Poetry Books

Into My Own ONE of my wishes is that those dark trees,So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze,Were not, as 'twere, the merest mask of gloom,But stretched away unto the edge of doom.I should not be withheld but that some dayInto their vastness I should steal away,Fearless of ever finding open land,Or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand.I do not see why I should e'er turn back,Or... more...

THE SEABOARD.Thesea is at ebb, and the sound of her utmost wordIs soft as the least wave’s lapse in a still small reach.From bay into bay, on quest of a goal deferred,From headland ever to headland and breach to breachWhere earth gives ear to the message that all days preachWith changes of gladness and sadness that cheer and chide,The lone way lures me along by a chance untriedThat haply, if hope... more...

CHAPTER I Motives to the present work—Reception of the Author's first publication—Discipline of his taste at school—Effect of contemporary writers on youthful minds—Bowles's Sonnets—Comparison between the poets before and since Pope. It has been my lot to have had my name introduced both in conversation, and in print, more frequently than I find it easy to explain, whether I... more...

LEGEND   Long ago Apollo called to Aristaeus, youngest      of the shepherds,    Saying, "I will make you keeper of my bees."  Golden were the hives, and golden was the honey;      golden, too, the music,    Where the honey-makers hummed among the trees.   Happy Aristaeus loitered in the garden, wandered      in the orchard,    Careless and contented,... more...

CONTENTS OF FIRST LINES: To the Man of the High NorthMy rhymes are rough, and often in my rhyming Men of the High NorthMen of the High North, the wild sky is blazing; The Ballad of the Northern LightsOne of the Down and Out—that's me. Stare at me well, ay, stare! The Ballad of the Black Fox SkinThere was Claw-fingered Kitty and Windy Ike living the life of shame, The Ballad of Pious PeteI tried... more...

William and AmeliaMy GardenThe Inebriate's Daughter's Appeal to her FatherTo the Children in Mrs. Day's SchoolSong to BrantfordTo Elihu BurrittTo a VioletEmma, the Tinker's DaughterTo my Father, supposed to be dyingOde to PeaceStanzas suggested by a Funeral ACROSTICS:    I. To Mr. J. P——n, Missouri   II. To my Eldest Son, in severe sickness  III. A Tribute to the Memory... more...

A Defective Santa Claus Allus when our Pa he's away Nen Uncle Sidney comes to stay At our house here—so Ma an' me An' Etty an' Lee-Bob won't be Afeard ef anything at night Might happen—like Ma says it might. (Ef Trip wuz big, I bet you he 'Uz best watch-dog you ever see!) An' so last winter—ist before It's go' be Chris'mus-Day,—w'y, shore... more...

A Serious Question A kitten went a-walkingOne morning in July,And idly fell a-talkingWith a great big butterfly. The kitten’s tone was airy,The butterfly would scoff;When there came along a fairyWho whisked his wings right off. And then—for it is writtenFairies can do such things—Upon the startled kittenShe stuck the yellow wings. The kitten felt a quiver,She rose into the air,Then flew down to... more...

THREE WOMEN My love is young, so young;Young is her cheek, and her throat,And life is a song to be sungWith love the word for each note. Young is her cheek and her throat;Her eyes have the smile o' May.And love is the word for each noteIn the song of my life to-day. Her eyes have the smile o' May;Her heart is the heart of a dove,And the song of my life to-dayIs love, beautiful love. Her heart... more...

THE TEMPEST (By Mary Lamb) There was a certain island in the sea, the only inhabitants of which were an old man, whose name was Prospero, and his daughter Miranda, a very beautiful young lady. She came to this island so young, that she had no memory of having seen any other human face than her father's. They lived in a cave or cell, made out of a rock: it was divided into several apartments, one... more...