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Showing: 51-60 results of 483

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...

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...

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...

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...

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...


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...

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 in 'ollow square—they're hangin' him to-day;They've taken of his buttons off an' cut his stripes... more...

GUARDS! A Review in Hyde Park 1913.The Crowd Watches. WHERE the trees rise like cliffs, proud and  blue-tinted in the distance,Between the cliffs of the trees, on the grey-  green parkRests a still line of soldiers, red motionless range of  guardsSmouldering with darkened busbies beneath the bay-  onets' slant rain. Colossal in nearness a blue police sits still on his horseGuarding the path; his hand... more...

PHILOSOPHER'S GARDEN     "See this my garden,      Large and fair!"—Thus, to his friend,The Philosopher.   "'Tis not too long,"His friend replied,With truth exact,—  "Nor yet too wide.  But well compact,   If somewhat cramped    On every side." Quick the reply—  "But see how high!—  It... more...

Behind the Arras I like the old house tolerably well, Where I must dwell Like a familiar gnome; And yet I never shall feel quite at home: I love to roam. Day after day I loiter and explore From door to door; So many treasures lure The curious mind. What histories obscure They must immure! I hardly know which room I care for best; This fronting west, With the strange hills in view, Where the great sun goes,—where I may... more...