General Books

NOTE The motif of the story embodied in the following poem was crudely outlined in a brief sketch printed in an early collection of the authors verse, and subsequently cancelled for a purpose not until now accomplished. Wyndham Towers is not to be confused with this discarded sketch, the text of which has furnished only a phrase, or an indirect suggestion, here and there. That the writer's method,... more...

I Out of the little chapel I burst  Into the fresh night-air again.Five minutes full, I waited first  In the doorway, to escape the rainThat drove in gusts down the common's centre  At the edge of which the chapel stands,Before I plucked up heart to enter.  Heaven knows how many sorts of handsReached past me, groping for the latchOf the inner door that hung on catchMore obstinate the more... more...

Celia was laughing. Hopefully I said: “How shall this beauty that we share, This love, remain aware Beyond our happy breathing of the air? How shall it be fulfilled and perfected?... If you were dead, How then should I be comforted?” But Celia knew instead: “He who finds beauty here, shall find it there.” A halo gathered round her hair. I looked and saw her wisdom bare The living bosom of the... more...

A FROSTY NIGHT. Mother Alice, dear, what ails you,Dazed and white and shaken?Has the chill night numbed you?Is it fright you have taken? Alice Mother, I am very well,I felt never better,Mother, do not hold me so,Let me write my letter. Mother Sweet, my dear, what ails you? Alice No, but I am well;The night was cold and frosty,There's no more to tell. Mother Ay, the night was frosty,Coldly gaped... more...

England's Fields     England's cliffs are white like milk,      But England's fields are green;    The grey fogs creep across the moors,      But warm suns stand between.  And not so far from London town, beyond the brimming street,  A thousand little summer winds are singing in the wheat.     Red-lipped poppies stand and burn,      The hedges are... more...

THE BASEMENT When Fritz, the Janitor's bad kid, Went snooping in the basement, He found a rocket snugly hid Beneath the window casement. He struck a match with one fell swoop; Then, on the concrete kneeling, He lit the rocket and—she—oop! It shot up through the ceiling. [pg] [pg] The Steiners on the floor above Of breakfast were partaking; Crash! came the rocket, unannounced, And set them all... more...

THE MAN IN THE MOON.THE Man in the MoonCame tumbling down,And asked his way to Norwich;They told him south,And he burnt his mouthWith eating cold pease-porridge.TO market, to market, to buy a fat Pig;Home again, home again, dancing a jig. To market, to market, to buy a fat Hog;Home again, home again, jiggety-jog. THERE WAS A MAN.There was a man, and he had nought,And robbers came to rob him; He crept... more...

MY MOTHER'S KISS.   My mother's kiss, my mother's kiss,     I feel its impress now;  As in the bright and happy days     She pressed it on my brow.   You say it is a fancied thing     Within my memory fraught;  To me it has a sacred place—     The treasure house of thought.   Again, I feel her fingers glide     Amid my clustering hair;  I see the... more...

INTRODUCTION On a topographical map of Literature Nonsense would be represented by a small and sparsely settled country, neglected by the average tourist, but affording keen delight to the few enlightened travellers who sojourn within its borders. It is a field which has been neglected by anthologists and essayists; one of its few serious recognitions being in a certain "Treatise of Figurative... more...

The Inn of Dreams           Sweet Laughter! Sweet Delight!My heart is like a lighted Inn that waitsYour swift approach . . . and at the open gatesWhite Beauty stands and listens like a flower.She has been dreaming of you in the night,O fairy Princes; and her eyes are bright.Spur your fleet horses, this is Beauty's hour!Even as when a golden flame up-curledQuivers and flickers out in a... more...