Poetry Books

I I thought once how Theocritus had sungOf the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,Who each one in a gracious hand appearsTo bear a gift for mortals, old or young:And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,Those of my own life, who by turns had flungA shadow across me.  Straightway I was ’ware,So weeping, how a... more...

I.Though here fair blooms the rose and the woodbine waves on high,And oak and elm and bracken frond enrich the rolling lea,And winds as if from Arcady breathe joy as they go by,Yet I yearn and I pine for my North Countrie.I leave the drowsing south and in dreams I northward fly,And walk the stretching moors that fringe the ever-calling sea;And am gladdened as the gales that are so bitter-sweet go... more...

ADAM MICKIEWICZ (1798-1855) The last of the eighteenth century was an important period for Russia and Poland, not only politically, but in letters and art. It marked the birth of statesmen, patriots, poets and writers. It was into a Poland of great names and greater activities that Adam Mickiewicz was born in 1798, as son of an impoverished family of the old nobility. Three years before, the third and... more...

Prologue As of old Phoenician men, to the Tin Isles sailingStraight against the sunset and the edges of the earth,Chaunted loud above the storm and the strange sea's wailing,Legends of their people and the land that gave them birth—Sang aloud to Baal-Peor, sang unto the horned maiden,Sang how they should come again with the Brethon treasure laden,Sang of all the pride and glory of their hardy... more...

I. THE VENDER OF VIOLETS."Violets!Violets! Violets!"This was the cry I heardAs I passed through the street of a city;And quickly my heart was stirredTo an incomprehensible pity,At the undertone of the cry;For it seemed like the voice of oneWho was stricken, and all undone,Who was only longing to die."Violets! Violets! Violets!"The voice came nearer still."Surely," I said,... more...

I—THE VAGABOND(To an air of Schubert) Give to me the life I love,   Let the lave go by me,Give the jolly heaven above   And the byway nigh me.Bed in the bush with stars to see,   Bread I dip in the river—There’s the life for a man like me,   There’s the life for ever. Let the blow fall soon or late,   Let what will be o’er me;Give the face of earth around   And the road before... more...

THE QUAKER OF THE OLDEN TIME. THE Quaker of the olden time!How calm and firm and true,Unspotted by its wrong and crime,He walked the dark earth through.The lust of power, the love of gain,The thousand lures of sinAround him, had no power to stainThe purity within. With that deep insight which detectsAll great things in the small,And knows how each man's life affectsThe spiritual life of all,He... more...

SONGS OF TWO I   Last night I dreamed this dream: That I was dead;      And as I slept, forgot of man and God,      That other dreamless sleep of rest,      I heard a footstep on the sod,      As of one passing overhead,—  And lo, thou, Dear, didst touch me on the breast,      Saying: "What shall I write against thy name          That men should... more...

Just Folks We're queer folks here.We'll talk about the weather,The good times we have had together,The good times near,The roses buddin', an' the beesOnce more upon their nectar sprees;The scarlet fever scare, an' whoCame mighty near not pullin' through,An' who had light attacks, an' allThe things that int'rest, big or small;But here you'll never hear... more...

In the Factory Oh, here in the shop the machines roar so wildly,That oft, unaware that I am, or have been,I sink and am lost in the terrible tumult;And void is my soul… I am but a machine.I work and I work and I work, never ceasing;Create and create things from morning till e'en;For what?—and for whom—Oh, I know not! Oh, ask not!Who ever has heard of a conscious machine? No, here is no... more...