Strange Meeting It seemed that out of the battle I escapedDown some profound dull tunnel, long since scoopedThrough granites which Titanic wars had groined.Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and staredWith piteous recognition in fixed eyes,Lifting distressful hands as if to bless.And by his smile, I knew that... more...

MY "PROMENADE SOLITAIRE" Up and down in my garden fair,Under the trellis where grapes will bloom,With the breath of violets in the air,As pallid Winter for Spring makes room,I walk and ponder, free from care,In my beautiful Promenade Solitaire. Back and forth in the checkered shadeTraced by the lattice that holds the vine,With the glory of snow-capped crests displayedOn the sapphire sky in a... more...

THE POETRY OF MADISON CAWEIN When a poet begins writing, and we begin liking his work, we own willingly enough that we have not, and cannot have, got the compass of his talent. We must wait till he has written more, and we have learned to like him more, and even then we should hesitate his definition, from all that he has done, if we did not very commonly qualify ourselves from the latest thing he has... more...

POEMS By John Hay Note to Revised Edition The Publishers of this volume, desiring to print it in an improved form, have asked me to write something by way of preface or supplement to the new edition. After some deliberation I have found myself unable to comply with this request. These pages were written in the first half of the year 1870, a time of intense interest and importance, to Spain. I left... more...

SONNET—MY HEART SHALL BE THY GARDEN My heart shall be thy garden.  Come, my own,   Into thy garden; thine be happy hours   Among my fairest thoughts, my tallest flowers,From root to crowning petal, thine alone. Thine is the place from where the seeds are sown   Up to the sky enclosed, with all its showers.   But ah, the birds, the birds!  Who shall build bowersTo keep these thine?  O... more...

THE TRUMPET RISE up, rise up,And, as the trumpet blowingChases the dreams of men,As the dawn glowingThe stars that left unlitThe land and water,Rise up and scatterThe dew that coversThe print of last night's lovers—Scatter it, scatter it! While you are listeningTo the clear horn,Forget, men, everythingOn this earth newborn,Except that it is lovelierThan any mysteries.Open your eyes to the... more...

POEMS. 'My bosom is chill'd with the cold, My limbs their lost vigour deplore! Alas! to the lonely and old, Hope warbles her promise no more! 'Worn out with the length of my way, I must rest me awhile on the beach, To feel the salt dash of the spray, If haply so far it may reach. 'As the white-foaming billows arise, I reflect on the days that are past, When the pride of my strength... more...

THREE DEDICATIONS TO EDMUND CLERIHEW BENTLEY THE DEDICATION OF THE MAN WHO WAS THURSDAY A cloud was on the mind of men, and wailing went the weather,Yea, a sick cloud upon the soul when we were boys together.Science announced nonentity and art admired decay;The world was old and ended: but you and I were gay.Round us in antic order their crippled vices came—Lust that had lost its laughter, fear that... more...

M A B E L,A Sketch. DRAMATIS PERSONAE.      ORAN, a Speculative Philosopher.      MABEL, his Wife.      HER FATHER.     MAURICE, }     ROGER, } her brothers. MABEL. SCENE I—A Study. Books, pictures, and sculpture about the room, interspersed with chemical and other instruments, globes, &c.; a singular blending of science with art, indicating a delicate and... more...

POEMS THE POET'S SECRET. The poet's secret I must know,If that will calm my restless mind.I hail the seasons as they go,I woo the sunshine, brave the wind. I scan the lily and the rose,I nod to every nodding tree,I follow every stream that flows,And wait beside the steadfast sea. I question melancholy eyes,I touch the lips of women fair:Their lips and eyes may make me wise,But what I seek for... more...