Poetry Books

INTRODUCTIONI callyou bad, my little child,Upon the title page,Because a manner rude and wildIs common at your age. The Moral of this priceless work(If rightly understood)Will make you—from a little Turk—Unnaturally good. Do not as evil children do,Who on the slightest groundsWill imitatethe Kangaroo,With wild unmeaning bounds: Do not as children badly bred,Who eat like little Hogs,And when they... more...

PREFACE If—and the thing is wildly possible—the charge of writing nonsense were ever brought against the author of this brief but instructive poem, it would be based, I feel convinced, on the line (in p.4) "Then the bowsprit got mixed with the rudder sometimes." In view of this painful possibility, I will not (as I might) appeal indignantly to my other writings as a proof that I am... more...

The scene of the Epic is the ancient kingdom of the Kurus which flourished along the upper course of the Ganges; and the historical fact on which the Epic is based is a great war which took place between the Kurus and a neighbouring tribe, the Panchalas, in the thirteenth or fourteenth century before Christ. According to the Epic, Pandu and Dhrita-rashtra, who was born blind, were brothers. Pandu died... more...

DEDICATION TO MY MOTHER Love that holds life and death in fee,Deep as the clear unsounded seaAnd sweet as life or death can be,Lays here my hope, my heart, and meBefore you, silent, in a song.Since the old wild tale, made new, found grace,When half sung through, before your face,It needs must live a springtide space,While April suns grow strong. March 24, 1896. In hawthorn-time the heart grows... more...

'T is like stirring living embers when, at eighty, one remembersAll the achings and the quakings of "the times that tried men's souls;"When I talk of Whig and Tory, when I tell the Rebel story,To you the words are ashes, but to me they're burning coals. I had heard the muskets' rattle of the April running battle;Lord Percy's hunted soldiers, I can see their red coats... more...

The poet Kabîr, a selection from whose songs is here for the first time offered to English readers, is one of the most interesting personalities in the history of Indian mysticism. Born in or near Benares, of Mohammedan parents, and probably about the year 1440, be became in early life a disciple of the celebrated Hindu ascetic Râmânanda. Râmânanda had brought to Northern India the religious... more...

Drake's Drum Drake he's in his hammock an' a thousand miles away,  (Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?)Slung atween the round shot in Nombre Dios Bay,  An' dreamin' arl the time O' Plymouth Hoe.Yarnder lumes the Island, yarnder lie the ships,  Wi' sailor lads a-dancing' heel-an'-toe,An' the shore-lights flashin', an' the... more...

I. Thou tak'st no heed of me,I am as naught to thee;         Cruel Beloved, arise!Lovely and languid thou,Sleep still upon thy brow,         Dreams in thine eyes.From out thy garment flowsFragrance of many a rose—         Airs of delightCaught in the moonlit hoursLying among the flowers         Through the long night.Look on my face how pale!Will naught my love... more...

No description available

PREFACE. Several years ago, the maker of this version translated into French one of the early works of H. W. Longfellow. This circumstance was not forgotten by the American poet who kindly consented to listen to this new attempt at rendering into English the "CHANSON DE ROLAND." To his encouragement is due the present publication. The writer will ever proudly treasure up the remembrance of his... more...