Poetry Books

PATH FLOWERA red-capsang in Bishop's wood,A lark o'er Golder's lane,As I the April pathway trodBound west for Willesden.At foot each tiny blade grew bigAnd taller stood to hear,And every leaf on every twigWas like a little ear.As I too paused, and both ways triedTo catch the rippling rain,—So still, a hare kept at my sideHis tussock of disdain,—Behind me close I heard a step,A soft... more...

Good people all, of every sort,Give ear unto my song;And if you find it wondrous short,It cannot hold you long.In Islington there lived a man,Of whom the world might say,That still a godly race he ran,Whene'er he wentto pray.A kind and gentle heart he had,To comfort friends and foes;The naked every day he clad,When he put onhis clothesAnd in that town a dog was found:As many dogs there be—Both... more...

The true story of the life of Michael Drayton might be told to, vindicate the poetic traditions of the olden time. A child-poet wandering in fay-haunted Arden, or listening to the harper that frequented the fireside of Polesworth Hall where the boy was a petted page, later the honoured almoner of the bounty of many patrons, one who "not unworthily," as Tofte said, "beareth the name of the... more...

Timbuctoo A POEMWHICH OBTAINEDTHE CHANCELLOR'S MEDALAT THE Cambridge Commencement MDCCCXXIX BYA. TENNYSON Of Trinity College [Printed in Cambridge Chronicle and Journal of Friday, July 10, 1829, and at the University Press by James Smith, among the Prolusiones Academicæ Præmiis annuis dignatæ et in Curia Cantabrigiensi Recitatæ Comitiis Maximis, MDCCCXXIX. Republished in Cambridge Prize Poems,... more...

PART I THE TREASON OF GANELON SARAGOSSA. THE COUNCIL OF KING MARSIL IThe king our Emperor Carlemaine,Hath been for seven full years in Spain.From highland to sea hath he won the land;City was none might his arm withstand;Keep and castle alike went down--Save Saragossa, the mountain town.The King Marsilius holds the place,Who loveth not God, nor seeks His grace:He prays to Apollin, and serves... more...

PHILOSOPHER'S GARDEN     "See this my garden,      Large and fair!"—Thus, to his friend,The Philosopher.   "'Tis not too long,"His friend replied,With truth exact,—  "Nor yet too wide.  But well compact,   If somewhat cramped    On every side." Quick the reply—  "But see how high!—  It reaches up  To God's blue sky!"... more...

Song of the Pen Not for the love of women toil we, we of the craft,Not for the people's praise;Only because our goddess made us her own and laughed,Claiming us all our days, Claiming our best endeavour—body and heart and brainGiven with no reserve—Niggard is she towards us, granting us little gain;Still, we are proud to serve. Not unto us is given choice of the tasks we try,Gathering grain or... more...

Rio Grande's Last Race Now this was what Macpherson toldWhile waiting in the stand;A reckless rider, over-bold,The only man with hands to holdThe rushing Rio Grande. He said, 'This day I bid good-byeTo bit and bridle rein,To ditches deep and fences high,For I have dreamed a dream, and IShall never ride again. 'I dreamt last night I rode this raceThat I to-day must ride,And cant'ring... more...

Renascence and Other Poems Renascence All I could see from where I stoodWas three long mountains and a wood;I turned and looked another way,And saw three islands in a bay.So with my eyes I traced the lineOf the horizon, thin and fine,Straight around till I was comeBack to where I'd started from;And all I saw from where I stoodWas three long mountains and a wood.Over these things I could not... more...

The Bride The little white bride is left aloneWith him, her lord; the guests have gone;The festal hall is dim.No jesting now, nor answering mirth.The hush of sleep falls on the earthAnd leaves her here with him. Why should there be, O little white bride,When the world has left you by his side,A tear to brim your eyes?Some old love-face that comes again,Some old love-moment sweet with painOf passionate... more...