Poetry Books

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...

¶ Here entreth Welth, and Helth Г…Вїynging togethera balet of two partes, and after Г…ВїpeakethWelth. Why is there no curteГ…Вїy, now I am comeI tcowe that all the people be dumeOr els Г…Вїo god helpe me and halydumThey were almost a fleepe.No wordes I harde, nor yet no talkingNo inГ…Вїtrument went nor ballattes... 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...

CANTO I IN the midway of this our mortal life,I found me in a gloomy wood, astrayGone from the path direct: and e'en to tellIt were no easy task, how savage wildThat forest, how robust and rough its growth,Which to remember only, my dismayRenews, in bitterness not far from death.Yet to discourse of what there good befell,All else will I relate discover'd there.How first I enter'd it I... 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...

Fires of Driftwood ON what long tidesDo you drift to my fire,You waifs of strange waters?From what far seas,What murmurous sands,What desolate beaches—Flotsam of those glories that were ships! I gather you,Bitter with salt,Sun-bleached, rock-scarred, moon-harried,Fuel for my fire. You are Pride’s end.Through all to-morrows you are yesterday.You are waste,You are ruin,For where is that which once... more...

Flag of The Free Flag of the free, our sable siresHave borne thee oft beforeInto hot battles' hell-lit fires,Against the fiercest foe.When first he shook his shaggy mein,And made the welkin ring,Brave Attucks fell upon the Plain,Thy stripes first crimsoning!Thy might and majesty we hurl,Against the bolts of Mars;And from thy ample folds unfurlThy field of flaming stars!Fond hope to nations in... more...

JANUARYNow Time the harvester surveysHis sorry crops of yesterdays;Of trampled hopes and reaped regrets,And for another harvest whetsHis ancient scythe, eying the whileThe budding year with cynic smile.Well, let him smile; in snug retreatI fill my pipe with honeyed sweet,Whose incense wafted from the bowlShall make warm sunshine in my soul,And conjure mid the fragrant hazeFair memories of other... more...

High Noon Time's finger on the dial of my lifePoints to high noon! and yet the half-spent dayLeaves less than half remaining, for the dark,Bleak shadows of the grave engulf the end. To those who burn the candle to the stick,The sputtering socket yields but little light.Long life is sadder than an early death.We cannot count on raveled threads of ageWhereof to weave a fabric. We must useThe warp... more...

The Pasture I'M going out to clean the pasture spring;I'll only stop to rake the leaves away(And wait to watch the water clear, I may):I sha'n't be gone long.—You come too.I'm going out to fetch the little calfThat's standing by the mother. It's so young,It totters when she licks it with her tongue.I sha'n't be gone long.—You come too. SOMETHING there is... more...