ENTHUSIASM. Oh for the spirit which inspired of oldThe seer's prophetic song—the voice that spakeThrough Israel's warrior king. The strains that burstIn thrilling tones from Zion's heaven-strung harp,Float down the tide of ages, shedding lightOn pagan shores and nations far remote:Eternal as the God they celebrate,Their fame shall last when Time's long race is run,And you refulgent eye of this fair world,—Its light and... more...

INTRODUCTION We remember Samuel Wesley (1662-1735), if at all, as the father of a great religious leader. In his own time he was known to many as a poet and a writer of controversial prose. His poetic career began in 1685 with the publication of Maggots, a collection of juvenile verses on trivial subjects, the preface to which, a frothy concoction, apologizes to the reader because the book is neither grave nor gay. The first poem, "On a Maggot,"... more...

The shades of night were falling fast,As through an Eastern village passedA youth who bore, through dust and heat,A stencil-plate, that read complete—“SAPOLIO.”   CLEAN PAINT, OIL CLOTHS, FLOORS,WOOD WORK, TABLES & SHELVESwith Sapolio.   His brow was sad, but underneath,White with “Odonto” shone his teeth,And through them hissed the words, “Well, blowMe tight if here is ’ary... more...

STILLNESS Invitingly, the sea shines her stars,captive flames within an impatient heartas darkness loads the pleasent isles with coarseness,slow sparks rise over a roaring fire.And strolling beaches near dawnwhen the sand fleas & crabs are seen to flee,one catches upon the imperfect stillnessa song of one - wind with seadrawning nearinward, such stars turnas bonds at lastworked free. HEWANORRA The moon, at most a shudder or two... more...

Fires of Driftwood ON what long tidesDo you drift to my fire,You waifs of strange waters?From what far seas,What murmurous sands,What desolate beaches—Flotsam of those glories that were ships! I gather you,Bitter with salt,Sun-bleached, rock-scarred, moon-harried,Fuel for my fire. You are Pride’s end.Through all to-morrows you are yesterday.You are waste,You are ruin,For where is that which once you were? I gather you.See! I set... more...

CHAPTER I. Mistress O’Hara lives down by the sea, A skittish and beautiful widow is she; She has black shiny tresses, and curly buff toes, And a heavenly tilt to the tip of her nose! She has three little children, the eldest is four (Nurse says he is naughty enough to be more); The Twins are dear dumplings, and they and their brother Are always in scrapes—Of one kind, or another.   This morning poor... more...

Memories II   Places  Old Tunes  "Only in Sleep"  Redbirds  Sunset: St. Louis  The Coin  The Voice III   Day and Night  Compensation  I Remembered  "Oh You Are Coming"  The Return  Gray Eyes  The Net  The Mystery In a Hospital IV   Open Windows  The New... more...

IN MEMORIAM: PAULINE JOHNSON I cannot say how deeply it touched me to learn that Pauline Johnson expressed a wish on her death-bed that I, living here in the mother country all these miles away, should write something about her. I was not altogether surprised, however, for her letters to me had long ago shed a golden light upon her peculiar character. She had made herself believe, quite erroneously, that she was largely indebted to me for her... more...

PREFACE. In every work regard the writer's end,Since none can compass more than they intend. Pope. This volume is far indeed from being a scientific treatise On Flowers and Flower-Gardens:--it is mere gossip in print upon a pleasant subject. But I hope it will not be altogether useless. If I succeed in my object I shall consider that I have gossipped to some purpose. On several points--such as that of the mythology and language of flowers--I... more...

Part One Home Our life was an accident, the flames were conjured by an indifferent couple. So much time has passed, their union dissipated with the dumb carcass of our home. This house has been all of our housesÐ our parents colluded with emptiness to conceal this fact. We live from cairn to cairn, burning refugee hearts, each mistake receding in the rear-view mirror, each incipient disaster breaking the night like headlights falling on... more...