TO MY MOTHER Mother, to whose valiant will,Battling long ago,What the heaping years fulfil,Light and song, I owe;Send my little book a-field,Fronting praise or blameWith the shining flag and shieldOf your name. THE SWEETNESS OF LIFE It fell on a day I was happy,And the winds, the concave sky,The flowers and the beasts in the meadowSeemed happy even as I;And I stretched my hands to the meadow,To the bird, the beast, the tree:"Why are ye... more...

Barter   Life has loveliness to sell,   All beautiful and splendid things,  Blue waves whitened on a cliff,   Soaring fire that sways and sings,  And children's faces looking up  Holding wonder like a cup.   Life has loveliness to sell,   Music like a curve of gold,  Scent of pine trees in the rain,   Eyes that love you, arms... more...

THE DONG WITH A LUMINOUS NOSE. When awful darkness and silence reignOver the great Gromboolian plain,Through the long, long wintry nights; When the angry breakers roarAs they beat on the rocky shore;When Storm-clouds brood on the towering heights Of the Hills of the Chankly Bore,— Then, through the vast and gloomy darkThere moves what seems a fiery spark,—A lonely spark with silvery rays Piercing the coal-black night,— A... more...

I NEVER SAW THAT LAND BEFORE I NEVER saw that land before,And now can never see it again;Yet, as if by acquaintance hoarEndeared, by gladness and by pain,Great was the affection that I bore To the valley and the river small,The cattle, the grass, the bare ash trees,The chickens from the farmsteads, allElm-hidden, and the tributariesDescending at equal interval; The blackthorns down along the brookWith wounds yellow as crocusesWhere yesterday... more...

Just Folks We're queer folks here.We'll talk about the weather,The good times we have had together,The good times near,The roses buddin', an' the beesOnce more upon their nectar sprees;The scarlet fever scare, an' whoCame mighty near not pullin' through,An' who had light attacks, an' allThe things that int'rest, big or small;But here you'll never hear of sinnin'Or any scandal that's beginnin'.We've got too many other laborsTo scatter tales that... more...

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WHO'S THERE? Nowell, nowell, nowell, nowell,Who ys there that syngith so, nowell, nowell, nowell? I am here, syre Christmasse!Well come, my lord syre Christmasse,Welcome to us all, bothe more and lesse,Come nere, nowell! Dieu vous garde, beau syre, tydinges you bryng:A mayd hath born a chylde full yong,The weche causeth yew for to syng,Nowell! Criste is now born of a pure mayde,In an oxe stalle he ys layde,Wher'for syng we alle atte... more...

THE THREE KINGS OF COLOGNE. A CHRISTMAS TALE FROM AN OLD ENGLISH CHRONICLE. (Written by John of Hildesheim in the Fourteenth Century.) Here followeth the manner and form of seeking and offering; and also of the burying and translations of the three Holy and Worshipful Kings of Cologne: Jaspar, Melchior, and Balthazar. Now when the Children of Israel were gone out of Egypt and had won and made subject to them Jerusalem and all the land lying... more...

The Hill People. Their steps are light and exceedingly fleet:They pass me by in the hurrying street. I pause to look at a window’s show—From the white-flecked alp the hill winds blow— And all at once it has passed me there,Lilting back to the land of the air, Back to the land of the great white stills:Is it only the wind that comes down from the hills? ——— Was it Pikes Peak Pixie or Cheyenne SheeThat... more...

In Flanders Fields In Flanders fields the poppies blowBetween the crosses, row on row,That mark our place; and in the skyThe larks, still bravely singing, flyScarce heard amid the guns below.We are the Dead. Short days agoWe lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,Loved and were loved, and now we lie,In Flanders fields.Take up our quarrel with the foe:To you from failing hands we throwThe torch; be yours to hold it high.If ye break faith with us who... more...