Poetry Books

THE RETURN OF THE DEAD Swayne Dyring o’er to the island strayed;   And were I only young again!He wedded there a lovely maid—   To honied words we list so fain. Together they lived seven years and more;   And were I only young again!And seven fair babes to him she bore—   To honied words we list so fain. Then death arrived in luckless hour;   And were I only young again!Then died the... more...

PART THE FIRST. It is an ancient Mariner,And he stoppeth one of three."By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,Now wherefore stopp'st thou me? "The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,And I am next of kin;The guests are met, the feast is set:May'st hear the merry din." He holds him with his skinny hand,"There was a ship," quoth he."Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard... more...

THE BASEMENT When Fritz, the Janitor's bad kid, Went snooping in the basement, He found a rocket snugly hid Beneath the window casement. He struck a match with one fell swoop; Then, on the concrete kneeling, He lit the rocket and—she—oop! It shot up through the ceiling. [pg] [pg] The Steiners on the floor above Of breakfast were partaking; Crash! came the rocket, unannounced, And set them all... more...

Scraping across the beach the boats were launched,And as they touched the waves, they seemed to takeNew shape and dignity with that caressOf little lapping ripples round the prow.Uhila led the fleet as one who knewHis right by reason of his age and skill.The little isle seemed now a sleeping maidKirtled in green, the beach her snowy breastVeined with the purple brooks that sought the sea.Uhila watched... more...

As in a Rose-Jar As in a rose-jar filled with petals sweet Blown long ago in some old garden place, Mayhap, where you and I, a little space, Drank deep of love and knew that love was fleet— Or leaves once gathered from a lost retreat By one who never will again retrace Her silent footsteps—one, whose gentle face Was fairer than the roses at her feet; So, deep within the vase of memory, I keep my... 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...

THE RUBAIYAT OF A HUFFY HUSBAND II wake, the Sun does scatter into FlightThe Dreams of Happiness I have each Night,O blessèd Dreams—full of Domestic Bliss,Too soon alas! They're banished with the Light. I'm going to tell in just the Briefest wayThe cause of all my Anguish—if I may—Then one and all will know the Reason whyMy Mien is Solemn, and I am not Gay. IIIOn Christmas day a good... more...

The Rubáiyát of aPersian KittenWake! for the Golden Cat has put to flightThe Mouse of Darkness with his Paw of Light:Which means, in Plain and simple every-dayUnoriental Speech—The Dawn is bright.They say the Early Bird the Worm shall taste.Then rise, O Kitten! Wherefore, sleeping, wasteThe Fruits of Virtue? Quick! the Early BirdWill soon be on the Flutter—O make haste!The Early Bird has gone,... more...

Since the publication of Edward Fitzgerald's classic translation of the Rubaiyat in 1851 - or rather since its general popularity several years later - poets minor and major have been rendering the sincerest form of flattery to the genius of the Irishman who brought Persia into the best regulated families. Unfortunately there was only one Omar and there were scores of imitators who, in order to... more...

THE VOICE THAT SINGS The voice that sings across the night   Of long forgotten days and things,Is there an ear to hear aright   The voice that sings? It is as when a curfew rings   Melodious in the dying light,A sound that flies on pulsing wings. And faded eyes that once were bright   Brim over, as to life it bringsThe echo of a dead delight,   The voice that sings. In vain you fervently... more...