Poetry Books

INTRODUCTION Upon being asked by a Reader whether the verses contained in this book were true.   And is it True? It is not True.And if it were it wouldn’t do,For people such as me and youWho pretty nearly all day longAre doing something rather wrong.Because if things were really so,You would have perished long ago,And I would not have lived to writeThe noble lines that meet your sight,Nor B. T. B.... more...

PART THE FIRST. It is an ancient Mariner,And he stoppeth one of three."By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,Now wherefore stopp'st thou me? "The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,And I am next of kin;The guests are met, the feast is set:May'st hear the merry din." He holds him with his skinny hand,"There was a ship," quoth he."Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard... more...

Walter Scott was born in Edinburgh, August 15, 1771, of an ancient Scotch clan numbering in its time many a hard rider and good fighter, and more than one of these petty chieftains, half-shepherd and half-robber, who made good the winter inroads into their stock of beeves by spring forays and cattle drives across the English Border. Scott's great-grandfather was the famous "Beardie" of... more...

THE TAILOR AND THE CROWA carrion crow sat on an oak,Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi ding do, Watching a tailor shape his cloak; Sing heigh ho, the carrion crow, Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi ding do. Wife, bring me my old bent bow,Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi ding do. That I may shoot yon carrion crow; Sing heigh ho, the carrion crow, Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi ding do. The tailor he... more...

CANTO I His glory, by whose might all things are mov'd,Pierces the universe, and in one partSheds more resplendence, elsewhere less.  In heav'n,That largeliest of his light partakes, was I,Witness of things, which to relate againSurpasseth power of him who comes from thence;For that, so near approaching its desireOur intellect is to such depth absorb'd,That memory cannot follow.... more...

THE AGES. I. When to the common rest that crowns our days,Called in the noon of life, the good man goes,Or full of years, and ripe in wisdom, laysHis silver temples in their last repose;When, o'er the buds of youth, the death-wind blows,And blights the fairest; when our bitter tearsStream, as the eyes of those that love us close,We think on what they were, with many fearsLest goodness die with... more...

SERVANT. Have mercy upon your servant, my queen! QUEEN. The assembly is over and my servants are all gone. Whydo you come at this late hour? SERVANT. When you have finished with others, that is my time.I come to ask what remains for your last servant to do. QUEEN. What can you expect when it is too late? SERVANT. Make me the gardener of your flower garden. QUEEN. What folly is this? SERVANT. I will... more...

THE NAME OF MY BOOK. The reader, perhaps, as he turns over the first pages of this volume, is puzzled, right at the outset, with the meaning of my title, The Diving Bell. It is plain enough to Uncle Frank, and possibly it is to you; but it may not be; so I will tell you what a diving bell is, and then, probably, you can guess the reason why I have given this name to the following pages. If you will... more...

PETER PATTER told them to me,All the little rimes,Whispered them among the bushesHalf a hundred times. Peter lives upon a mountainPretty near the sun,Knows the bears and birds and rabbitsNearly every one;Has a home among the alders,Bed of cedar bark,Walks alone beneath the pine treesEven when it’s dark. Squirrels tell him everythingThat happens in the trees,Cricket in the gander-grassSings of all he... more...

ANNIE'S GARDEN.   In little Annie's garden    Grew all sorts of posies;  There were pinks, and mignonette,    And tulips, and roses.   Sweet peas, and morning glories,    A bed of violets blue,  And marigolds, and asters,    In Annie's garden grew.   There the bees went for honey,    And the humming-birds too;  And there the pretty butterflies    And... more...