General Books

CONTENTS OF FIRST LINES: To the Man of the High NorthMy rhymes are rough, and often in my rhyming Men of the High NorthMen of the High North, the wild sky is blazing; The Ballad of the Northern LightsOne of the Down and Out—that's me. Stare at me well, ay, stare! The Ballad of the Black Fox SkinThere was Claw-fingered Kitty and Windy Ike living the life of shame, The Ballad of Pious PeteI tried... more...

THE SEABOARD.Thesea is at ebb, and the sound of her utmost wordIs soft as the least wave’s lapse in a still small reach.From bay into bay, on quest of a goal deferred,From headland ever to headland and breach to breachWhere earth gives ear to the message that all days preachWith changes of gladness and sadness that cheer and chide,The lone way lures me along by a chance untriedThat haply, if hope... more...

SANGUINE "The clock indicates the hour but what does enternity indicate?"Whitman Imagine, being told cubism isn't painting. ThatBeardsley didn't die at 26, unheralded as a boy geniusor Corot didn't come to Paris after all. Imagine, The Louvre without a rooftop, theintelligentsia sitting down to a ragged tablesurrounded by sawdust intellects, Proust not beingable to write his... more...

JONGLEURS. What is the stir in the street?Hurry of feet!And after,A sound as of pipes and of tabers! Men of the conflicts and labors,Struggling and shifting and shoving,Pushing and pounding your neighbors,Fighting for leeway for laughter,Toiling for leisure for loving!Hark, through the window and up to the rafter,Madder and merrier,Deeper and verier,Sweeter, contrarier,Dafter and dafter,A song... more...

In these days when the old civilisation is crumbling beneath our feet, the thought of poetry crosses the mind like the dear memory of things that have long since passed away. In our passionate desire for the new era, it is difficult to refrain oneself from the commonplace practice of speculating on the effects of warfare and of prophesying all manner of novel rebirths. But it may be well for us to... more...

Brave and True, by E Dawson. “But I say, Martin, tell us about it! My pater wrote to me that you’d done no end of heroic things, and saved Bullace senior from being killed. His pater told him, so I know it’s all right. But wasn’t it a joke you two should be on the same ship?” Martin looked up at his old schoolfellow. He had suddenly become a person of importance in the well-known old haunts... more...

I The sister Hours in circles linked,Daughters of men, of men the mates,Are gone on flow with the day that winked,With the night that spanned at golden gates.Mothers, they leave us, quickening seed;They bear us grain or flower or weed,As we have sown; is nought extinctFor them we fill to be our Fates.Life of the breath is but the loan;Passing death what we have sown. Pearly are they till the pale... more...

A for Arab.This Arab is upset, I fear;Look at his pretty shield and spear.He's stuck two pistols in his sash,And, dear me, how his eyes do flash!At home he has a horse to ride;To "scour the desert" is his pride.His horse is of the purest breed;Some people call his horse a steed.Here is your little brother Boer,Of course, you've heard of him before;He has a naughty Uncle Paul,Who used... more...

POEMS OF THE FIRST PERIOD. HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE. [This and the following poem are, with some alterations, introducedin the Play of "The Robbers."] ANDROMACHE.Will Hector leave me for the fatal plain,Where, fierce with vengeance for Patroclus slain,Stalks Peleus' ruthless son?Who, when thou glid'st amid the dark abodes,To hurl the spear and to revere the gods,Shall teach thine orphan... more...

On the night of the rains,water was oozing out fromthe sky's swollen stitches,a rash developed acrossthe meaning of the heavens. The wooden floors of my attic placestrove for a deeper tone,a hoarse callinggrew louder as I pacedtrying to see rain. I followed the gravity of the treasure huntwhere each bounce meant a slapacross a table top of tension,where the window basted winter black rainand... more...