Winifred Welles: An Amazing, Unappreciated Poet.

It was one quiet, normal day when I surfed through my favorite internet author's page, GoodbyeMyHeart on fanfiction.net.
Then, when I read one of her stories, I saw a poem, on the beginning and the end of the story.
And I loved it enough to research more about it.

First, I found that the poet who wrote it is Winifred Welles.
Second, I found that she's barely known.
Third, I found that I love all her poems.

This is the poem I saw, named "Climb".

My shoes fall on the house-top that is so far beneath me.
I have hung my hat forever on the sharp church spire,
Now what shall seem the hill but a moment of surmounting,
The height but a place to dream of something higher!

Wings? Oh not for me, I need no other pinions
Than the beating of my heart within my breast;
Wings are for the dreamers with a bird-like longing,
Whose dreams come home to eventide to nest.

The timid folk beseech me, the wise ones warn me,
They say I shall never grow to stand so high,
But I climb among the hills of clouds and follow vanished lightning,
I shall stand knee-deep in thunder with my head against the sky. 

Tiptoe, at last, upon a pinnacle of sunset,
I shall greet the death-like evening with laughter from afar,
Nor tremble in the darkness nor shun the windy midnight,
For by the evening I shall be a star.

 I memorized the poem.
Everything about it is amazing; starting from the theme, to the words.
In my eyes, it's simply perfect.

Then  I found another one called "Second Growth".

 Men know that the birch-tree always
Will grow where they cut down the pine —
This is the way of the forest,
And the same way shall be mine.

For now that my sorrow lies stricken,
And shadow in me is done,
I, too, shall have years of laughter,
And of dancing in the sun.

And I fell in love with her poems.
It's something about the theme, and for some poems, how she writes about the darker side of things.
For example, "Gesture".

 My arms were always quiet,
Close, and never freed.
I was furled like a banner,
Enfolded like a seed.

I thought, when Love shall strike me,
Each arm will start and spring,
Unloosen like a petal,
And open like a wing.

Oh Love -- my arms are lifted,
But not to sway and toss;
They strain out wide and wounded,
Like arms upon a cross.

Like an avid, internet geek fan I am, I try to research more about her.  
And despite all my attempts, I found nothing more than some of her known  poems, a blog post about her, empty poet-pages on various websites, and completely unrelated posts.
Outrageous.