Poetry Books

THE MAN THAT WAS A GHOSTGold light across the golden coomb;The sun went west with horns of fire;Athwart the sweet, sea-breathing roomThe swallows swooped; the village spireGlowed red against a gleam of broom;While earth its scented secrets told,There, silent, sunset-aureoled,Sat Ioläus, mild and old.In distance large the moving shipsSailed on into the evening skies.He gazed, and saw not. In eclipseHe... more...

THE HIGHER PANTHEISMIN A NUTSHELL One, who is not, we see: but one, whom we see not, is:Surely this is not that: but that is assuredly this.What, and wherefore, and whence? for under is over and under:If thunder could be without lightning, lightning could be without thunder.Doubt is faith in the main: but faith, on the whole, is doubt:We cannot believe by proof: but could we believe without?Why, and... more...

THEAFFECTIONATE SHEPHEARD. THE TEARES OF AN AFFECTIONATE SHEPHEARD SICKE FOR LOVE,OR THE COMPLAINT OF DAPHNIS FOR THELOVE OF GANIMEDE.Scarce had the morning starre hid from the lightHeavens crimson canopie with stars bespangled,But I began to rue th' unhappy sightOf that faire boy that had my hart intangled;Cursing the time, the place, the sense, the sin;I came, I saw, I viewd, I slipped in.If it... more...

Strange Meeting It seemed that out of the battle I escapedDown some profound dull tunnel, long since scoopedThrough granites which Titanic wars had groined.Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and staredWith piteous recognition in fixed eyes,Lifting distressful hands as if to bless.And by his smile, I knew that... more...

THEILLUSTRATEDALPHABET OF BIRDS       BOSTONWM. CROSBY & H.P. NICHOLS.1851.      A     a   THE AUK A is an Auk,   Of the Artic sea,He lives on the ice,   Where the winds blow free.          B     b THE BLUE BIRD. B is a Blue Bird.  In early spring,How sweet his songs  Through the forest ring.      C    c   THE CONDOR. C is a Condor,  On the Andes'... more...

The ancestry of William Cullen Bryant might have been inferred from the character of his writings, which reflect whatever is best and noblest in the life and thought of New England. It was a tradition that the first Bryant of whom there is any account in the annals of the New World came over in the Mayflower, but the tradition is not authenticated. What is known of this gentleman, Mr. Stephen Bryant,... more...

Too long have Britain’s sons with proud disdainSurvey’d the gay Patrician’s titled train,Their various merit scann’d with eye severe,Nor learn’d to know the peasant from the peer:At length the Gothic ignorance is o’er,And vulgar brows shall scowl on LORDS no more;Commons shall shrink at each ennobled nod,And ev’ry lordling shine a demigod:By CRAVEN taught, the humbler herd shall know,How... more...

August 9th, 1825. Oh, thou surpassing beauty! that dost liveShrined in yon silent stream of glorious light!Spirit of harmony! that through the vastAnd cloud-embroidered canopy art spreadingThy wings, that o’er our shadowy earth hang brooding,Like a pale silver haze, betwixt the moonAnd the world’s darker orb: beautiful, hail!Hail to thee! from her midnight throne of ether,Night looks upon the... more...

THICK-SPRINKLED BUNTINGThick-sprinkled bunting! flag of stars!Long yet your road, fateful flag—long yet your road, and lined with bloody death,For the prize I see at issue at last is the world,All its ships and shores I see interwoven with your threads greedy banner;Dream'd again the flags of kings, highest borne, to flaunt unrival'd?O hasten flag of man—O with sure and steady step,... more...

LET ME SING OF WHAT I KNOWA wild west Coast, a little Town,Where little Folk go up and down,Tides flow and winds blow:Night and Tempest and the Sea,Human Will and Human Fate:What is little, what is great?Howsoe'er the answer be,Let me sing of what I know.Adieu to Belashanny!where I was bred and born;Go where I may, I'll think of you,as sure as night and morn.The kindly spot, the friendly... more...