Poetry Books

MY DOG TRAY.Twice every week a poor, thin man,Holding his little daughter’s hand,Walked feebly to a hospital,Close by the busy London Strand.He hoped the clever doctors thereIn time would make him strong and well,That he might go to work again,And live to care for little Nell.Beside wee Nell, her faithful friend,Good old dog Tray was always seen,Never a day apart the pairSince Nelly’s babyhood had... more...

Poetry. Bite Bigger. As aw hurried throo th' taan to mi wark,(Aw wur lat, for all th' whistles had gooan,)Aw happen'd to hear a remark,'At ud fotch tears throo th' heart ov a stooan—It wur raanin, an' snawin, and cowd,An' th' flagstoans wur covered wi' muck,An' th' east wind booath whistled an' howl'd,It saanded like nowt but ill... more...

ON LOVE What is love? Ask him who lives, what is life? ask him who adores, what is God? I know not the internal constitution of other men, nor even thine, whom I now address. I see that in some external attributes they resemble me, but when, misled by that appearance, I have thought to appeal to something in common, and unburthen my inmost soul to them, I have found my language misunderstood, like one... more...

INTRODUCTION The pieces reproduced in this little volume are now beginning to bid for notice from their third century of readers. At the time they were written, although Johnson had already done enough miscellaneous literary work to fill several substantial volumes, his name, far from identifying an "Age", was virtually unknown to the general public. The Vanity of Human Wishes was the first of... more...

PRELUDE The mighty poets from their flowing storeDispense like casual alms the careless ore;Through throngs of men their lonely way they go,Let fall their costly thoughts, nor seem to know.—Not mine the rich and showering hand, that strewsThe facile largess of a stintless Muse.A fitful presence, seldom tarrying long,Capriciously she touches me to song—Then leaves me to lament her flight in vain,And... more...

PREFACE. Several years ago, the maker of this version translated into French one of the early works of H. W. Longfellow. This circumstance was not forgotten by the American poet who kindly consented to listen to this new attempt at rendering into English the "CHANSON DE ROLAND." To his encouragement is due the present publication. The writer will ever proudly treasure up the remembrance of his... more...

THE QUAKER OF THE OLDEN TIME. THE Quaker of the olden time!How calm and firm and true,Unspotted by its wrong and crime,He walked the dark earth through.The lust of power, the love of gain,The thousand lures of sinAround him, had no power to stainThe purity within. With that deep insight which detectsAll great things in the small,And knows how each man's life affectsThe spiritual life of all,He... more...

A Hero and A Great Man They say knowledge is power.Power walks with ambition.Ambition will devourA man without vision. Through a turbid town,A great man walks.Through a troubled town,A great man talks. He tells tales of bravery.On attention he feeds.With speech most savoryHe boasts of great deeds. He is well respected.He enjoys much recognition.He hopes to be selectedFor a prestigious position. He... more...

The Tongues of ToilDo you hear the call from a hundred lands.Lords of a dying name?We are the men of sinewed handsWhom the earth and the seas acclaim.We are the hoards that made you lords.And gathered your gear and spoil.And we speak with a word that should be heard—Hark to the tongues of toil! The power of your hands it falls at last,The strength of your rule is o'er,Where the might of a... 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...