Poetry Books

The true story of the life of Michael Drayton might be told to, vindicate the poetic traditions of the olden time. A child-poet wandering in fay-haunted Arden, or listening to the harper that frequented the fireside of Polesworth Hall where the boy was a petted page, later the honoured almoner of the bounty of many patrons, one who "not unworthily," as Tofte said, "beareth the name of the... more...

A CHANNEL PASSAGE 1855Forth from Calais, at dawn of night, when sunset summer on autumn shone,Fared the steamer alert and loud through seas whence only the sun was gone:Soft and sweet as the sky they smiled, and bade man welcome: a dim sweet hourGleamed and whispered in wind and sea, and heaven was fair as a field in flower.Stars fulfilled the desire of the darkling world as with music: the starbright... more...

Many editions of Gray have been published in the last fifty years, some of them very elegant, and some showing considerable editorial labor, but not one, so far as I am aware, critically exact either in text or in notes. No editor since Mathias ( 1814) has given the 2d line of the Elegy as Gray wrote and printed it; while Mathias's mispunctuation of the 123d line has been copied by his successors,... more...

PREFACE This is not like other collections of religious verse; still less is it a hymnal. The present volume is directed to a very specific and wholly practical end, the production of high personal character; and only those poems which have an immediate bearing in this direction have been admitted. We know of no other book published which has followed this special line. There are fine hymnals,... more...

In great King Arthur’s reign, Tom’s history first begun;A farmer’s wife had sigh’d in vain to have a darling son!A fairy listen’d to her call, and granted her the same;But being very small, Tom Thumb she did him name.To please him every means she’d take,And a pudding large did for him make;But in trying to obtain a sip,Into the batter did he slip!The batter in the pot went plump;Tom made the... more...

INTRODUCTION BJÖRNSON AS A LYRIC POET I lived far more than e'er I sang;Thought, ire, and mirth unceasing rang  Around me, where I guested;To be where loud life's battles callFor me was well-nigh more than all  My pen on page arrested. What's true and strong has growing-room,And will perhaps eternal bloom,  Without black ink's salvation,And he will be, who least it... more...

THE FAIRY CHANGELING Dermod O’Byrne of Omah townIn his garden strode up and down;He pulled his beard, and he beat his breast;And this is his trouble and woe confessed: “The good-folk came in the night, and theyHave stolen my bonny wean away;Have put in his place a changeling,A weashy, weakly, wizen thing! “From the speckled hen nine eggs I stole,And lighting a fire of a glowing coal,I fried the... more...

THE SONG OF THE KAZAK Kazak speeds ever toward the North,    Kazak has never heart for rest,Not on the field, nor in the wood,  Nor when in face of danger pressedHis steed the raging stream must breast! Kazak speeds ever toward the North,With him a mighty power brings,To win the honour of his land  Kazak his life unheeding flings—Till fame of him eternal sings! Kazak brought all SiberiaAt... 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...

LET ME SING OF WHAT I KNOWA wild west Coast, a little Town,Where little Folk go up and down,Tides flow and winds blow:Night and Tempest and the Sea,Human Will and Human Fate:What is little, what is great?Howsoe'er the answer be,Let me sing of what I know.Adieu to Belashanny!where I was bred and born;Go where I may, I'll think of you,as sure as night and morn.The kindly spot, the friendly... more...