Poetry Books

THE GHETTO I   Cool, inaccessible air  Is floating in velvety blackness shot with steel-blue lights,  But no breath stirs the heat  Leaning its ponderous bulk upon the Ghetto  And most on Hester street…   The heat…  Nosing in the body's overflow,  Like a beast pressing its great steaming belly close,  Covering all avenues of air…   The heat in Hester street,  Heaped... more...

CANTO I O'er better waves to speed her rapid courseThe light bark of my genius lifts the sail,Well pleas'd to leave so cruel sea behind;And of that second region will I sing,In which the human spirit from sinful blotIs purg'd, and for ascent to Heaven prepares. Here, O ye hallow'd Nine! for in your trainI follow, here the deadened strain revive;Nor let Calliope refuse to soundA... more...

APPREHENSION AND all hours long, the town  Roars like a beast in a caveThat is wounded thereAnd like to drown;  While days rush, wave after waveOn its lair. An invisible woe unseals  The flood, so it passes beyondAll bounds: the great old cityRecumbent roars as it feels  The foamy paw of the pondReach from immensity. But all that it can do  Now, as the tide rises,Is to listen and hear the... more...

INTRODUCTION It has long been the opinion of many of the more progressive teachers of the United States that, next to Herakles, Odysseus is the hero closest to child-life, and that the stories from the "Odyssey" are the most suitable for reading-lessons. These conclusions have been reached through independent experiments not related to educational work in foreign countries. While sojourning in... more...

Under the window is my garden, Where sweet, sweet flowers grow; And in the pear-tree dwells a robin, The dearest bird I know. Tho' I peep out betimes in the morning, Still the flowers are up the first; Then I try and talk to the robin, And perhaps he'd chat—if he durst.13 Will you be my little wife, If I ask you? Do! I'll buy you such a Sunday frock, A nice umbrella, too. And you shall... more...

Child Songs of Cheer A robin redbreast, fluting thereUpon the apple-bough,Is telling all the world how fairAre apple-blossoms now;The honey-dew its sweetness spillsFrom cuckoo-cups, and allThe crocuses and daffodilsAre drest for festival!Such pretty things are to be seen,Such pleasant things to do,The April earth it is so green,The April sky so blue,The path from dawn to even-songSo joyous is... more...

Rupert Brooke was both fair to see and winning in his ways. There was at the first contact both bloom and charm; and most of all there was life. To use the word his friends describe him by, he was "vivid". This vitality, though manifold in expression, is felt primarily in his sensations — surprise mingled with delight — "One after one, like tasting a sweet food." This is life's... more...