Poetry Books

I Strings in the earth and airMake music sweet;Strings by the river whereThe willows meet. There's music along the riverFor Love wanders there,Pale flowers on his mantle,Dark leaves on his hair. All softly playing,With head to the music bent,And fingers strayingUpon an instrument. The twilight turns from amethystTo deep and deeper blue,The lamp fills with a pale green glowThe trees of the avenue.... more...

TO MY PEN I Thou feeble implement of mind,Wherewith she strove to scrawl hername;But, like a mitcher, left behindNo signature, no stroke, no claim,No hint that she hath pined— Shall ever come a stronger time,When thou shalt be a tool of skill,And steadfast purpose, to fulfilA higher task than rhyme? II Thou puny instrument of soul,Wherewith she labours to impartHer efforts at some arduous goal;But... more...

Canto I.Right beautiful is Torksey's hall,Adown by meadowed Trent;Right beautiful that mouldering wall,And remnant of a turret tall,Shorn of its battlement. For, while the children of the SpringBlush into life, and die;And Summer's joy-birds take light wingWhen Autumn mists are nigh;And soon the year—a winterling—With its fall'n leaves doth lie;That ruin gray—Mirror'd,... more...

I. STEADFAST as any soldier of the line He served his England, with the imminent death Poised at his heart. Nor could the world divine The constant peril of each burdened breath. England, and the honour of England, he still served Walking the strict path, with the old high pride Of those invincible knights who never swerved One hair's breadth from the way until they died. Quietness he loved, and... more...

THE OLD ARM-CHAIR. I love it, I love it; and who shall dare To chide me for loving that old arm-chair? I've cherished it long as a sainted prize; I've bedewed it with tears and embalmed it with sighs 'Tis bound by a thousand bands to my heart; Not a tie will break, not a link will start. Would ye learn the spell?—a mother sat there: And a sacred thing is that old arm-chair. In... more...

Some one like you makes the heart seem the lighter, Some one like you makes the day's work worth while, Some one like you makes the sun shine the brighter, Some one like you makes a sigh half a smile. Life's an odd pattern of briers and roses, Clouds sometimes darken, nor sun shining through, Then the cloud lifts and the sun light discloses Near to me, dear to me—Some one like you. Some one... more...

I think I should scarcely trouble the reader with a special appeal in behalf of this book, if it had not specially appealed to me for reasons apart from the author's race, origin, and condition. The world is too old now, and I find myself too much of its mood, to care for the work of a poet because he is black, because his father and mother were slaves, because he was, before and after he began to... more...

FIRST SESTIAD On Hellespont, guilty of true-love's blood,In view and opposite two cities stood,Sea-borderers, disjoined by Neptune's might;The one Abydos, the other Sestos hight.At Sestos Hero dwelt; Hero the fair,Whom young Apollo courted for her hair,And offered as a dower his burning throne,Where she should sit for men to gaze upon.The outside of her garments were of lawn,The lining purple... more...

THE ISLE OF THE HAPPY (From the Early Irish) Once when Bran, son of Feval, was with his warriors in his royal fort, they suddenly saw a woman in strange raiment upon the floor of the house. No one knew whence she had come or how she had entered, for the ramparts were closed. Then she sang these quatrains of Erin, the Isle of the Happy, to Bran while all the host were listening:A branch I bear from... more...

Punky Dunk on a day in the middle of MayLooked around like a wise little cat,And he said with surprise: "Can I trust my own eyes?Well, what do you know about that?" For a wagon of blue, with a man in blue, too,At the sidewalk was just backing up.And the man brought a crate that was heavy of weightAnd inside was a gay spotted pup. Now Punky felt hurt as he gazed very pertAt the gay spotted pup... more...