General Books

Prologus Torpor, ebes sensus, scola parua labor minimusqueCausant quo minimus ipse minora canam:Qua tamen Engisti lingua canit Insula BrutiAnglica Carmente metra iuuante loquar.Ossibus ergo carens que conterit ossa loquelisAbsit, et interpres stet procul oro malus. Of hem that writen ous toforeThe bokes duelle, and we therforeBen tawht of that was write tho:Forthi good is that we alsoIn oure tyme among... more...

i.Othou refulgent essence of all grace!O thou that with the witchery of thy faceHast made of me thy servant unto death,I pray thee pause, ere, musical of breath,And rapt of utterance, thou condemn indeedMy venturous wooing, and the wanton speedWith which I greet thee, dear and tender soul!From out the fullness of my passion-creed. ii. Iam so truly thine that nevermoreShall man be found, this side the... more...

RHYMES OF A ROLLING STONE Prelude I sing no idle songs of dalliance days,No dreams Elysian inspire my rhyming;I have no Celia to enchant my lays,No pipes of Pan have set my heart to chiming.I am no wordsmith dripping gems divineInto the golden chalice of a sonnet;If love songs witch you, close this book of mine,Waste no time on it. Yet bring I to my work an eager joy,A lusty love of life and all things... more...

HAFBUR AND SIGNE Young Hafbur King and Sivard King   They lived in bitter enmity;’Twas Signe proud that caused their feud,   Of maidens all the fairest she. It was youthful Hafbur King   Awaked at midnight with a bound,And full of dread he straightway said   His wondrous dream to all around. “Methought I was in heaven’s domain,   Within that place so fair to view,And held to my breast... more...

PROEM Lo, thus, as prostrate, "In the dust I writeMy heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears."Yet why evoke the spectres of black nightTo blot the sunshine of exultant years?Why disinter dead faith from mouldering hidden? 5Why break the seals of mute despair unbidden,And wail life's discords into careless ears? Because a cold rage seizes one at whilesTo show the bitter old... more...

Though flattered by imitators galore Miss Potter's work stands supreme. Her many picture stories should be among the first books owned by children. Cecily Parsley lived in a pen,And brewed good ale for gentlemen; Gentlemen came every day,Till Cecily Parsley ran away. Goosey, goosey, gander,Whither will you wander?Upstairs and downstairs,And in my lady's chamber! This pig went to market;This... more...

LAMENT I Come, Heraclitus and Simonides,Come with your weeping and sad elegies:Ye griefs and sorrows, come from all the landsWherein ye sigh and wail and wring your hands:Gather ye here within my house todayAnd help me mourn my sweet, whom in her MayUngodly Death hath ta'en to his estate,Leaving me on a sudden desolate.'Tis so a serpent glides on some shy nestAnd, of the tiny nightingales... more...

Gerontion Thou hast nor youth nor ageBut as it were an after dinner sleepDreaming of both. Here I am, an old man in a dry month,Being read to by a boy, waiting for rain.I was neither at the hot gatesNor fought in the warm rainNor knee deep in the salt marsh, heaving a cutlass,Bitten by flies, fought.My house is a decayed house,And the jew squats on the window sill, the owner,Spawned in some estaminet... more...

BIOGRAPHICAL The life of John Clare, offering as it does so much opportunity for sensational contrast and unbridled distortion, became at one time (like the tragedy of Chatterton) a favourite with the quillmen. Even his serious biographers have made excessive use of light and darkness, poetry and poverty, genius and stupidity: that there should be some uncertainty about dates and incidents is no great... more...

I. THE VENDER OF VIOLETS."Violets!Violets! Violets!"This was the cry I heardAs I passed through the street of a city;And quickly my heart was stirredTo an incomprehensible pity,At the undertone of the cry;For it seemed like the voice of oneWho was stricken, and all undone,Who was only longing to die."Violets! Violets! Violets!"The voice came nearer still."Surely," I said,... more...