Poetry Books

The Maid of Tamalpais. This she told me in the firelightAs I sat beside her campfire,In a grove of giant redwoods,On the slope of Tamalpais. Old she was, and bent and wrinkled,Lone survivor of the Tamals,Ancient tribe of Indian people,Who have left their name and legendOn the mountain they held sacred.On the ground she sat and brooded,With a blanket wrapped around her—Sat and gazed into the... more...

THE THUNDERBOLT. There is an artless tradition among the Indians, related by Irving, of a warrior who saw the thunderbolt lying upon the ground, with a beautifully wrought moccasin on each side of it. Thinking he had found a prize, he put on the moccasins, but they bore him away to the land of spirits, whence he never returned.Loud pealed the thunderFrom arsenal high,Bright flashed the lightningAthwart... more...

SPRING To what purpose, April, do you return again?Beauty is not enough.You can no longer quiet me with the rednessOf little leaves opening stickily.I know what I know.The sun is hot on my neck as I observeThe spikes of the crocus.The smell of the earth is good.It is apparent that there is no death.But what does that signify?Not only under ground are the brains of menEaten by maggots,Life in itselfIs... more...

I. Peace, peace, thou over-anxious, foolish heart,Rest, ever-seeking soul, calm, mad desires,Quiet, wild dreams—this is the time of sleep.Hold her more close than life itself. ForgetAll the excitements of the day, forgetAll problems and discomforts. Let the nightTake you unto herself, her blessed self.Peace, peace, thou over-anxious, foolish heart,Rest, ever-seeking soul, calm, mad desires,Quiet,... more...

CANTO III "THROUGH me you pass into the city of woe:Through me you pass into eternal pain:Through me among the people lost for aye.Justice the founder of my fabric mov'd:To rear me was the task of power divine,Supremest wisdom, and primeval love.Before me things create were none, save thingsEternal, and eternal I endure. "All hope abandon ye who enter here." Such characters in colour... more...

A JOLLY BOOK How can they put in black and whiteWhat little children think at night,When lights are out and prayers are said,And you are all tucked up in bed? Such funny dreams go dancing throughYour head, of things nobody knew,Or saw, or ever half believes!—They're all inside these singing leaves. And little children laugh and goA-ring-a-round-a-rosy-O;And birds sing gay—you'd almost... more...

THOMAS MOORE Thomas Moore was born in Dublin on the 28th of May 1780. Both his parents were Roman-Catholics; and he was, as a matter of course, brought up in the same religion, and adhered to it—not perhaps with any extreme zeal—throughout his life. His father was a decent tradesman, a grocer and spirit-retailer—or "spirit-grocer," as the business is termed in Ireland. Thomas received his... more...

No species of poetry is more ancient than the lyrical, and yet none shows so little sign of having outlived the requirements of human passion. The world may grow tired of epics and of tragedies, but each generation, as it sees the hawthorns blossom and the freshness of girlhood expand, is seized with a pang which nothing but the spasm of verse will relieve. Each youth imagines that spring-tide and love... more...

ARE WOMEN PEOPLE? A Consistent Anti to Her Son("Look at the hazards, the risks, the physical dangers that ladies would be exposed to at the polls."—Anti-suffrage speech.)You're twenty-one to-day, Willie, And a danger lurks at the door, I've known about it always, But I never spoke before; When you were only a baby It seemed so very remote, But you're twenty-one to-day, Willie,... more...

NIELS EBBESEN. All his men the Count collects,   And from Slesvig marched away;Never such as host was seen   Or before or since that day. Into Denmark marched the Count,   Followed by so fair a band;Banners twenty-four they bore,   Power like theirs might none withstand. Gert the Count to Randers rode,   To bad counsel lending ear;For from old it stood foretold,   He should end there his... more...