildflower.
Gwendolyn Brooks

The Bean Eaters
by Gwendolyn Brooks

They eat beans mostly, this old yellow pair.
Dinner is a casual affair.
Plain chipware on a plain and creaking wood.
Tin flatware.

Two who are Mostly Good.
Two who have lived their day,
But keep putting on their clothes
And putting things away.

And remembering…
Remembering, with twinklings and twinges
As they lean over the beans in their rented back room that is full of beads and receipts and dolls and clothes, tobacco crumbs, vases and fringes.
Parveen Shakir was a Pakistani poet who wrote Urdu poetry. She left an impressive legacy despite dying young in an automobile accident.

Picnic
by Parveen Shakir
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My friends laugh elsewhere on the beach
while I sit here, alone, counting the waves,
writing and rewriting your name in the sand …

Confession
by Parveen Shakir
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Your image overwhelmed my vision.
As the long nights passed, I became obsessed with your visage.
Then came the moment when I quietly placed my lips to your picture …

Rain
by Parveen Shakir
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Why shiver alone in the rain, maiden?
Embrace the one in whose warming love your body and mind would be drenched!
There are no rains higher than the rains of Love,
after which the bright rainbows of separation will glow with the mysteries of hues.
Renee Vivien, a British poet who wrote poems in French.

Undine
by Renée Vivien
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Your laughter startles, your caresses rake.
Your cold kisses love the evil they do.
Your eyes—blue lotuses drifting on a lake.
Lilies are less pallid than your face.

You move like water parting.
Your hair falls in rootlike tangles.
Your words like treacherous rapids rise.
Your arms, flexible as reeds, strangle,

Choking me like tubular river reeds.
I shiver in their enlacing embrace.
Drowning without an illuminating moon,
I vanish without a trace,
lost in a nightly swoon.
Edna St. Vincent Millay

First Fig
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—
It gives a lovely light!
Sara Teasdale

Wild Asters
by Sara Teasdale

In the spring I asked the daisies
If his words were true,
And the clever, clear-eyed daisies
Always knew.

Now the fields are brown and barren,
Bitter autumn blows,
And of all the stupid asters
Not one knows.
Kajal Ahmad, a contemporary Kurdish poet.

Mirror
by Kajal Ahmad, a Kurdish poet
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My era's obscuring mirror
shattered
because it magnified the small
and made the great seem insignificant.
Dictators and monsters filled its contours.
Now when I breathe
its jagged shards pierce my heart
and instead of sweat
I exude glass.
Veronica Franco (1546-1591) was a Venetian courtesan who wrote literary-quality poetry and prose. Renaissance Venetian society recognized two very different classes of courtesans: the cortigiana onesta (intellectual courtesans) and the cortigiana di lume (lower-class prostitutes, often streetwalkers). Franco was perhaps the most celebrated cortigiana onesta, or "honest courtesan." Thanks to her fine education and literary talents, she was able to mingle with Venice's elites, befriending and sometimes bedding aristocrats and noblemen, even King Henry III of France, to whom she addressed two sonnets in her second book.

A Courtesan's Love Lyric
by Veronica Franco
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My rewards will be commensurate with your gifts
if only you give me the one that lifts
me laughing ...
Lucille Clifton

To A Dark Moses
by Lucille Clifton

you are the one
i am lit for.
Come with your rod
that twists
and is a serpent.
i am the bush.
i am burning
i am not consumed.

blessing the boats
by Lucille Clifton

(at St. Mary's)

may the tide
that is entering even now
the lip of our understanding
carry you out
beyond the face of fear
may you kiss
the wind then turn from it
certain that it will
love your back may you
open your eyes to water
water waving forever
and may you in your innocence
sail through this to that.
Anne Reeve Aldrich

Servitude
by Anne Reeve Aldrich

The church was dim at vespers.
My eyes were on the Rood.
But yet I felt thee near me,
In every drop of blood.

In helpless, trembling bondage
My soul's weight lies on thee,
O call me not at dead of night,
Lest I should come to thee!
Marianne Moore

Poetry
by Marianne Moore

I too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyond all this fiddle.
Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one discovers that there is in
it after all, a place for the genuine.
Vera Pavlova (1963-) is a leading contemporary Russian poet. Born in Moscow, she is a graduate of the Schnittke College of Music and the Gnessin Academy of Music, where she specialized in music history. Vera has worked as a guide at the Shaliapin Museum in Moscow and has published several essays on music. She began writing poetry at age twenty, after the birth of her first daughter, while she was still at the maternity ward. Vera is the author of twenty collections of poetry, four opera librettos, and the lyrics to two cantatas. Her poetry has appeared in The New Yorker and other major literary publications.

I shattered your heart;
now I limp through the shards
barefoot.
―by Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I test the tightrope,
balancing a child
in each arm.
―by Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Elinor Wylie was "famous during her life almost as much for her ethereal beauty and personality as for her melodious, sensuous poetry."

