Poetry Books

FLYING KITESA blustering windy day's just rightFor boys who want to fly a kite;And it affords the greatest joyTo make and use the pretty toy.But Aged Duffers, do not tryA large-sized paper kite to fly;You could not manage tail or string,And ten to one you'd spoil the thing.A morning full of happiness any boy may findBy sailing boats upon the lake, if he is so inclined;The wind it drives them... more...

THE DEFEAT OF YOUTH I. UNDER THE TREES. here had been phantoms, pale-remembered shapesOf this and this occasion, sisterlyIn their resemblances, each effigyCrowned with the same bright hair above the nape'sWhite rounded firmness, and each body alertWith such swift loveliness, that very restSeemed a poised movement: ... phantoms that impressedBut a faint influence and could bless or hurtNo more than... more...

Old Ragnor's Cliffs. Like some horrific Gorgon's mammoth skull,Thrown up by Titan spade,From out those cavesWhere saurians with mastodons had played,Before the sea had made their homes their graves,And scared their ghosts with screech of sea-born mew and gull, Is Ragnor's beetling brow, the seaman's dread,That scowls by night and dayOn that same seaAnd with earth-shaking sound is... more...

“Arms and the man” was Virgil’s strain; But we propose in lighter vein To browse a crop from pastures (Green’s) Of England’s Evolution scenes. Who would from facts prognosticate The future progress of this State, Must own the chiefest fact to be Her escalator is the Sea.   HISTORIANS erudite and sage, When writing of the past stone age, Tell us man once was clothed in skins And tattooed... more...

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...

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...

ADVERTISEMENT. My Booksellers inform’d me, lately, that several inquiries had been made for ,—but that every copy had been sold;—they had been out of print these two years.—“Then publish them again,” said I, boldly,—(I print at my own risk)—and with an air of triumph. Messrs. Cadell and Davies advise’d me to make additions.—“The is, really, too short,” said Messrs. Cadell and... more...

The Twelve-Forty-Five (For Edward J. Wheeler) Within the Jersey City shedThe engine coughs and shakes its head,The smoke, a plume of red and white,Waves madly in the face of night.And now the grave incurious starsGleam on the groaning hurrying cars.Against the kind and awful reignOf darkness, this our angry train,A noisy little rebel, poutsIts brief defiance, flames and shouts —And passes on, and... more...

MARSK STIG’S DAUGHTERS Two daughters fair the Marshal had,O grievous was their fate and sad. The eldest she took her sister’s handAnd away they went to Sweden’s land. Home from the Stevn King Byrgye rode;Up to him Marsk Stig’s daughters trode. “What women ye who beset my gate?What brings ye hither at eve so late?” “Daughters of Stig, the Marshal brave,So earnestly thee for help we... more...

POEMS OF THE THIRD PERIOD. THE MEETING. I see her still—by her fair train surrounded,The fairest of them all, she took her place;Afar I stood, by her bright charms confounded,For, oh! they dazzled with their heavenly grace.With awe my soul was filled—with bliss unbounded,While gazing on her softly radiant face;But soon, as if up-borne on wings of fire,My fingers 'gan to sweep the sounding... more...