Poetry Books

The Tongues of ToilDo you hear the call from a hundred lands.Lords of a dying name?We are the men of sinewed handsWhom the earth and the seas acclaim.We are the hoards that made you lords.And gathered your gear and spoil.And we speak with a word that should be heard—Hark to the tongues of toil! The power of your hands it falls at last,The strength of your rule is o'er,Where the might of a... more...

To One Who Sleeps (Obiit, June 8th, 1894.) Tho' storm and summer shine for long have shedOr blight or bloom above thy quiet bed,Tho' loneliness and longing cry thee dead—Thou art not dead, belovèd. Still with meAre whilom hopings that encompass theeAnd dreams of dear delights that may not be.Asleep—adream perchance, dost thou forgetThe sometime sorrow and the fevered fret,Sting of salt... more...

PHILOSOPHER'S GARDEN     "See this my garden,      Large and fair!"—Thus, to his friend,The Philosopher.   "'Tis not too long,"His friend replied,With truth exact,—  "Nor yet too wide.  But well compact,   If somewhat cramped    On every side." Quick the reply—  "But see how high!—  It reaches up  To God's blue sky!"... more...

THE FIRST BOOK OF THE ODES OF HORACE. ODE I. TO MAECENAS. Maecenas, descended from royal ancestors, O both my protection and my darling honor! There are those whom it delights to have collected Olympic dust in the chariot race; and [whom] the goal nicely avoided by the glowing wheels, and the noble palm, exalts, lords of the earth, to the gods. This man, if a crowd of the capricious Quirites strive to... more...

ERMELINE. With lance upraised so haughtily   Sir Thunye rides from Alsey town;On land and main he was, I ween,   A daring knight of high renown. Sir Thunye rides in good green wood,   He fain will chase the nimble hare;And there he meeteth the Dwarf’s daughter,   All with her band of maidens fair. Sir Thunye rides in good green wood,   To chase the nimble hart and hind;And there he meets... more...

PREFACE. The First Volume of these Poems has already been submitted to general perusal. It was published, as an experiment which, I hoped, might be of some use to ascertain, how far, by fitting to metrical arrangement a selection of the real language of men in a state of vivid sensation, that sort of pleasure and that quantity of pleasure may be imparted, which a Poet may rationally endeavour to... more...

THE RAVEN.Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door."'T is some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door—Only this, and nothing more."Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the... more...

The Hill   Where are Elmer, Herman, Bert, Tom and Charley,  The weak of will, the strong of arm, the clown, the boozer, the fighter?  All, all are sleeping on the hill.   One passed in a fever,  One was burned in a mine,  One was killed in a brawl,  One died in a jail,  One fell from a bridge toiling for children and wife—  All, all are sleeping, sleeping, sleeping on the hill.... more...

"A true poet is one of the most precious gifts that can be bestowed on a generation." He speaks for it and he speaks to it. Reflecting and interpreting his age and its thoughts, feelings, and purposes, he speaks for it; and with a love of truth, with a keener moral insight into the universal heart of man, and with the intuition of inspiration, he speaks to it, and through it to the world. It is... more...

TOMMY TATTER.“Oh! Tommy Tatter, Tommy Tatter,Tell me now what is the matter;Tell me, Tommy, do, I pray,What makes you look so sad to-day?”“Oh! Master Peter, Peter Pink,I’ve reason to be sad, I think;Oh! don’t you see my ragged clothes,My naked legs, and naked toes,My head without a hat, to letMy hair be dry in weather wet?Oh! I am cold and hungry, too,I wish I was as rich as you!”“Oh!... more...