Our website is made possible by displaying online advertisements to our visitors.
Please consider supporting us by disabling your ad blocker.

Download links will be available after you disable the ad blocker and reload the page.
Showing: 11-20 results of 97

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... more...

HIS LIGHT Gray mist on the sea,And the night coming down,She stays with sorrowIn a far town.He goes the sea-waysBy channel lights dim,Her love, a true light,Watches for him.They would be weddedOn a fair yesterday,But the quick regimentSaw him away.Gray mist in her eyesAnd the night coming down:He feels a prayerFrom a far town.He goes the sea-ways,The land lights are dim;She and an altar lightKeep watch for him. THE COUNTERSIGN Along... more...

GOOD-BY BILL Dollar Bill, that I've held so tightEver since payday, a week ago,Shall I purchase with you tonightA pair of seats at the vaudeville show?(Hark! A voice from the easy chair:"Look at his shoes! We must buy a pair.")Dollar Bill, from the wreckage saved,Tell me, how shall I squander you?Shall I be shined, shampooed and shaved,Singed and trimmed 'round the edges, too?(Hark! A voice from the easy chair:"He hasn't a romper... 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 was to a party asked; Her friends... more...

SÉANCE AT SUNRISE Place the new handsIn the old handsOf the old generation,And let us tilt tablesIn the high roomOf our imagination. Let the thick veil glow thin,At sunrise—at sunrise—Let the strange eyes peer in,The red, the black, and the white facesOf the still living deadOf the three races. Let a quaint voice begin: Voice of an Indian"Gone from the land,We leave the music of our names,As pleasant as the sound of... more...


BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH Although Bret Harte's name is identified with Californian life, it was not till he was fifteen that the author of "Plain Language from Truthful James" saw the country of his adoption. Francis Bret Harte, to give the full name which he carried till he became famous, was born at Albany, New York, August 25, 1839. He went with his widowed mother to California in 1854, and was thrown as a young man into the hurly-burly which he... more...

PREFACE The candlelight sweeps softly through the room,Filling dim surfaces with golden laughter,Touching with mystery each high hung rafter,Cutting a path of promise through the gloom.Slim little elves dance gently on each taper,Wistful, small ghosts steal out of shroudedcorners—And, like a line of vague enchanted mourners,Great shadows sway like wind-blown sheets of paper.Gently as fingers drawn across your hair,I see the yellow flicker... more...

FOREWORD In presenting a loyal and venerable ex-slave as an artless exponent of freedom, freedom of conduct as well as of speech, the author of this trivial volume is perhaps not composing an individual so truly as individualizing a composite, if the expression will pass. The grizzled brown dispenser of homely admonitions is a figure not unfamiliar to those who have "moved in plantation circles" in the cotton and sugar country, and touched... more...

PART THE FIRST. I     IN the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas,  Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pré  Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward,  Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number.  Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant,  Shut out the turbulent... more...

FIFTY YEARS & OTHER POEMS FIFTY YEARS 1863-1913 O brothers mine, to-day we standWhere half a century sweeps our ken,Since God, through Lincoln's ready hand,Struck off our bonds and made us men. Just fifty years—a winter's day—As runs the history of a race;Yet, as we look back o'er the way,How distant seems our starting place! Look farther back! Three centuries!To where a naked, shivering score,Snatched from their haunts... more...