Poetry Books

High Noon Time's finger on the dial of my lifePoints to high noon! and yet the half-spent dayLeaves less than half remaining, for the dark,Bleak shadows of the grave engulf the end. To those who burn the candle to the stick,The sputtering socket yields but little light.Long life is sadder than an early death.We cannot count on raveled threads of ageWhereof to weave a fabric. We must useThe warp... more...

RELIGION AND POETRY BY WASHINGTON GLADDEN. The time is not long past when the copulative in that title might have suggested to some minds an antithesis,—as acid and alkali, or heat and cold. That religion could have affiliation with anything so worldly as poetry would have seemed to some pious people a questionable proposition. There were the Psalms, in the Old Testament, to be sure; and the minister... more...

GENESIS A I. Ours is a great duty—to praise in word and love atheart the heavens' Ruler, the glorious King of Hosts:He is the substance of all power, the head of all highthings, the Lord Almighty. Origin or beginning was5never made for Him, nor shall an end ever come to theeternal God: but, on the contrary, He is for ever supremeby His high puissance over the heavenly kingdoms;just and mighty,... more...

INTRODUCTION To the modern reader, with an abundance of periodicals of all sorts and upon all subjects at hand, it seems hardly possible that this wealth of ephemeral literature was virtually developed within the past two centuries. It offers such a rational means for the dissemination of the latest scientific and literary news that the mind undeceived by facts would naturally place the origin of the... more...

Buying and Selling   Throughout the day I sit behind the counter of my shop  And the odours of my country are all about me—  Areca nut, and betel leaf, and manioc,  Lychee and suey sen,  Li-un and dried seaweed,  Tchah and sam-shu;  And these carry my mind to half-forgotten days  When tales were plentiful and care was hard to hold.   All day I sell for trifling sums the wares of my... more...

PREFACE. The numerous collections of American verse share, I think, one fault in common: they include too much. Whether this has been a bid for popularity, a concession to Philistia, I cannot say; but the fact remains that all anthologies of American poetry are, so far as I know, more or less uncritical. The aim of the present book is different. In no case has a poem been included because it is widely... more...

BOOK I.The Swede I sing, by Heaven ordain'd to saveHis country's glories from a Danish grave,Restore her laws, her Papal rites efface,And fix her freedom on a lasting base.Celestial Liberty! by whom impell'dFrom early youth fair honour's path he held;By whose strong aid his patient courage roseSuperior to the rushing tide of woes,And at whose feet, when Heaven his toils repaid,His... more...

THE PILOT’S STORY. I. It was a story the pilot told, with his back to his hearers,–– Keeping his hand on the wheel and his eye on the globe of the jack-staff, Holding the boat to the shore and out of the sweep of the current, Lightly turning aside for the heavy logs of the drift-wood, Widely shunning the snags that made us sardonic obeisance. II. All the soft, damp air was full of delicate... more...

QUIET WORKOne lesson, Nature, let me learn of thee,One lesson which in every wind is blown,One lesson of two duties kept at oneThough the loud world proclaim their enmity—Of toil unsever'd from tranquillity!Of labour, that in lasting fruit outgrowsFar noisier schemes, accomplish'd in repose,Too great for haste, too high for rivalry!Yes, while on earth a thousand discords ring,Man's... more...

In Flanders Fields In Flanders fields the poppies blowBetween the crosses, row on row,That mark our place; and in the skyThe larks, still bravely singing, flyScarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days agoWe lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,Loved and were loved, and now we lie,In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe:To you from failing hands we throwThe torch; be yours... more...