Poetry Books

INDEX OF THE FIRST LINES Ah, these jasminesAh, who was it coloured that little frockBless this little heartChild, how happy you are sitting in the dustCome and hire meDay by day I float my paper boatsI am small because I am a little childIf baby only wanted to, he could flyIf I were only a little puppyIf people came to know where my king's palace isI long to go over thereImagine, motherI only... more...

A FOREWORD When the first Miscellany of American Poetry appeared in 1920, innumerable were the questions asked by both readers and reviewers of publishers and contributors alike. The modest note on the jacket appeared to satisfy no one. The volume purported to have no editor, yet a collection without an editor was pronounced preposterous. It was obviously not the organ of a school, yet it did not seem... more...

PIPES O' PAN AT ZEKESBURY   The pipes of Pan! Not idler now are they  Than when their cunning fashioner first blew  The pith of music from them: Yet for you  And me their notes are blown in many a way  Lost in our murmurings for that old day  That fared so well, without us.—Waken to  The pipings here at hand:—The clear halloo  Of truant-voices, and the roundelay  The waters... more...

PRELUDE Night on bleak downs; a high grass-grown trench runs athwart the slope. The earthwork is manned by warriors clad in hides. Two warriors, BRYS and GAST, talking. Gast.This puts a tall heart in me, and a tuneOf great glad blood flowing brave in my flesh,To see thee, after all these moons, returned,My Brys. If there's no rust in thy shoulder-joints,That battle-wrath of thine, and thy good... more...

CANTO IX THE hue, which coward dread on my pale cheeksImprinted, when I saw my guide turn back,Chas'd that from his which newly they had worn,And inwardly restrain'd it.  He, as oneWho listens, stood attentive: for his eyeNot far could lead him through the sable air,And the thick-gath'ring cloud.  "It yet behoovesWe win this fight"—thus he began—"if not—Such aid to us... 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...

NAUGHTY PUPPIESTiny and his Parents.There were two little puppy dogs,“Tiny” named, and “Toodles,”Who got into all kinds of scrapes,Like little foolish noodles.Tiny was a brownish dog,And Toodles was a white one;And Tiny had a cunning eye,And Toodles had a bright one.Tiny played all kinds of tricks.For which his parents chid him:And Toodles did—poor, foolish pup—Whatever Tiny bid him.... more...

Song of the Pen Not for the love of women toil we, we of the craft,Not for the people's praise;Only because our goddess made us her own and laughed,Claiming us all our days, Claiming our best endeavour—body and heart and brainGiven with no reserve—Niggard is she towards us, granting us little gain;Still, we are proud to serve. Not unto us is given choice of the tasks we try,Gathering grain or... more...

TheCities are full of pride,Challenging each to each—This from her mountain-side,That from her burthened beach.They count their ships full tale—Their corn and oil and wine,Derrick and loom and bale,And rampart's gun-flecked line;City by city they hail:"Hast aught to match with mine?"And the men that breed from themThey traffic up and down,But cling to their cities' hemAs a child to... more...

Rio Grande's Last Race Now this was what Macpherson toldWhile waiting in the stand;A reckless rider, over-bold,The only man with hands to holdThe rushing Rio Grande. He said, 'This day I bid good-byeTo bit and bridle rein,To ditches deep and fences high,For I have dreamed a dream, and IShall never ride again. 'I dreamt last night I rode this raceThat I to-day must ride,And cant'ring... more...