Poetry Books

INTRODUCTION Upon being asked by a Reader whether the verses contained in this book were true.   And is it True? It is not True.And if it were it wouldn’t do,For people such as me and youWho pretty nearly all day longAre doing something rather wrong.Because if things were really so,You would have perished long ago,And I would not have lived to writeThe noble lines that meet your sight,Nor B. T. B.... more...

SÉANCE AT SUNRISEPlace the new handsIn the old handsOf the old generation,And let us tilt tablesIn the high roomOf our imagination.Let the thick veil glow thin,At sunrise—at sunrise—Let the strange eyes peer in,The red, the black, and the white facesOf the still living deadOf the three races.Let a quaint voice begin: Voice of an Indian "Gone from the land,We leave the music of our names,As... more...

"Come Jane," said grandmamma one day, "'Tis time you learned to sew; At your age I could make a frock, And you should also know." But Jane cared little for such things; She liked to make a noise; She used to run about all day, And shout, and play with boys. So now she only tossed her head And ran with eager feet, And soon was racing up and down, And playing in the street. Once Jane... more...

ADVERTISEMENT.ThisPoem is the result of a sense of duty, which has taken the Author from quieter studies during a great public crisis. He obeyed the impulse with joy, because it took the shape of verse; but with more pain, on some accounts, than he chooses to express. However, he has done what he conceived himself bound to do; and if every zealous lover of his species were to express his feelings in... more...

THE COD-FISHER Where leap the long Atlantic swellsIn foam-streaked stretch of hill and dale,Where shrill the north-wind demon yells,And flings the spindrift down the gale;Where, beaten 'gainst the bending mast,The frozen raindrop clings and cleaves,With steadfast front for calm or blastHis battered schooner rocks and heaves. To same the gain, to some the loss,To each the chance, the risk, the... more...

A SUMMER NIGHTHer mist of primroses within her breastTwilight hath folded up, and o'er the west,Seeking remoter valleys long hath gone,Not yet hath come her sister of the dawn.Silence and coolness now the earth enfold:Jewels of glittering green, long mists of gold,Hazes of nebulous silver veil the height,And shake in tremors through the shadowy night.Heard through the stillness, as in whispered... more...

The Little New Year One cold morning Maurice awoke from his dreams and sat up in bed and listened. He thought he heard a knock at his window; but though the moon was shining brightly, Jack Frost had been so busily at work that Maurice could not see through the thickly painted panes. So he crept sleepily out of bed, and opened the window, and whispered: "Who is there?" "I am," replied a... more...

INTRODUCTION LIFE OF BROWNING Robert Browning was born in Camberwell, London, May 7, 1812. He was contemporary with Tennyson, Dickens, Thackeray, Lowell, Emerson, Hawthorne, Darwin, Spencer, Huxley, Dumas, Hugo, Mendelssohn, Wagner, and a score of other men famous in art and science. Browning's good fortune began with his birth. His father, a clerk in the Bank of England, possessed ample means for... more...

BROWN WILLIAM This ballad was written in consequence of the execution of William Christian, generally called William Donn, or Brown William, from the darkness of his complexion, who was shot at Hango Hill, near Castletown, in the Isle of Man, shortly after the Restoration, for alleged treason to the Derby family, who long possessed the sovereignty of Man. . . . The ballad of “Brown William,” which... more...

ADVERTISEMENT. My Booksellers inform’d me, lately, that several inquiries had been made for ,—but that every copy had been sold;—they had been out of print these two years.—“Then publish them again,” said I, boldly,—(I print at my own risk)—and with an air of triumph. Messrs. Cadell and Davies advise’d me to make additions.—“The is, really, too short,” said Messrs. Cadell and... more...