Poetry Books

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...

INTRODUCTION A SHORT LIFE OF ARNOLD Matthew Arnold, poet and critic, was born in the village of Laleham,Middlesex County, England, December 24, 1822. He was the son of Dr.Thomas Arnold, best remembered as the great Head Master at Rugby andin later years distinguished also as a historian of Rome, and of MaryPenrose Arnold, a woman of remarkable character and intellect. Devoid of stirring incident, and,... 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...

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...

GEORGIC I What makes the cornfield smile; beneath what starMaecenas, it is meet to turn the sodOr marry elm with vine; how tend the steer;What pains for cattle-keeping, or what proofOf patient trial serves for thrifty bees;-Such are my themes.O universal lightsMost glorious! ye that lead the gliding yearAlong the sky, Liber and Ceres mild,If by your bounty holpen earth once changedChaonian acorn for... more...

This book contains the undesigned, but all the more spontaneous and authentic, biography of a very rare spirit. It contains the record of a short life, into which was crowded far more of keen experience and high aspiration—of the thrill of sense and the rapture of soul—than it is given to most men, even of high vitality, to extract from a life of twice the length. Alan Seeger had barely passed his... more...