Showing: 41-50 results of 897

The Twelve-Forty-Five (For Edward J. Wheeler) Within the Jersey City shedThe engine coughs and shakes its head,The smoke, a plume of red and white,Waves madly in the face of night.And now the grave incurious starsGleam on the groaning hurrying cars.Against the kind and awful reignOf darkness, this our angry train,A noisy little rebel, poutsIts brief defiance, flames and shouts —And passes on, and leaves no trace.For darkness holds its... more...

KALIDASA—HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS I Kalidasa probably lived in the fifth century of the Christian era. This date, approximate as it is, must yet be given with considerable hesitation, and is by no means certain. No truly biographical data are preserved about the author, who nevertheless enjoyed a great popularity during his life, and whom the Hindus have ever regarded as the greatest of Sanskrit poets. We are thus confronted with one of... more...

INTRODUCTION. The important influence which German literature has exercised on American culture and literature extends from the early part of the nineteenth century. This influence was, in a measure, a continuation of the interest and activity that had existed in England during the last quarter of the eighteenth century. Prior to 1790, numerous translations from Gellert, Wieland, Klopstock, Lessing, Goethe and Schiller appeared from time to... more...

TRADITIONAL NURSERY SONGS. A diller, a dollar,A ten o'clock scholar,What makes you come so soon?You used to come at ten o'clock,And now you come at noon. A long tailed pig, or a short tailed pig,Or a pig without a tail,A sow pig, or a boar pig,Or a pig with a curly tail. As I was going up Pippen hill,Pippen hill was dirty;There I met a pretty Miss,And she dropt me a curtsey. Little Miss, pretty Miss,Blessings light upon... more...

BABY TORTOISE You know what it is to be born alone,Baby tortoise!The first day to heave your feet little by littlefrom the shell,Not yet awake,And remain lapsed on earth,Not quite alive.A tiny, fragile, half-animate bean.To open your tiny beak-mouth, that looks as ifit would never open,Like some iron door;To lift the upper hawk-beak from the lower baseAnd reach your skinny little neckAnd take your first bite at some dim bit ofherbage,Alone,... more...


by Unknown
TOMMY TATTER. “Oh! Tommy Tatter, Tommy Tatter,Tell me now what is the matter;Tell me, Tommy, do, I pray,What makes you look so sad to-day?”“Oh! Master Peter, Peter Pink,I’ve reason to be sad, I think;Oh! don’t you see my ragged clothes,My naked legs, and naked toes,My head without a hat, to letMy hair be dry in weather wet?Oh! I am cold and hungry, too,I wish I was as rich as you!”   “Oh! Tommy... more...

THREE WOMEN My love is young, so young;Young is her cheek, and her throat,And life is a song to be sungWith love the word for each note. Young is her cheek and her throat;Her eyes have the smile o' May.And love is the word for each noteIn the song of my life to-day. Her eyes have the smile o' May;Her heart is the heart of a dove,And the song of my life to-dayIs love, beautiful love. Her heart is the heart of a dove,Ah, would it but fly to... more...

There is a room upstairs in the old house at Fruitlands in Harvard, Massachusetts, where the visitors pause and look about them with a softening glance and often with visible emotion, as though they felt a sudden nearness to something infinitely intimate and personal. They have come to see the place where Bronson Alcott and the group of transcendentalists cut themselves off from the world in the spring of 1843 and tried to found a New Eden where... more...

THE CONFUSED DAWN. YOUNG MAN  What are the Vision and the CryThat haunt the new Canadian soul?  Dim grandeur spreads we know not whyO'er mountain, forest, tree and knoll,  And murmurs indistinctly fly.—  Some magic moment sure is nigh.O Seer, the curtain roll! SEERThe Vision, mortal, it is this—  Dead mountain, forest, knoll and treeAwaken all endued with bliss,  A native... more...

THE sun withdrew his last pale ray, And clos’d the short and chearless day; Loud blew the wind, and rain and sleet Against the cottage casement beat. The busy housewife trimm’d her fire, And drew the oaken settle nigher, [p6]And welcom’d home her own good man To his clean hearth, his pipe, and can; For Homespun and his bustling wife Were honest folks in humble life, Who liv’d contented with their lot, And... more...