General Books

PREFACE "Of making many books there is no end."—Eccles. 12:12. When the above words were written by Solomon, King of Israel, about three thousand years ago, they were possibly inspired by the existence even at that early period of an extensive and probably overweighted literature. The same literary conditions are as true to-day as when the above truism emanated from that most wonderful of all... more...

Near the Sign of the BellLiv'd Jobson and NellAnd cobbling of Shoes was his tradeThey agreed very wellThe neighbors did tellFor he was a funny old blade. But Jobson loved whiskeyWhich made him so friskeyHis noddle when once it got inThat frolick he mustAnd kick up a dustFor his customers cared not a pin. The Parson did sendHis Shoes for to mendTo take him on Sunday to ChurchBut Jobson he sworeHe... more...

BED IN SUMMER In winter I get up at night And dress by yellow candle-light. In summer, quite the other way,— I have to go to bed by day. I have to go to bed and see The birds still hopping on the tree, Or hear the grown-up people’s feet Still going past me in the street. And does it not seem hard to you, When all the sky is clear and blue, And I should like so much to play, To have to go to bed by... more...

PREFACE Utterances of poets regarding their character and mission have perhaps received less attention than they deserve. The tacit assumption of the majority of critics seems to be that the poet, like the criminal, is the last man who should pass judgment upon his own case. Yet it is by no means certain that this view is correct. Introspective analysis on the part of the poet might reasonably be... more...

Buying and Selling   Throughout the day I sit behind the counter of my shop  And the odours of my country are all about me—  Areca nut, and betel leaf, and manioc,  Lychee and suey sen,  Li-un and dried seaweed,  Tchah and sam-shu;  And these carry my mind to half-forgotten days  When tales were plentiful and care was hard to hold.   All day I sell for trifling sums the wares of my... more...

Danny Deever "What are the bugles blowin' for?" said Files-on-Parade."To turn you out, to turn you out", the Colour-Sergeant said."What makes you look so white, so white?" said Files-on-Parade."I'm dreadin' what I've got to watch", the Colour-Sergeant said.For they're hangin' Danny Deever, you can hear the Dead March play,The regiment's... more...

In Flanders Fields In Flanders fields the poppies blowBetween the crosses, row on row,That mark our place; and in the skyThe larks, still bravely singing, flyScarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days agoWe lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,Loved and were loved, and now we lie,In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe:To you from failing hands we throwThe torch; be yours... more...

THE DUCKS AND THE FROGS chanced upon a certain day, When cheerful Summer, bright and gay,Had brought once more her gift of flowers,To dress anew her pleasant bowers;When birds and insects on the wingMade all the air with music ring;When sunshine smiled on dell and knoll,Two Ducks set forth to take a stroll.'Twas morning; and each grassy bankOf cooling dew had deeply drank—Each fair young flower... more...

The Little New Year One cold morning Maurice awoke from his dreams and sat up in bed and listened. He thought he heard a knock at his window; but though the moon was shining brightly, Jack Frost had been so busily at work that Maurice could not see through the thickly painted panes. So he crept sleepily out of bed, and opened the window, and whispered: "Who is there?" "I am," replied a... more...

CELIA Cherry, cherry, glowing on the hearth, bright red cherry…. When you try to pick up cherry Celia's shriek sticks in you like a pin. : : When God throws hailstones you cuddle in Celia's shawl and press your feet on her belly high up like a stool. When Celia makes umbrella of her hand. Rain falls through big pink spokes of her fingers. When wind blows Celia's gown up off her legs... more...