Cold-Blooded Creatures
by Elinor Wylie

Man, the egregious egoist
(In mystery the twig is bent)
Imagines, by some mental twist,
That he alone is sentient

Of the intolerable load
That on all living creatures lies,
Nor stoops to pity in the toad
The speechless sorrow of his eyes.

He asks no questions of the snake,
Nor plumbs the phosphorescent gloom
Where lidless fishes, broad awake,
Swim staring at a nightmare doom.
Huang E, a Chinese poet.

Sent to My Husband
by Huang E
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The wild geese never fly beyond Hengyang ...
how then can my brocaded words reach Yongchang?
Like wilted willow flowers I am ill-fated indeed;
in that far-off foreign land you feel similar despair.
“Oh, to go home, to go home!” you implore the calendar.
“Oh, if only it would rain, if only it would rain!” I complain to the heavens.
One hears hopeful rumors that you might soon be freed ...
but when will the Golden Cock rise in Yelang?

A star called the Golden Cock was a symbol of amnesty to the ancient Chinese. Yongchang was a hot, humid region of Yunnan to the south of Hengyang, and was presumably too hot and too far to the south for geese to fly there.
Sui Hui (c. 351-394 BC), also known as Su Hui and Lady Su, appears to be the first female Chinese poet of note, along with Tzu Yeh (who appears herein). Sui Hui's "Star Gauge" or "Sphere Map" may be the most impressive poem written in any language to this day, in terms of complexity. "Star Gauge" has been described as a palindrome or "reversible" poem, but it goes far beyond that. According to contemporary sources, the original poem was shuttle-woven on brocade, in a circle, so that it could be read in multiple directions. Due to its shape the poem is also called Xuanji Tu ("Picture of the Turning Sphere"). The poem is now generally placed in a grid or matrix so that the Chinese characters can be read horizontally, vertically and diagonally. The story behind the poem is that Sui Hui's husband, Dou Tao, the governor of Qinzhou, was exiled to the desert. When leaving his wife, Dou swore to remain faithful. However, after arriving at his new post, he took a concubine. Lady Su then composed a circular poem, wove it into a piece of silk embroidery, and sent it to him. Upon receiving the masterwork, he repented. It has been claimed that there are up to 7,940 ways to read the poem. My translation above is just one of many possible readings of a portion of the poem.

Star Gauge
Sui Hui
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

So much lost so far away
on that distant rutted road.

That distant rutted road
wounds me to the heart.

Grief coupled with longing,
so much lost so far away.

Grief coupled with longing
wounds me to the heart.

This house without its master;
the bed curtains shimmer, gossamer veils.

The bed curtains shimmer, gossamer veils,
and you are not here.

Such loneliness! My adorned face
lacks the mirror's clarity.

I see by the mirror's clarity
my Lord is not here. Such loneliness!
A. E. Stallings aka Alicia Stallings
Rhina Espaillat
Janet Kenny, a contemporary Australian poet and former opera singer.
Margaret Atwood
Ann Drysdale
Sulpicia is one of the few female poets of ancient Rome whose work survives, and she is arguably the most notable.

At Last, Love!
by Sulpicia
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

for Carolyn Clark, who put me up to it

It's come at last! Love!
The kind of love that, had it remained veiled,
would have shamed me more than baring my naked soul.
I appealed to Aphrodite in my poems
and she delivered my beloved to me,
placed him snugly, securely against my breast!
The Goddess has kept her promises:
now let my joy be told,
so that it cannot be said no woman enjoys her recompense!
I would not want to entrust my testimony
to tablets, even those signed and sealed!
Let no one read my avowals before my love!
Yet indiscretion has its charms,
while it's boring to conform one’s face to one’s reputation.
May I always be deemed worthy lover to a worthy love!

A signatis tabellis was a letter written on wooden tablets and sealed with sealing-wax.
Otomo no Sakanoue no Iratsume, an ancient Japanese poet (c. 700-750).

To a Daughter More Precious than Gems
by Otomo no Sakanoue no Iratsume
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Heaven's cold dew has fallen
and thus another season arrives.
Oh, my child living so far away,
do you pine for me as I do for you?

I have trusted my jewel to the gem-guard;
so now there's nothing to do, my pillow,
but for the two of us to sleep together!

I cherished you, my darling,
as the Sea God guards his treasury's pearls.
But you are pledged to your husband
(such is the way of the world)
and have been torn from me like a blossom.
The anonymous female scoop who wrote "Wulf and Eadwacer," an Old English/Anglo-Saxon poem noted for its rich ambiguity that was written circa 960-990 AD, if not earlier.

Wulf and Eadwacer
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My clan's curs pursue him like crippled game;
they'll rip him apart if he approaches their pack.
Ungelīc is ūs! (It is otherwise with us!)

Wulf's on one island; I'm on another.
His island's a fortress, fastened by fens. (fastened=secured)
Here, bloodthirsty curs howl for carnage.
They'll rip him apart if he approaches their pack.
Ungelīc is ūs! (It is otherwise with us!)

