Poetry Books

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...

UTUMNAL skies were fair, and blue, And soft and mild the morning breeze; With sails unfurled—a joyous crew— We sought Pacific's tranquil seas, And entered there, a gate that stands, Unbarred to ships of many lands. And as we passed its portal grand, Our hearts were glad, our spirits light, And we rejoiced, and eager scanned The scenes that came before our sight. Near Alcatraz, an island bold,... more...

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...

MAZELLI Canto I. I. "Stay, traveller, stay thy weary steed,The sultry hour of noon is near,Of rest thy way-worn limbs have need,Stay, then, and, taste its sweetness here.The mountain path which thou hast spedIs steep, and difficult to tread,And many a farther step 'twill cost,Ere thou wilt find another host;But if thou scorn'st not humble fare,Such as the pilgrim loves to share,—Not... more...

  That model Miss, Jemima Jane  Was very good, and very plain;  Her parents noticed with delight  How neat she was, and how polite.  Sometimes her young companions came  And begged she'd join them in a game.  But it was never any use;  She'd make some civil, quiet excuse,  And, "Dear Mama," she'd whisp'ring say,  "I love plain sewing more than... more...

DEDICATORY POEM.   Dear Carrie, were we truly wise,  And could discern with finer eyes,    And half-inspired sense,    The ways of Providence:   Could we but know the hidden things  That brood beneath the Future's wings,    Hermetically sealed,    But soon to be revealed:   Would we, more blest than we are now,  In due submission learn to bow,—    Receiving on our... more...

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH Although Bret Harte's name is identified with Californian life, it was not till he was fifteen that the author of "Plain Language from Truthful James" saw the country of his adoption. Francis Bret Harte, to give the full name which he carried till he became famous, was born at Albany, New York, August 25, 1839. He went with his widowed mother to California in 1854, and... more...

RHYMES OF A ROLLING STONE Prelude I sing no idle songs of dalliance days,No dreams Elysian inspire my rhyming;I have no Celia to enchant my lays,No pipes of Pan have set my heart to chiming.I am no wordsmith dripping gems divineInto the golden chalice of a sonnet;If love songs witch you, close this book of mine,Waste no time on it. Yet bring I to my work an eager joy,A lusty love of life and all things... more...

CELIA Cherry, cherry, glowing on the hearth, bright red cherry…. When you try to pick up cherry Celia's shriek sticks in you like a pin. : : When God throws hailstones you cuddle in Celia's shawl and press your feet on her belly high up like a stool. When Celia makes umbrella of her hand. Rain falls through big pink spokes of her fingers. When wind blows Celia's gown up off her legs... 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...