Poetry Books

The Path to HomeThere's the mother at the doorway, and the children at the gate,And the little parlor windows with the curtains white and straight.There are shaggy asters blooming in the bed that lines the fence,And the simplest of the blossoms seems of mighty consequence.Oh, there isn't any mansion underneath God's starry domeThat can rest a weary pilgrim like the little place called... more...

LES DEMOISELLES DE SAUVE TO S. A. S. ALICE, PRINCESSE DE MONACO Beautiful ladies through the orchard pass;Bend under crutched-up branches, forked and low;Trailing their samet palls o'er dew-drenched grass. Pale blossoms, looking on proud Jacqueline,Blush to the colour of her finger tips,And rosy knuckles, laced with yellow lace. High-crested Berthe discerns, with slant, clinched eyes,Amid the... more...

A YEAR'S WINDFALLS Who comes dancing over the snow, His soft little feet all bare and rosy? Open the door, though the wild winds blow, Take the child in and make him cosy.Take him in and hold him dear,He is the wonderful glad New Year.Dinah M. Mulock. Marjorie's Almanac Robins in the tree-top,Blossoms in the grass,Green things a-growingEverywhere you pass;Sudden little breezes,Showers of... more...

I. LIFE. POEMS. I. REAL RICHES. 'T is little I could care for pearls  Who own the ample sea;Or brooches, when the Emperor  With rubies pelteth me; Or gold, who am the Prince of Mines;  Or diamonds, when I seeA diadem to fit a dome  Continual crowning me. II. SUPERIORITY TO FATE. Superiority to fate  Is difficult to learn.'T is not conferred by any,  But possible to earn A pittance... more...

INTRODUCTION Because man is both militant and pacific, he has expressed in literature, as indeed in the other forms of art, his pacific and militant moods. Nor are these moods, of necessity, incompatible. War may become the price of peace, and peace may so decay as inevitably to bring about war. Of the dully unresponsive pacificist and the jingo patriot, quick to anger, the latter no doubt is the more... more...

THE RUINES OF TIME. DEDICATED TO THE RIGHT NOBLE AND BEAUTIFULL LADIE, THE LA: MARIE, COUNTESSE OF PEMEBROOKE. Most honourable and bountifull Ladie, there bee long sithens deepe sowed in my brest the seede of most entire love and humble affection unto that most brave knight, your noble brother deceased; which, taking roote, began in his life time somewhat to bud forth, and to shew themselves to him, as... more...

THE ORCHARD’S GRANDMOTHER. I MUST ask you to go back more than two hundred years, and watch two people in a quiet old English garden. One is an old lady reading. In her young days she was a famous beauty. That was very long ago, to be sure; but I think she is a beauty still—do not you? She has such a lovely face, and her eyes are so sweet and bright! and better than that, they are the kind which... more...

My Baby's Feet Within my palm, like roseleaves, dainty, sweet,I fold with tenderest love two little feet—Two little feet, twin flow'rets come to bringTo mother's heart the first sweet breath of spring.Wearied with play, at last they lie at rest,One satin sole against its fair mate pressed.Dear little feet, fain would this hand 'ere shieldThy tender flesh from thorns which lie... more...

e was a rat, and she was a rat,And down in one hole they did dwell,And both were as black as a witch’s cat,And they loved one another well.He had a tail, and she had a tail,Both long and curling and fine,And each said “Yours is the finest tailIn the world,—excepting mine!” e smelt the cheese, and she smelt the cheese,And they both pronounced it good,And both remarked it would greatly addTo the... more...

Proem Where are they— the Afterwhiles—Luring us the lengthening milesOf our lives? Where is the dawnWith the dew across the lawnStroked with eager feet the farWay the hills and valleys are?Were the sun that smites the frownOf the eastward-gazer down?Where the rifted wreaths of mistO'er us, tinged with amethyst,Round the mountain's steep defiles?Where are the afterwhiles? Afterwhile— and... more...