English, Irish, Scottish, Welsh Books

Part 1 Upon a time, before the faery broodsDrove Nymph and Satyr from the prosperous woods,Before King Oberon's bright diadem,Sceptre, and mantle, clasp'd with dewy gem,Frighted away the Dryads and the FaunsFrom rushes green, and brakes, and cowslip'd lawns,The ever-smitten Hermes empty leftHis golden throne, bent warm on amorous theft:From high Olympus had he stolen light,On this side... more...

One foot up and one foot downAnd that's the way to— [02] [03]C,B,W,WITL, ,WFI:C,—SP',,U, O'. [04] [05] [06] [07]CONTENTSPageTHE TOWER OF LONDON, , ,THE OMNIBUSTHE PENNY-ICE MANCOVENT GARDEN,THE PENNY-TOY MANTHE ORANGE GIRLTHE FIRST OF MAYST. JAMES' PARK,WESTMINSTER ABBEY, ,CHARITY GIRLSTHE BRITISH MUSEUM, ,THE UNDERGROUND RAILWAY,THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS, ,THE MILK WOMANTHE MUFFIN... more...

AT THE FOOT OF HEMLOCK MOUNTAIN "In connection with this phase of the problem of transportation it must be remembered that the rush of population to the great cities was no temporary movement. It is caused by a final revolt against that malignant relic of the dark ages, the country village and by a healthy craving for the deep, full life of the metropolis, for contact with the vitalizing stream of... more...

ROSAMUND. His blew His winds, and they were scattered. 'One soweth and another reapeth.'                                     Ay,Too true, too true. One soweth—unawareCometh a reaper stealthily while he dreams—Bindeth the golden sheaf, and in his bosomAs 't were between the dewfall and the dawnBears it away. Who other was to blame?Is it I? Is it... more...

THE BROOK.I come from haunts of coot and hern,I make sudden sallyAnd sparkle out among the fern,To bicker down a valley.By thirty hills I hurry down,Or slip between the ridges,By twenty thorps, a little town,And half a hundred bridges.I chatter over stony ways,In little sharps and trebles,I bubble into eddying bays,I babble on the pebbles.With many a curve my banks I fretBy many a field and fallow,And... more...

THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. PART I. At Paris, hard by the Maine barriers,Whoever will choose to repair,Midst a dozen of wooden-legged warriorsMay haply fall in with old Pierre.On the sunshiny bench of a tavernHe sits and he prates of old wars,And moistens his pipe of tobaccoWith a drink that is named after Mars. The beer makes his tongue run the quicker,And as long as his tap never fails,Thus over his... more...

[213] THE "aesthetic" poetry is neither a mere reproduction of Greek or medieval poetry, nor only an idealisation of modern life and sentiment. The atmosphere on which its effect depends belongs to no simple form of poetry, no actual form of life. Greek poetry, medieval or modern poetry, projects, above the realities of its time, a world in which the forms of things are transfigured. Of that... more...

THE BURIAL OF THE LINNET.Found in the garden—dead in his beauty.Ah! that a linnet should die in the spring!Bury him, comrades, in pitiful duty,Muffle the dinner-bell, solemnly ring.Bury him kindly—up in the corner;Bird, beast, and gold-fish are sepulchred there;Bid the black kitten march as chief mourner,Waving her tail like a plume in the air.Bury him nobly—next to the donkey;Fetch the old... more...

HIS DREAM I swayed upon the gaudy stern The butt end of a steering oar, And everywhere that I could turn Men ran upon the shore. And though I would have hushed the crowd There was no mother’s son but said, “What is the figure in a shroud Upon a gaudy bed?” And fishes bubbling to the brim Cried out upon that thing beneath, It had such dignity of limb, By the sweet name of Death. Though I’d my... more...

THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVEREBUT, knowing now that they would have her speak,She threw her wet hair backward from her brow,Her hand close to her mouth touching her cheek,As though she had had there a shameful blow,And feeling it shameful to feel ought but shameAll through her heart, yet felt her cheek burned so,She must a little touch it; like one lameShe walked away from Gauwaine, with her headStill lifted... more...