Poetry Books

Under the window is my garden, Where sweet, sweet flowers grow; And in the pear-tree dwells a robin, The dearest bird I know. Tho' I peep out betimes in the morning, Still the flowers are up the first; Then I try and talk to the robin, And perhaps he'd chat—if he durst.13 Will you be my little wife, If I ask you? Do! I'll buy you such a Sunday frock, A nice umbrella, too. And you shall... more...

PART I.HRO' scented meadows, where do grazeThe meek-eyed kine on summer days,At early morn swept Daisy Dare,—Sparkling, graceful, passing fair.Sparkling as the dew-drops gleamingOn her path, or sunlight streamingThrough her tresses—graceful, fair,As naught on earth save Daisy Dare! Wondrous tresses! sunshine fadesMid floating curls and sumptuous braids,—A crown of light that glorifiesWhite... more...

I Out of the little chapel I burst  Into the fresh night-air again.Five minutes full, I waited first  In the doorway, to escape the rainThat drove in gusts down the common's centre  At the edge of which the chapel stands,Before I plucked up heart to enter.  Heaven knows how many sorts of handsReached past me, groping for the latchOf the inner door that hung on catchMore obstinate the more... more...

CANTO XXVI While singly thus along the rim we walk'd,Oft the good master warn'd me: "Look thou well.Avail it that I caution thee."  The sunNow all the western clime irradiate chang'dFrom azure tinct to white; and, as I pass'd,My passing shadow made the umber'd flameBurn ruddier.  At so strange a sight I mark'dThat many a spirit marvel'd on his way. This bred... more...

THE OLD HANGING FORK.I.O don't you remember those days so divine,Around which the heart-strings all tenderly twine,When with sapling pole and a painted corkWe fished up and down the old Hanging Fork—From the railroad bridge, with its single span,Clear down to the mill at Dawson's old dam—From early morn till the shades of night,And it made no difference if fishdidn'tbite?II.What... more...

I. Peace, peace, thou over-anxious, foolish heart,Rest, ever-seeking soul, calm, mad desires,Quiet, wild dreams—this is the time of sleep.Hold her more close than life itself. ForgetAll the excitements of the day, forgetAll problems and discomforts. Let the nightTake you unto herself, her blessed self.Peace, peace, thou over-anxious, foolish heart,Rest, ever-seeking soul, calm, mad desires,Quiet,... more...

The Pasture I'M going out to clean the pasture spring;I'll only stop to rake the leaves away(And wait to watch the water clear, I may):I sha'n't be gone long.—You come too.I'm going out to fetch the little calfThat's standing by the mother. It's so young,It totters when she licks it with her tongue.I sha'n't be gone long.—You come too. SOMETHING there is... more...

PREFACE In homely phrase, this is a sort of "second helping" of a dish that has pleased the taste of thousands. Our first collection of Poems Teachers Ask For was the response to a demand for such a book, and this present volume is the response to a demand for "more." In Book One it was impracticable to use all of the many poems entitled to inclusion on the basis of their being desired.... more...

There are few issues attended with greater uncertainty than the fate of a poet, and of the three represented herein it may be said that they survive but tardily in public interest. Such a state of things, in spite of all pleading, is quite beyond reason; hence the purport of this small Anthology is at once obvious. A group of poets graced with rarest charm and linked together by several and varied... more...

II. THE VALUE OF ROWLEY'S POEMS—PHILOLOGICAL AND LITERARY As imitations of fifteenth-century composition it must be confessed the Rowley poems have very little value. Of Chatterton's method of antiquating something has already been said. He made himself an antique lexicon out of the glossary to Speght's Chaucer, and such words as were marked with a capital O, standing for... more...