Poetry Books

AN OLD HEART How young I am!  Ah! heaven, this curse of youth   Doth mock me from my mirror with great eyes,And pulsing veins repeat the unwelcome truth,   That I must live, though hope within me dies. So young, and yet I have had all of life.   Why, men have lived to see a hundred years,Who have not known the rapture, joy, and strife   Of my brief youth, its passion and its tears. Oh! what... more...

HUSH-a-bye, baby, on the tree top,When the wind blows, the cradle will rock;When the bough bends, the cradle will fall.Down will come baby, cradle, and all. CURRAHOO, curr dhoo,Love me, and I'll love you![] WHEN the days begin to lengthenThe cold begins to strengthen. CANTALOUPES! Cantaloupes! What is the price?Eight for a dollar, and all very nice. PAT-A-CAKE, pat-a-cake, baker's man!Make me... more...

FRANCIS THOMPSON Threatened Tears Do not loose those rains thy wetEyes, my Fair, unsurely threat;Do not, Sweet, do not so;Thou canst not have a single woe,But this sad and doubtful weatlierOvercasts us both together.In the aspect of those known eyesMy soul's a captain weatherwise.Ah me! what presages it seesIn those watery Hyades. Arab Love Song The hunchèd camels of the night*Trouble the... more...

Medusa How did Medusa do her hair?The question fills me with despair.It must have caused her sore distressThat head of curling snakes to dress.Whenever after endless toilShe coaxed it finally to coil,The music of a Passing BandWould cause each separate hair to standOn end and sway and writhe and spit,—She couldn't "do a thing with it."And, being woman and awareOf such disaster to her... more...

GENERAL INVITATION.Jenny consented; the day was named,The joyful news the Cock proclaimed.Together came the Rook and Lark,The one as Parson, t'other Clerk.THE WEDDING.The Goldfinch gave the bride away,Who promis'd always to obey.The feathery tenants of the airTowards the Feast each gave a share.THE DINNER.The jovial party din'd together,And fine and pleasant was the weather.The... more...

WHEN chapman billies leave the street,And drouthy neebors, neebors meet,As market-days are wearing late,An' folk begin to tak the gate;While we sit bousing at the nappy,An' getting fou and unco happy,We think na on the lang Scots miles,The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles,That lie between us and our hame,Whar sits our sulky sullen dame,Gathering her brows like gathering storm,Nursing her... more...

This is a book of stories. For that reason I have excluded all purely lyrical poems. But the word "stories" has been stretched to its fullest application. It includes both narrative poems, properly so called; tales divided into scenes; and a few pieces of less obvious story-telling import in which one might say that the dramatis personae are air, clouds, trees, houses, streets, and such like... more...

PREFACE. A Ninth Edition of the following Poems having been called for by the public, the author is induced to say a few words, particularly concerning those which, under the name of Sonnets, describe his personal feelings. They can be considered in no other light than as exhibiting occasional reflections which naturally arose in his mind, chiefly during various excursions, undertaken to relieve, at... more...

IN MEMORIAM: PAULINE JOHNSON I cannot say how deeply it touched me to learn that Pauline Johnson expressed a wish on her death-bed that I, living here in the mother country all these miles away, should write something about her. I was not altogether surprised, however, for her letters to me had long ago shed a golden light upon her peculiar character. She had made herself believe, quite erroneously,... more...

INTRODUCTION When a poem is read aloud it is easy to realize that poetry is closely related to music. Like music it awakens vague, mysterious feelings which cannot be expressed in ordinary speech; and the person who fails to catch the subtle melody of a poem gets but little from it even though he understands perfectly the meaning of the words. To illustrate this, put into commonplace prose a passage of... more...