Poetry Books

The Farmer's Boy.WhenI was a farmer, a Farmer's Boy,       I used to keep my master's HORSES,WithaGee-wohere, and aGee-wothere,      And here aGee, and there aGee,      And everywhere aGee;Says I,My pretty lass, will you come to the banks of the Aire oh?WhenI was a farmer, a Farmer's Boy,      I used to keep my master's LAMBS,WithaBaa-baahere, and... more...

Good people all,with one accord,Lament forMadam Blaize,Who never wanteda good word—From thosewho spoke her praise. The needy seldom pass’d her door,And always found her kind;She freely lent to all the poor—Who lefta pledge behind. She strove the neighbourhood to pleaseWith manners wondrous winning;And never follow’d wicked ways—Unless when she was sinning.At church, in silks and satins... more...

To some the eighteenth-century definition of proper poetic matter is unacceptable; but to any who believe that true poetry may (if not "must") consist in "what oft was thought but ne'er so well expressed," Gray's "Churchyard" is a majestic achievement—perhaps (accepting the definition offered) the supreme achievement of its century. Its success, so the great critic... more...

PREFACE. Sæmund, son of Sigfus, the reputed collector of the poems bearing his name, which is sometimes also called the Elder, and the Poetic, Edda, was of a highly distinguished family, being descended in a direct line from King Harald Hildetonn. He was born at Oddi, his paternal dwelling in the south of Iceland, between the years 1054 and 1057, or about 50 years after the establishment by law of the... more...

EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND ELEVEN. Still the loud death drum, thundering from afar,O'er the vext nations pours the storm of war:To the stern call still Britain bends her ear,Feeds the fierce strife, the alternate hope and fear;Bravely, though vainly, dares to strive with Fate,And seeks by turns to prop each sinking state.Colossal Power with overwhelming force [2]Bears down each fort of Freedom in its... more...

INTRODUCTION To the modern reader, with an abundance of periodicals of all sorts and upon all subjects at hand, it seems hardly possible that this wealth of ephemeral literature was virtually developed within the past two centuries. It offers such a rational means for the dissemination of the latest scientific and literary news that the mind undeceived by facts would naturally place the origin of the... more...

High Noon Time's finger on the dial of my lifePoints to high noon! and yet the half-spent dayLeaves less than half remaining, for the dark,Bleak shadows of the grave engulf the end. To those who burn the candle to the stick,The sputtering socket yields but little light.Long life is sadder than an early death.We cannot count on raveled threads of ageWhereof to weave a fabric. We must useThe warp... more...

EPISTLE TO THE REV. J--- B---, WHILST JOURNEYING FOR THE RECOVERY OF HIS HEALTH. When warm’d with zeal, my rustic MuseFeels fluttering fain to tell her news,And paint her simple, lowly views      With all her art,And, though in genius but obtuse,      May touch the heart. Of palaces and courts of kingsShe thinks but little, never sings,But wildly strikes her uncouth strings      In... more...

Nuts Crazy as a cashew.Unbelievably lucky, I keep my job,live alone,lead a lucky life. Always the same old job,17 years of it. Go nowhere.Be nobody.Do nothing. Sheer luxury. They got to me. They drove meoff the deep end. But I’m luckywith my label,and my safe job. Shame I’m nuts.Blissful,lucky,shame. Mind Stew Boil, boil, andon it stews,the broth that cooks,on the stovethat is my mind. Ideas bob... more...

THE DREAMERS The gypsies passed her little gate—She stopped her wheel to see,—A brown-faced pair who walked the road,Free as the wind is free;And suddenly her tidy roomA prison seemed to be. Her shining plates against the walls,Her sunlit, sanded floor,The brass-bound wedding chest that heldHer linen's snowy store,The very wheel whose humming died,—Seemed only chains she bore. She watched... more...