Poetry Books

Wedlock, oh! Curs'd uncomfortable State,Cause of my Woes, and Object of my hate.How bless'd was I? Ah, once how happy me?When I from those uneasie Bonds were free;How calm my Joys? How peaceful was my Breast,Till with thy fatal Cares too soon opprest,The World seem'd Paradice, so bless'd the SoilWherein I liv'd, that Business was no Toil;Life was a Comfort, which produc'd... more...

TAM I' THE KIRK O Jean, my Jean, when the bell ca's the congregationOwre valley an' hill wi' the ding frae its iron mou',When a'body's thochts is set on his ain salvation,  Mine's set on you. There's a reid rose lies on the Buik o' the Word 'afore yeThat was growin' braw on its bush at the keek o' day,But the lad that pu'd yon... more...

HERE BEGIN POEMS BY THE WAY.WRITTEN BY WILLIAM MORRIS.AND FIRST IS THE POEM CALLEDFROM THE UPLAND TO THE SEA. Shall we wake one morn of spring,Glad at heart of everything,Yet pensive with the thought of eve?Then the white house shall we leave,Pass the wind-flowers and the bays,Through the garth, and go our ways,Wandering down among the meadsTill our very joyance needsRest at last; till we shall comeTo... more...

THE LORD OF MISRULE “On May days the wild heads of the parish would choose a Lord of Misrule, whom they would follow even into the church, though the minister were at prayer or preaching, dancing and swinging their may-boughs about like devils incarnate.”—Old Puritan Writer. A LL on a fresh May morning, I took my love to church, To see if Parson Primrose were safely on his perch. He scarce had... more...

Dear Mr. Smithers, By every right I ought to choose you to edit and bring out Sir Richard Burton's translation of Catullus, because you collaborated with him on this work by a correspondence of many months before he died. If I have hesitated so long as to its production, it was because his notes, which are mostly like pencilled cobwebs, strewn all over his Latin edition, were headed, "NEVER... more...

A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS.Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the houseNot a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,In hopes 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 our brains for a... 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One hesitates to lift the veil and throw the light upon a life so hidden and a personality so withdrawn as that of Emma Lazarus; but while her memory is fresh, and the echo of her songs still lingers in these pages, we feel it a duty to call up her presence once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...

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...

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...