Poetry Books

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...

Drake's Drum Drake he's in his hammock an' a thousand miles away,  (Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?)Slung atween the round shot in Nombre Dios Bay,  An' dreamin' arl the time O' Plymouth Hoe.Yarnder lumes the Island, yarnder lie the ships,  Wi' sailor lads a-dancing' heel-an'-toe,An' the shore-lights flashin', an' the... 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...

The poet Kabîr, a selection from whose songs is here for the first time offered to English readers, is one of the most interesting personalities in the history of Indian mysticism. Born in or near Benares, of Mohammedan parents, and probably about the year 1440, be became in early life a disciple of the celebrated Hindu ascetic Râmânanda. Râmânanda had brought to Northern India the religious... 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...

'T is like stirring living embers when, at eighty, one remembersAll the achings and the quakings of "the times that tried men's souls;"When I talk of Whig and Tory, when I tell the Rebel story,To you the words are ashes, but to me they're burning coals. I had heard the muskets' rattle of the April running battle;Lord Percy's hunted soldiers, I can see their red coats... 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...

Preface The Romantic poets rediscovered a pastoral and Biblical dream: that a child was the most innocent and the wisest of us all. Wordsworth hailed him as "Mighty Prophet! Seer blest!" And in the next generation Victorian novelists took that dream seriously enough to make children the heroes and heroines of their most searching fictions. There had been no "children's literature"... more...

DEDICATION TO MY MOTHER Love that holds life and death in fee,Deep as the clear unsounded seaAnd sweet as life or death can be,Lays here my hope, my heart, and meBefore you, silent, in a song.Since the old wild tale, made new, found grace,When half sung through, before your face,It needs must live a springtide space,While April suns grow strong. March 24, 1896. In hawthorn-time the heart grows... more...

Difficulties—Consent. 'Night will come on; when seated snug,'And you've perhaps begun some tale,'Can you then leave your dear stone mug;'Leave all the folks, and all the Ale?' 'Ay, Kate, I wool;—because I know,'Though time has been we both could run,'Such days are gone and over now;—'I only mean to see the fun.' She straight slipp'd off... more...