American Books

When Day Is Done When day is done and the night slips down,And I've turned my back on the busy town,And come once more to the welcome gateWhere the roses nod and the children wait,I tell myself as I see them smileThat life is good and its tasks worth while. When day is done and I've come once moreTo my quiet street and the friendly door,Where the Mother reigns and the children playAnd the... more...

GEORGE D. PRENTICE.'Tis midnight's holy hour, and silence nowIs brooding, like a gentle spirit o'erThe still and pulseless world. Hark! on the windsThe bell's deep tones are swelling; 'tis the knellOf the departed year. No funeral trainIs sweeping past; yet, on the stream and wood,With melancholy light, the moonbeams restLike a pale, spotless shroud; the air is stirred,As by a... more...

EDWARD L. BERNAYSHe was a burly Dutch tenor,And I patiently trailed him in his waking and sleeping hoursThat I might not lose a story,—But his life was commonplace and unimaginative—Air raids and abdications kept his activities,(A game of bridge yesterday, a ride to Tarrytown),Out of the papers.I watchfully waited,Yearning a coup that would place him on theMusical map.A coup, such as kissing a... more...

BACK FROM TOWN Old friends allus is the best,Halest-like and heartiest:Knowed us first, and don't allowWe're so blame much better now!They was standin' at the barsWhen we grabbed "the kivvered kyars"And lit out fer town, to makeMoney—and that old mistake! We thought then the world we wentInto beat "The Settlement,"And the friends 'at we'd make thereWould beat... more...

ARTEMIS TO ACTAEON   THOU couldst not look on me and live: so runs  The mortal legend—thou that couldst not live  Nor look on me (so the divine decree)!  That saw'st me in the cloud, the wave, the bough,  The clod commoved with April, and the shapes  Lurking 'twixt lid and eye-ball in the dark.  Mocked I thee not in every guise of life,  Hid in girls' eyes, a naiad in... 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...

GLOUCESTER MOORSA mile behind is Gloucester townWhere the fishing fleets put in,A mile ahead the land dips downAnd the woods and farms begin.Here, where the moors stretch freeIn the high blue afternoon,Are the marching sun and talking sea,And the racing winds that wheel and fleeOn the flying heels of June.Jill-o'er-the-ground is purple blue,Blue is the quaker-maid,The wild geranium holds its... more...

INTRODUCTION If we define poetry as the heart of man expressed in beautiful language, we shall not say that we have no national poetry. True, America has produced no Shakespeare and no Milton, but we have an inheritance in all English literature; and many poets in America have followed in the footsteps of their literary British forefathers. Puritan life was severe. It was warfare, and manual labor of a... more...

I. PRELUDE Daughter of Psyche, pledge of that last nightWhen, pierced with pain and bitter-sweet delight,She knew her Love and saw her Lord depart,Then breathed her wonder and her woe forlornInto a single cry, and thou wast born?Thou flower of rapture and thou fruit of grief;Invisible enchantress of the heart;Mistress of charms that bring reliefTo sorrow, and to joy impartA heavenly tone that keeps it... more...

PREFACE This little volume was written for no reason on earth and with no earthly reason. It just simply happened, on the principle, I suppose that "murder will out." Murder is a bad thing and so are nonsense rhymes. There is often a valid excuse for murder; there is none for nonsense rhymes. They seem to be a necessary evil to be classed with smallpox, chicken-pox, yellow fever and other... more...