Poetry Books

Main Street (For S. M. L.) I like to look at the blossomy track of the moon upon the sea,But it isn't half so fine a sight as Main Street used to beWhen it all was covered over with a couple of feet of snow,And over the crisp and radiant road the ringing sleighs would go. Now, Main Street bordered with autumn leaves, it was a pleasant thing,And its gutters were gay with dandelions early in the... more...

The Children of the Night For those that never know the light,The darkness is a sullen thing;And they, the Children of the Night,Seem lost in Fortune's winnowing. But some are strong and some are weak, —And there's the story. House and homeAre shut from countless hearts that seekWorld-refuge that will never come. And if there be no other life,And if there be no other chanceTo weigh their... more...

One hesitates to lift the veil and throw the light upon a life so hidden and a personality so withdrawn as that of Emma Lazarus; but while her memory is fresh, and the echo of her songs still lingers in these pages, we feel it a duty to call up her presence once more, and to note the traits that made it remarkable and worthy to shine out clearly before the world. Of dramatic episode or climax in her... more...

1.  HAWTHORN AND LAVENDER ENVOY My songs were once of the sunrise:   They shouted it over the bar; First-footing the dawns, they flourished,   And flamed with the morning star. My songs are now of the sunset:   Their brows are touched with light, But their feet are lost in the shadows    And wet with the dews of night. Yet for the joy in their making    Take them, O fond and true, And for... more...

The Night Before Christmas. 'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In the hope that St. Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads. And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled... more...

Th' Better Part. A poor owd man wi' tott'ring gait,Wi' body bent, and snowy pate,Aw met one day;—An' daan o' th' rooad side grassy banksHe sat to rest his weary shanks;An' aw, to wile away my time,O'th' neighbouring hillock did recline,An' bade "gooid day." Said aw, "Owd friend, pray tell me true,If in your heart yo niver rueThe time... more...

PROEMSing of the end of Troy, and of that floodOf passion by the bloodOf heroes consecrate, by poet's craftHallowed, if that thin waftOf godhead blown upon thee stretch thy songTo span such store of strongAnd splendid vision of immortal themesLate harvested in dreams,Albeit long years laid up in tilth. Most meetThou sing that slim and sweetFair woman for whose bosom and delightParis, as well he... more...

NOCTURNE WRITTEN IN AN INDIAN GARDEN'Where ignorance is bliss,'Tis folly to be wise.'The time-gun rolls his nerve-destroying bray;The toiling moon rides slowly o'er the trees;The weary diners cast their cares away,And seek the lawn for coolness and for ease.Now spreads the gathering stillness like a pall,And melancholy silence rules the scene,Save where the bugler sounds his homing... more...

POEMS.The dew is gleaming in the grass,The morning hours are seven,And I am fain to watch you pass,Ye soft white clouds of heaven.Ye stray and gather, part and fold;The wind alone can tame you;I think of what in time of oldThe poets loved to name you.They called you sheep, the sky your sward,A field without a reaper;They called the shining sun your lord,The shepherd wind your keeper.Your sweetest poets... more...

One of R. Caldecott's Picture Books     FREDERICK WARNE & CO. Ltd.1878           This is the House that Jack built.      This is the Malt,That lay in the House that Jack built. This is the Rat,That ate the Malt,That lay in the House that Jack built.               This is the Dog,That worried the Cat,That killed the Rat,That ate the Malt,That lay in the House that Jack... more...