CONTENTS OF FIRST LINES: To the Man of the High NorthMy rhymes are rough, and often in my rhymingMen 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 to refine that neighbor of mine, honest to God, I... more...

Little Bo-peep has lost her sheep,And cannot tell where to find ’em;Leave them alone, and they’ll come home,And bring their tails behind ’em. Little Bo-peep fell fast asleep,And dreamt she heard them bleating;When she awoke, she found it a joke,For still they all were fleeting. Then up she took her little crook,Determined for to find them;She found them indeed, but it made her heart bleed,For they’d left their tails... more...

THE NURSERY ALPHABET. A for the Alphabet, A, B, C; B for the Book that was given to me.   C for the Corn that stands in the stack; D for the Donkey with cross on his back.   E for the Engine that's lighted with coke; F for the Funnel that puffs out the smoke. The Nursery Alphabet. E F G H. G for the Goose that swims on the pond; H for the Hen, of her chickens so fond.   I for the Icicle, frosty and cold; J for the... more...

Georgie and Maudie came home from school,And each had got a prize;They had worked very hard, and tried to be good,For they wanted to grow up wise.         And now behold them jumping for joy,And clapping their hands with glee,Because Mamma has promised them--They shall stay for a month by the sea.     So Nurse was told to pack their things,And put their toys together;Whilst Mamma went out and bought new... more...

ASTROPHEL AFTER READING SIR PHILIP SIDNEY'S ARCADIA IN THE GARDEN OF AN OLD ENGLISH MANOR HOUSE I A star in the silence that followsThe song of the death of the sunSpeaks music in heaven, and the hollowsAnd heights of the world are as one;One lyre that outsings and outlightensThe rapture of sunset, and thrillsMute night till the sense of it brightensThe soul that it fills. The flowers of the sun that is sunkenHang heavy of heart as of... more...

In the tenth book of the Republic, when Plato has completed his final burning denunciation of Poetry, the false Siren, the imitator of things which themselves are shadows, the ally of all that is low and weak in the soul against that which is high and strong, who makes us feed the things we ought to starve and serve the things we ought to rule, he ends with a touch of compunction: 'We will give her champions, not poets themselves but poet-lovers,... more...

ARE WOMEN PEOPLE? A Consistent Anti to Her Son ("Look at the hazards, the risks, the physical dangers that ladies would be exposed to at the polls."—Anti-suffrage speech.) You're twenty-one to-day, Willie, And a danger lurks at the door, I've known about it always, But I never spoke before; When you were only a baby It seemed so very remote, But you're twenty-one to-day, Willie, And old enough to vote. You must not go to... more...

ANIMAL CHILDREN     Sometimes I am so sorry that my papa is a king,It's really most annoying and hurts like everythingTo have the little girls and boys all want to run away,For if I am a Lion prince, I'm a baby, anyway!   Some jungle boys, by mischief made quite bold,Once took the baby Tiger, so we're told,And in broad stripes they smeared his coat so fine,And 'round his neck they hung a "Fresh Paint"... more...

The ordered interminglingof the real and the dream,—The mill above the river,and the mist above the stream;The life of ceaseless labor,brave with song and cheery call—The radiant skies of evening,with its rainbow o'er us all. An Old Sweetheart of Mine!—Is thisher presence here with me,Or but a vain creation ofa lover's memory? A fair, illusive visionthat would vanish into airDared I even touch the silencewith the whisper of... more...

They who maintained their rights,Through storm and stress,And walked in all the waysThat God made known,Led by no wandering lights,And by no guess,Through dark and desolate daysOf trial and moan:Here let their monumentRise, like a wordIn rock commemorativeOf our Land's youth;Of ways the Puritan went,With soul love-spurredTo suffer, die, and liveFor faith and truth.Here they the corner-stoneOf Freedom laid;Here in their hearts' distressThey lit... more...