Poetry Books

TO MY MOTHERMother, to whose valiant will,Battling long ago,What the heaping years fulfil,Light and song, I owe;Send my little book a-field,Fronting praise or blameWith the shining flag and shieldOf your name.It fell on a day I was happy,And the winds, the concave sky,The flowers and the beasts in the meadowSeemed happy even as I;And I stretched my hands to the meadow,To the bird, the beast, the... more...

INTRODUCTION Every now and then in our reading we come suddenly face to face with first things,—the very elemental sources beyond which no man may go. There is a distinct satisfaction in dealing with such beginnings, and, when they are those of literature, the sense of freshness is nothing short of inspiring. To share the same lofty outlook, to breathe the same high air with those who first sensed a... more...

AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone,And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known,So I turn the leaves of fancy till, in shadowy design,I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine.   The lamplight seems to glimmer with a flicker of surprise,As I turn it low to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes,And light my pipe in silence, save a sigh... more...

1At Palaiseau, there liv’d a maid,In form and features mild;The stings of conscience never prey’d,On this devoted child.She serv’d a wealthy farmer there,An honest soul was he;Her comforts were his only care,And all he wish’d to see. 3His wife was of another mould,And prematurely smart;Hasty, and rash, with that a scold,Yet still a feeling heart. One summers eve’, her labor done,She sat in... more...

THE OWL AND THE PUSSY-CAT. I. The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to seaIn a beautiful pea-green boat: They took some honey, and plenty of moneyWrapped up in a five-pound note. The Owl looked up to the stars above,And sang to a small guitar, "O lovely Pussy, O Pussy, my love,What a beautiful Pussy you are, You are, You are! What a beautiful Pussy you are!" II. Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant... more...

THE LOOM OF YEARSIn the light of the silent stars that shine on the struggling sea,In the weary cry of the wind and the whisper of flower and tree,Under the breath of laughter, deep in the tide of tears,I hear the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.The leaves of the winter wither and sink in the forest mouldTo colour the flowers of April with purple and white and gold:Light and scent and... more...

THE QUALITY OF THE WORKS OF EDWARD DOYLE The quality of Edward Doyle's work was appraised by Ella Wheeler Wilcox in the following article by Mrs. Wilcox which appeared in the New York Evening Journal and the San Francisco Examiner, in 1905: Shut your eyes and bind them with a black cloth and try for one hour to see how cheerful you can be. Then imagine yourself deprived for life of the light of... more...

THE COLORS It isn't just colors and bunting—The red and the blue and the white.It's something heaps better and finer,—It's the soul of my country in sight! There's a lot of ceremony 'bout the Flag,Though many half-baked patriots believeSalutin' it and hangin' it correct"Is only loyalty upon the sleeve."But we who work beneath the Flag to-day,Who'll... more...

A BOOK FOR KIDS THE BAKER   I'd like to be a baker, and come when morning breaks,Calling out, "Beeay-ko!" (that's the sound he makes)--Riding in a rattle-cart that jogs and jolts and shakes,Selling all the sweetest things a baker ever bakes;Currant-buns and brandy-snaps, pastry all in flakes;But I wouldn't be a baker if . . .I couldn't eat the cakes.Would you? THE DAWN... more...

INTRODUCTION "It is about impossible for a man to get rid of his Puritan grandfathers, and nobody who has ever had one has ever escaped his Puritan grandmother;" so said Eugene Field to me one sweet April day, when we talked together of the things of the spirit. It is one of his own confessions that he was fond of clergymen. Most preachers are supposed to be helplessly tied up with such a set... more...