My hopes pursued Wulf like panting hounds,
but whenever it rained—how I wept!—
the boldest cur clutched me in his paws:
good feelings, to a point, but the end loathsome!

Wulf, O, my Wulf, my ache for you
has made me sick; your seldom-comings
have left me famished, deprived of real meat.

Have you heard, Eadwacer? Watchdog!
A wolf has borne our wretched whelp to the woods.
One can easily sever what never was one:
our song together.
Ethna Carbery, an Irish poet.
Anne Sexton
H. D. (Hilda Doolittle)
Emily Bronte
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Dorothy Parker would rank much higher for humor, probably first.
Wu Tsao aka Wu Zao (1789-1862) was a celebrated lesbian poet whose lyrics were sung throughout China. She was also known as Wu Pinxiang and Yucenzi.

For the Courtesan Ch’ing Lin
by Wu Tsao
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

On the girdle encircling your slender body
jade and coral ornaments tinkle like chimes,
like the tintinnabulations of some celestial being
only recently descended from heaven’s palaces.
Mary Oliver
Adrienne Rich
Kim Addonizio
Agnes Wathall
Felicia Hemans was a child prodigy who had her first book of poems published at age fourteen. She corresponded with Percy Bysshe Shelley, to whom she bore a striking resemblance, and was praised in poetic tributes by William Wordsworth and Walter Savage Landor.

There is in all this cold and hollow world,
no fount of deep, strong, deathless love:
save that within a mother's heart.
―Felicia Dorothea Hemans Browne
Louise Gluck
Huang O (1498-1569) was a Chinese poet.

To the tune of “Soaring Clouds”
by Huang O
translator unknown

You held my lotus blossom
In your lips and played with the
Pistil. We took one piece of
Magic rhinoceros horn
And could not sleep all night long.
All night the cock’s gorgeous crest
Stood erect. All night the bee
Clung trembling to the flower
Stamens. Oh my sweet perfumed
Jewel! I will allow only
My lord to possess my sacred
Lotus pond, and every night
You can make blossom in me
Flowers of fire.
Stevie Nicks
Carole King
Joni Mitchell
Zhai Yongming (1955-) is a contemporary Chinese poet.

Waves
by Zhai Yongming
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The waves manhandle me like a midwife pounding my back relentlessly,
and so the world abuses my body—
accosting me, bewildering me, according me a certain ecstasy ...
Jorie Graham
Guan Daosheng (1262-1319) is an ancient Chinese poet.

Pyre
Guan Daosheng (1262-1319)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

You and I share so much desire:
this love―like a fire—
that ends in a pyre's
charred coffin.
Lin Huiyin (1904-1955), also known as Phyllis Lin and Lin Whei-yin, was a Chinese architect, historian, novelist and poet. The poet Xu Zhimo died in a plane crash in 1931, allegedly flying to meet Lin Huiyin.

The Day after the Rain
Lin Huiyin
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I love the day after the rain
and the meadow's green expanses!
My heart endlessly rises with wind,
gusts with wind ...
away the new-mown grasses and the fallen leaves ...
away the clouds like smoke ...
vanishing like smoke ...
Annie Finch
Phillis Wheatley
Anne Bradstreet
Gertrude Stein

POETS I HAVEN’T READ ENOUGH TO RANK: Maya Angelou, Anyte, Eavan Boland, Callo, Wendy Cope, Corinna, Rita Dove, Carol Ann Duffy, Forough Farrokhzad, Amanda Gorman, Marilyn Hacker, Joy Harjo, Rupi Kaur, Yi Lei, Lynn Lifshin, Ada Limon, Audre Lorde, Moero, Sarojini Naidu, Naomi Shihab Nye, Nossis, Sharon Olds, Kay Ryan, Warsan Shire, Tracy K. Smith, Wisława Szymborska, Xue Tao, Shu Ting, Natasha Trethewey, Diane Wakoski, Alice Walker, Shangguan Wan'er, T’ang Wan, Cai Wenji, Wang Xiaoni, Empress Wu Zetian, Ban Zhao (c. 45-116 AD), Wang Zhaojun (c. 52-15 BC)

UP-AND-COMING FEMALE POETS: Annie Diamond, F. F. Teague, Anais Vionet, RS, Shannon Winestone

Martin Mc Carthy

Apr 3

This is an absolute treasure chest of poems by some of the greatest female poets of all time and a lot of care, thought, and love has gone into the selection and ordering of them for this post - not to mention a thorough knowledge of what has actually been written in multiple languages from ancient times until now. In common with you, Mike, I have a particular fondness for poems and fragments of Sappho, who I believe was the first poet ever to emphasise the importance of feelings and emotions in her work. What a fine little poem this one is, and how modern it sounds thousands of years after it was written! Excellent translation as always.

May the gods prolong the night

—yes, let it last forever!—

as long as you sleep in my sight.

—Sappho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

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Simone Senisin

Wow, thank you. 🙏😊

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