Poetry Books

THE MAN IN THE MOONThe Man in the MoonCame tumbling down,And asked his way to Norwich; They told him south,And he burnt his mouthWith eating cold pease-porridge.TO MARKET, TO MARKETTo market, to market, to buy a fat Pig; Home again, home again, dancing a jig. To market, to market, to buy a fat Hog; Home again, home again, jiggety-jog.THERE WAS A MANThere was a man, and he had nought,  And robbers came... more...

AS CREATED There's a space for good to bloom inEvery heart of man or woman,—And however wild or human,Or however brimmed with gall,Never heart may beat without it;And the darkest heart to doubt itHas something good about itAfter all. O the Lands of Where-Away!Tell us—tell us—where are they?Through the darkness and the dawnWe have journeyed on and on—From the cradle to the cross—From... more...

BACK FROM TOWN Old friends allus is the best,Halest-like and heartiest:Knowed us first, and don't allowWe're so blame much better now!They was standin' at the barsWhen we grabbed "the kivvered kyars"And lit out fer town, to makeMoney—and that old mistake! We thought then the world we wentInto beat "The Settlement,"And the friends 'at we'd make thereWould beat... 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...

RIDE A COCK-HORSE            Ride a Cock-Horseto Banbury Cross,                    To see a fine LadyGet on a white Horse,                  With rings on her fingers,and bells on her toes,She shall have music wherever she goes.                   A FARMER WENT TROTTINGUPON HIS GREY MARE      A Farmer went trotting upon his grey Mare,Bumpety, bumpety, bump!With his... more...

COUPLETS If the grass grow in Janiveer,’Twill be the worse for't all the year. If Janiveer calends be summerly gay,’Twill be wintry weather till the calends of May. Winter thunder, and summer flood,Bode England no good. A bushel of March dust is a thingWorth the ransom of a king. A cold AprilIs the poor man’s fill. A wet Good Friday and Easter DayBrings plenty of grass, but little good hay.... more...

MY BUNKIE   He's mostly gnarls and freckles and tan,  He'd surely come under society's ban,  He's a swearin', fightin' cavalryman,    But—he's my bunkie.   He's weathered the winds of the Western waste.  (You, gentle Christian, would call him debased)  And he's loved at his ease and married in haste,    Has my bunkie.   In a... more...

NOCTURNE WRITTEN IN AN INDIAN GARDEN'Where ignorance is bliss,'Tis folly to be wise.'The time-gun rolls his nerve-destroying bray;The toiling moon rides slowly o'er the trees;The weary diners cast their cares away,And seek the lawn for coolness and for ease.Now spreads the gathering stillness like a pall,And melancholy silence rules the scene,Save where the bugler sounds his homing... 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...

Foreword I've tinkered at my bits of rhymesIn weary, woeful, waiting times;In doleful hours of battle-din,Ere yet they brought the wounded in;Through vigils of the fateful night,In lousy barns by candle-light;In dug-outs, sagging and aflood,On stretchers stiff and bleared with blood;By ragged grove, by ruined road,By hearths accurst where Love abode;By broken altars, blackened shrinesI've... more...