Poetry Books

The reader of to-day will not forget, I trust, that it is nearly a quarter of a century since these papers were written. Statements which were true then are not necessarily true now. Thus, the speed of the trotting horse has been so much developed that the record of the year when the fastest time to that date was given must be very considerably altered, as may be seen by referring to a note on page 49... more...

JONGLEURS. What is the stir in the street?Hurry of feet!And after,A sound as of pipes and of tabers! Men of the conflicts and labors,Struggling and shifting and shoving,Pushing and pounding your neighbors,Fighting for leeway for laughter,Toiling for leisure for loving!Hark, through the window and up to the rafter,Madder and merrier,Deeper and verier,Sweeter, contrarier,Dafter and dafter,A song... more...

The Land God Forgot The lonely sunsets flare forlornDown valleys dreadly desolate;The lordly mountains soar in scornAs still as death, as stern as fate. The lonely sunsets flame and die;The giant valleys gulp the night;The monster mountains scrape the sky,Where eager stars are diamond-bright. So gaunt against the gibbous moon,Piercing the silence velvet-piled,A lone wolf howls his ancient rune —The... more...

CANTO XIII ERE Nessus yet had reach'd the other bank,We enter'd on a forest, where no trackOf steps had worn a way.  Not verdant thereThe foliage, but of dusky hue; not lightThe boughs and tapering, but with knares deform'dAnd matted thick: fruits there were none, but thornsInstead, with venom fill'd. Less sharp than these,Less intricate the brakes, wherein abideThose animals, that... more...

GLOUCESTER MOORSA mile behind is Gloucester townWhere the fishing fleets put in,A mile ahead the land dips downAnd the woods and farms begin.Here, where the moors stretch freeIn the high blue afternoon,Are the marching sun and talking sea,And the racing winds that wheel and fleeOn the flying heels of June.Jill-o'er-the-ground is purple blue,Blue is the quaker-maid,The wild geranium holds its... more...

FROM THE PENTLANDS LOOKING NORTH AND SOUTH Around my feet the clouds are drawnIn the cold mystery of the dawn;No breezes cheer, no guests intrudeMy mossy, mist-clad solitude;When sudden down the steeps of skyFlames a long, lightening wind. On highThe steel-blue arch shines clear, and far,In the low lands where cattle are,Towns smoke. And swift, a haze, a gleam,—The Firth lies like a frozen... more...

Foreword I've tinkered at my bits of rhymesIn weary, woeful, waiting times;In doleful hours of battle-din,Ere yet they brought the wounded in;Through vigils of the fateful night,In lousy barns by candle-light;In dug-outs, sagging and aflood,On stretchers stiff and bleared with blood;By ragged grove, by ruined road,By hearths accurst where Love abode;By broken altars, blackened shrinesI've... more...

INTRODUCTION WILLIAM CORY (Johnson) was born at Torrington in Devonshire, on January 9, 1823. He was the son of Charles William Johnson, a merchant, who retired at the early age of thirty, with a modest competence, and married his cousin, Theresa Furse, of Halsdon, near Torrington, to whom he had long been attached. He lived a quiet, upright, peaceable life at Torrington, content with little, and... more...

CANTO VII "AH me! O Satan! Satan!" loud exclaim'dPlutus, in accent hoarse of wild alarm:And the kind sage, whom no event surpris'd,To comfort me thus spake: "Let not thy fearHarm thee, for power in him, be sure, is noneTo hinder down this rock thy safe descent."Then to that sworn lip turning, "Peace!"  he cried, "Curs'd wolf! thy fury inward on thyselfPrey,... more...

THE CONFUSED DAWN. YOUNG MAN  What are the Vision and the CryThat haunt the new Canadian soul?  Dim grandeur spreads we know not whyO'er mountain, forest, tree and knoll,  And murmurs indistinctly fly.—  Some magic moment sure is nigh.O Seer, the curtain roll! SEERThe Vision, mortal, it is this—  Dead mountain, forest, knoll and treeAwaken all endued with bliss,  A native land—O... more...