Poetry Books

THE PECULIAR HISTORY OF THE CHEWING-GUM MAN. WILLIE, an’ Wallie, an’ Huldy Ann,They went an’ built a big CHEWIN’-GUM MAN:It was none o’ your teenty little dots,With pinhole eyes an’ pencil-spots;But this was a terribul big one—well,’T was a’most as high as the Palace Hotel! It took ’em a year to chew the gum!! And Willie he done it all, ’cept someThat Huldy got her ma to chew,By... more...

INTRODUCTION A hope of immortality and a sense of humor distinguish man from the beasts of the field. A single exception may be made, perhaps, of the Laughing Hyena, and, on the other hand, not every one of the human race possesses the power of laughter. For those who do, this volume is intended. And since there can be nothing humorous about an introduction, there can be small need of a lengthy one.... more...

FOREWORD Songs from a far-away world; a cry from another sphere. To those of us who once experienced the still and pitiless cold, a cry terribly suggestive of the horror-charged gloom, of the icy silence as unbroken as that of unfathomable deeps, of the stern and uncompromising individuality of a disturbed and vengeful North. Yet one is also reminded that, even in the Klondyke, in due season the... more...

The Deacon’s Masterpiece Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay,That was built in such a logical wayIt ran a hundred years to a day,And then, of a sudden, it—ah, but stay,I’ll tell you what happened without delay,Scaring the parson into fits,Frightening people out of their wits,—Have you ever heard of that, I say? Seventeen hundred and fifty-five, Georgius Secundus was then... more...

COUPLETS If the grass grow in Janiveer,’Twill be the worse for't all the year. If Janiveer calends be summerly gay,’Twill be wintry weather till the calends of May. Winter thunder, and summer flood,Bode England no good. A bushel of March dust is a thingWorth the ransom of a king. A cold AprilIs the poor man’s fill. A wet Good Friday and Easter DayBrings plenty of grass, but little good hay.... more...

BEARPAWS NATHAN ZEBRATAIL There was once a boy named Nathan Green.He was never rude and never mean.But everyone was scared of him,Nancy, Dennis, Tom and Tim. Nick and Susan, Mike and James,Never let him play their games.He knew why, but didn’t say.His mom said he was born that way. Nathan’s hands aren’t hands at all.They’re bigger than a basketball.They’re covered brown by furry hair,Just... more...

PREFACE. Sæmund, son of Sigfus, the reputed collector of the poems bearing his name, which is sometimes also called the Elder, and the Poetic, Edda, was of a highly distinguished family, being descended in a direct line from King Harald Hildetonn. He was born at Oddi, his paternal dwelling in the south of Iceland, between the years 1054 and 1057, or about 50 years after the establishment by law of the... more...

To M AE C E N A S.   MAECENAS, you, beneath the myrtle shade,  Read o'er what poets sung, and shepherds play'd.  What felt those poets but you feel the same?  Does not your soul possess the sacred flame?  Their noble strains your equal genius shares  In softer language, and diviner airs.    While Homer paints, lo! circumfus'd in air,  Celestial Gods in mortal forms... more...

TO E. FITZGERALD. Old Fitz, who from your suburb grangeWhere once I tarried for a while,Glance at the wheeling Orb of changeAnd greet it with a kindly smile;Whom yet I see, as there you sitBeneath your sheltering garden tree,And watch your doves about you flitAnd plant on shoulder, hand and knee,Or on your head their rosy feet,As if they knew your diet sparesWhatever moved in that full sheetLet down to... more...

INTRODUCTION. There is scarcely an UN-DRAMATIC writer of the Seventeenth Century, whose poems exhibit so many and such gross corruptions as those of the author of LUCASTA. In the present edition, which is the first attempt to present the productions of a celebrated and elegant poet to the admirers of this class of literature in a readable shape, both the text and the pointing have been amended... more...