Poetry Books

"ONLY A BABY SMALL" Only a baby small,Dropped from the skies,Only a laughing face,Two sunny eyes;Only two cherry lips,One chubby nose;Only two little hands,Ten little toes. Only a golden head,Curly and soft;Only a tongue that wagsLoudly and oft;Only a little brain,Empty of thought;Only a little heart,Troubled with naught. Only a tender flowerSent us to rear;Only a life to loveWhile we are... more...

The Rubáiyát of aPersian KittenWake! for the Golden Cat has put to flightThe Mouse of Darkness with his Paw of Light:Which means, in Plain and simple every-dayUnoriental Speech—The Dawn is bright.They say the Early Bird the Worm shall taste.Then rise, O Kitten! Wherefore, sleeping, wasteThe Fruits of Virtue? Quick! the Early BirdWill soon be on the Flutter—O make haste!The Early Bird has gone,... more...

LIFE OF KEATS Of all the great poets of the early nineteenth century—Wordsworth, Coleridge, Scott, Byron, Shelley, Keats—John Keats was the last born and the first to die. The length of his life was not one-third that of Wordsworth, who was born twenty-five years before him and outlived him by twenty-nine. Yet before his tragic death at twenty-six Keats had produced a body of poetry of such... more...

ARGUMENT In this Threnody and Birth-song of the Elements, written in California some five years ago, I have striven to capture and present some of the chief-factors and phases of the eternal drama of Life and Death in the Universe. These powers, elements and agents I have endowed with human attributes and human emotions as though it were Man himself who uttered himself through them. The actors in this... more...

On the night of the rains,water was oozing out fromthe sky's swollen stitches,a rash developed acrossthe meaning of the heavens. The wooden floors of my attic placestrove for a deeper tone,a hoarse callinggrew louder as I pacedtrying to see rain. I followed the gravity of the treasure huntwhere each bounce meant a slapacross a table top of tension,where the window basted winter black rainand... more...

MARSK STIG’S DAUGHTERS Two daughters fair the Marshal had,O grievous was their fate and sad. The eldest she took her sister’s handAnd away they went to Sweden’s land. Home from the Stevn King Byrgye rode;Up to him Marsk Stig’s daughters trode. “What women ye who beset my gate?What brings ye hither at eve so late?” “Daughters of Stig, the Marshal brave,So earnestly thee for help we... more...

Introduction "Tell me, ye muses, what hath former agesNow left succeeding times to play upon,And what remains unthought on by those sagesWhere a new muse may try her pinion?" So Complained Phineas Fletcher in his Purple Island as long ago as 1633. Three centuries have brought to the development of lyric passion no higher form than that of the sonnet cycle. The sonnet has been likened to an... more...

PATH FLOWERA red-capsang in Bishop's wood,A lark o'er Golder's lane,As I the April pathway trodBound west for Willesden.At foot each tiny blade grew bigAnd taller stood to hear,And every leaf on every twigWas like a little ear.As I too paused, and both ways triedTo catch the rippling rain,—So still, a hare kept at my sideHis tussock of disdain,—Behind me close I heard a step,A soft... more...

Good people all, of every sort,Give ear unto my song;And if you find it wondrous short,It cannot hold you long.In Islington there lived a man,Of whom the world might say,That still a godly race he ran,Whene'er he wentto pray.A kind and gentle heart he had,To comfort friends and foes;The naked every day he clad,When he put onhis clothesAnd in that town a dog was found:As many dogs there be—Both... more...

The true story of the life of Michael Drayton might be told to, vindicate the poetic traditions of the olden time. A child-poet wandering in fay-haunted Arden, or listening to the harper that frequented the fireside of Polesworth Hall where the boy was a petted page, later the honoured almoner of the bounty of many patrons, one who "not unworthily," as Tofte said, "beareth the name of the... more...