The ordered interminglingof the real and the dream,—The mill above the river,and the mist above the stream;The life of ceaseless labor,brave with song and cheery call—The radiant skies of evening,with its rainbow o'er us all. An Old Sweetheart of Mine!—Is thisher presence here with me,Or but a vain creation ofa lover's memory? A fair, illusive visionthat would vanish into airDared I even touch the silencewith the whisper of... more...

TEASE I WILL give you all my keys,  You shall be my châtelaine,You shall enter as you please,  As you please shall go again. When I hear you jingling through  All the chambers of my soul,How I sit and laugh at you  In your vain housekeeping rôle. Jealous of the smallest cover,  Angry at the simplest door;Well, you anxious, inquisitive lover,  Are you pleased with what's in... more...

A FOREWORD When the first Miscellany of American Poetry appeared in 1920, innumerable were the questions asked by both readers and reviewers of publishers and contributors alike. The modest note on the jacket appeared to satisfy no one. The volume purported to have no editor, yet a collection without an editor was pronounced preposterous. It was obviously not the organ of a school, yet it did not seem to have been compiled to exploit any... more...

Aladdin poor the wizard found,Who moved from cavern’s mouth a stone;Then bade him go beneath the ground,And pace through unknown realms alone,Till from a niche he bore awayA lamp—extinguishing its ray.   The youth obedient instant hied,When fruits luxuriant met his sight;The white were pearls in snowy pride,Diamonds the clear—of brilliant light;For red the rubies dazzling blazed,Whereof Aladdin gathered store;Then on the... more...

My readers, would you like to go abroad, for just an hour or so, With little friends of different ages? Look at them in these pictured pages— Brothers and sisters you can see,—all children of one family. Their father, too, you here will find, and good Miss Earle, their teacher kind. Three years ago their Mother died, and ever since has Father tried To give his children in the Spring some tour, or... more...

ABRAHAM LINCOLN: Born, Feb. 12th, 1809. Assassinated, Good-Friday, April 14th, 1865. "Confusion now hath made his masterpiece!Most sacrilegious murder hath broke opeThe Lord's anointed temple, and stole thenceThe life o' the building. * * * * * * * * * * "Approach the chamber, and destroy your sightWith a new Gorgon:—Do not bid me speak;See, and then speak yourselves.—Awake! awake!Ring the alarum-bell:—Murder! and treason!... more...

1. THE ARGUMENT OF HIS BOOK I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers,Of April, May, of June, and July-flowers;I sing of May-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes,Of bride-grooms, brides, and of their bridal-cakes.I write of Youth, of Love;—and have accessBy these, to sing of cleanly wantonness;I sing of dews, of rains, and, piece by piece,Of balm, of oil, of spice, and ambergris.I sing of times trans-shifting; and I writeHow roses... more...

THE REG'LAR LARK The Reg'lar Lark's a very gay old Bird;At sunrise often may his voice be heardAs jauntily he wends his homeward way,And trills a fresh and merry roundelay.And some old, wise philosopher has said:Rise with a lark, and with a lark to bed.   THE HUMBUG Although a learned EntomologistMay doubt if Humbugs really do exist,Yet each of us, I'm sure, can truly sayWe've seen a number of them in our day.But are they... more...

THE MAN IN THE MOON. THE Man in the MoonCame tumbling down,And asked his way to Norwich;   They told him south,And he burnt his mouthWith eating cold pease-porridge.   TO MARKET, TO MARKET. TO market, to market, to buy a fat Pig;Home again, home again, dancing a jig.   To market, to market, to buy a fat Hog;Home again, home again, jiggety-jog.       THERE WAS A MAN. There was a man, and... more...

INTRODUCTION On a topographical map of Literature Nonsense would be represented by a small and sparsely settled country, neglected by the average tourist, but affording keen delight to the few enlightened travellers who sojourn within its borders. It is a field which has been neglected by anthologists and essayists; one of its few serious recognitions being in a certain "Treatise of Figurative Language," which says: "Nonsense; shall we dignify... more...