Poetry Books

Robert Lewis Balfour Stevenson, or Robert Louis Stevenson, as the world knows him, was still a boy when he published this rare volume of "A Child's Garden of Verses," although by the calendar he was thirty-five years old. You and I have sighed, no doubt, to be a boy again, but here was one who, while he outgrew his knickerbockers, never outgrew the quick sympathy, the brave heart, the... more...

Peter Pry’s Puppet ShowPart the SecondHere’s johnny Bull From England come,Who boasts of being a sailor,But yankey tars will let him know,He’ll meet with many a Failure.The Elephant upright and tallDress’d up in Eastern style SirHis efforts here to show himselfI think will make you smile SirHere’s Bruin next from Russia come,Dont let him you affright,Tho in his manner rather roughYou’ll... more...

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. HE success of the first edition of this little work, compels its author to say a few words on the issue of a second. "Expressive silence" would now be in him the excessive impudence of not acknowledging, as he respectfully does acknowledge, that success to be greatly ascribable to the eminent artists who have drawn and engraved the illustrations. "A man's... more...

THE BAKCHESARIAN FOUNTAIN. A TALE OF THE TAURIDE. Mute sat Giray, with downcast eye,  As though some spell in sorrow bound him,His slavish courtiers thronging nigh,  In sad expectance stood around him.The lips of all had silence sealed,  Whilst, bent on him, each look observant,  Saw grief's deep trace and passion ferventUpon his gloomy brow revealed.  But the proud Khan his dark eye... more...

FOR YOU, MOTHER I have a dream for you, Mother,Like a soft thick fringe to hide your eyes.I have a surprise for you, Mother,Shaped like a strange butterfly.I have found a way of thinkingTo make you happy;I have made a song and a poemAll twisted into one.If I sing, you listen;If I think, you know.I have a secret from everybody in the world full of peopleBut I cannot always remember how it goes;It is a... more...

ATHENS AN ODEEre from under earth again like fire the violet kindle,[Str. 1. Ere the holy buds and hoar on olive-branches bloom,Ere the crescent of the last pale month of winter dwindle,Shrink, and fall as falls a dead leaf on the dead month's tomb,Round the hills whose heights the first-born olive-blossom brightened,Round the city brow-bound once with violets like a bride,Up from under earth... more...

PREFACE. Knowing within myself the manner in which this Poem has been produced, it is not without a feeling of regret that I make it public. What manner I mean, will be quite clear to the reader, who must soon perceive great inexperience, immaturity, and every error denoting a feverish attempt, rather than a deed accomplished. The two first books, and indeed the two last, I feel sensible are not of... more...

THE NUTS OF KNOWLEDGEA cabin on the mountain side hid in a grassy nookWhere door and windows open wide that friendly stars may look.The rabbit shy can patter in, the winds may enter free,Who throng around the mountain throne in living ecstasy.And when the sun sets dimmed in eve and purple fills the air,I think the sacred Hazel Tree is dropping berries thereFrom starry fruitage waved aloft where... more...

INTRODUCTION For modern readers, one of the most intriguing scenes in Daniel Defoe's Moll Flanders (1722) occurs during the courtship of Moll by the man who is to become her third husband. Aware that the eligible men of her day have little interest in prospective wives with small or nonexistent fortunes, Moll slyly devises a plan to keep her relative poverty a secret from the charming and (as she... more...

YULE TIDE. TheRoyal Birthday dawns again,A stricken world to bless;And sufferers forget their pain,And mourners their distress. Love sings to-day; her eyes so fairWith happy tears are wet;She is too humble to despair,Too faithful to forget. Her voice is very soft and sweet,Her heart is brave and strong;Her vassal, I would fain repeatSome fragments of her song. A Birthday-song my heart would singIts... more...