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Read Ebook: The Little Book of Modern Verse A Selection from the Work of Contemporaneous American Poets by Rittenhouse Jessie Belle Editor
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Ebook has 1022 lines and 46997 words, and 21 pages
Across the Fields to Anne. After a Dolmetsch Concert. Agamede's Song. As I came down from Lebanon. As in the Midst of Battle there is Room. The Ashes in the Sea. At Gibraltar. At the End of the Day. The Automobile. Azrael.
Bacchus. Bag-Pipes at Sea. Ballade of my Lady's Beauty. Be still. The Hanging Gardens were a dream. Black Sheep. The Black Vulture. Da Boy from Rome. The Buried City.
Calverly's. The Candle and the Flame. Candlemas. A Caravan from China comes. Chavez. The Cloud. Comrades. Comrades.
The Daguerreotype. Departure. The Dreamer. The Dust Dethroned.
The Eagle that is forgotten. Euchenor Chorus. Evensong. Ex Libris. Exordium.
A Faun in Wall Street. Fiat Lux. The Flight. Four Winds. "Frost To-Night". The Frozen Grail. The Fugitives.
Gloucester Moors. Golden Pulse. "Grandmither, think not I forget". Grey Rocks, and Greyer Sea. Grieve not, Ladies.
The Happiest Heart. Harps hung up in Babylon. He whom a Dream hath possessed. The Heart's Country. Here is the Place where Loveliness keeps House. Hora Christi. The House and the Road.
The Joy of the Hills. Joyous-Gard.
Kinchinjunga. The Kings.
Da Leetla Boy. The Lesser Children. Let me no more a Mendicant. Life. Lincoln, the Man of the People. Little Gray Songs from St. Joseph's. Live blindly. Lord of my Heart's Elation. Love came back at Fall o' Dew. Love knocks at the Door. Love Triumphant. Love's Ritual. Love's Springtide.
The Man with the Hoe. Martin. De Massa ob de Sheepfol'. The Master. May is building her House. A Memorial Tablet. Miniver Cheevy. Mockery. Mother. The Mystic. The Mystic.
The New Life. The Nightingale unheard. Night's Mardi Gras.
An Ode in Time of Hesitation. Of Joan's Youth. On a Fly-Leaf of Burns' Songs. On a Subway Express. On the Building of Springfield. Once. Only of thee and me. The Only Way. The Outer Gate.
A Parting Guest. The Path to the Woods. The Poet. The Poet's Town. The Prince.
The Quiet Singer.
The Recessional. Renascence. A Rhyme of Death's Inn. The Ride to the Lady. The Rival. The Rosary.
Sappho. Scum o' the Earth. The Sea Gypsy. The Sea-Lands. The Secret. Sentence. Sic Vita. Sometimes. Somewhere. Song. "For me the jasmine buds unfold". Song. "If love were but a little thing --". Song. A Song in Spring. Song is so old. The Song of the Unsuccessful. Songs for my Mother. Souls. Stains.
Tears. The Tears of Harlequin. That Day you came. There's Rosemary. They went forth to Battle, but they always fell. The Thought of her. To a New York Shop-Girl dressed for Sunday. To William Sharp. To-Day. Trumbull Stickney. Tryste Noel.
The Unconquered Air. Under Arcturus. The Unreturning. Uriel.
A Vagabond Song.
Wanderers. Water Fantasy. We needs must be divided in the Tomb. A West-Country Lover. When I am dead and Sister to the Dust. When I have gone Weird Ways. When the Wind is low. Why. The Wife from Fairyland. A Winter Ride. Winter Sleep. Witchery.
Biographical Notes
Sincere thanks are due to my friend Thomas S. Jones, Jr., who, during my absence in Europe, has kindly taken charge of all details incident to putting "The Little Book of Modern Verse" through the press.
The Little Book of Modern Verse
Lord of my Heart's Elation.
Lord of my heart's elation, Spirit of things unseen, Be thou my aspiration Consuming and serene!
Bear up, bear out, bear onward, This mortal soul alone, To selfhood or oblivion, Incredibly thine own, --
As the foamheads are loosened And blown along the sea, Or sink and merge forever In that which bids them be.
I, too, must climb in wonder, Uplift at thy command, -- Be one with my frail fellows Beneath the wind's strong hand,
A fleet and shadowy column Of dust or mountain rain, To walk the earth a moment And be dissolved again.
Be thou my exaltation Or fortitude of mien, Lord of the world's elation, Thou breath of things unseen!
Gloucester Moors.
A mile behind is Gloucester town Where the fishing fleets put in, A mile ahead the land dips down And the woods and farms begin. Here, where the moors stretch free In the high blue afternoon, Are the marching sun and talking sea, And the racing winds that wheel and flee On the flying heels of June.
Jill-o'er-the-ground is purple blue, Blue is the quaker-maid, The wild geranium holds its dew Long in the boulder's shade. Wax-red hangs the cup From the huckleberry boughs, In barberry bells the grey moths sup Or where the choke-cherry lifts high up Sweet bowls for their carouse.
This earth is not the steadfast place We landsmen build upon; From deep to deep she varies pace, And while she comes is gone. Beneath my feet I feel Her smooth bulk heave and dip; With velvet plunge and soft upreel She swings and steadies to her keel Like a gallant, gallant ship.
These summer clouds she sets for sail, The sun is her masthead light, She tows the moon like a pinnace frail Where her phosphor wake churns bright. Now hid, now looming clear, On the face of the dangerous blue The star fleets tack and wheel and veer, But on, but on does the old earth steer As if her port she knew.
God, dear God! Does she know her port, Though she goes so far about? Or blind astray, does she make her sport To brazen and chance it out? I watched when her captains passed: She were better captainless. Men in the cabin, before the mast, But some were reckless and some aghast, And some sat gorged at mess.
Jill-o'er-the-ground is purple blue, Blue is the quaker-maid, The alder-clump where the brook comes through Breeds cresses in its shade. To be out of the moiling street With its swelter and its sin! Who has given to me this sweet, And given my brother dust to eat? And when will his wage come in?
Scattering wide or blown in ranks, Yellow and white and brown, Boats and boats from the fishing banks Come home to Gloucester town. There is cash to purse and spend, There are wives to be embraced, Hearts to borrow and hearts to lend, And hearts to take and keep to the end, -- O little sails, make haste!
But thou, vast outbound ship of souls, What harbor town for thee? What shapes, when thy arriving tolls, Shall crowd the banks to see? Shall all the happy shipmates then Stand singing brotherly? Or shall a haggard ruthless few Warp her over and bring her to, While the many broken souls of men Fester down in the slaver's pen, And nothing to say or do?
On a Subway Express.
I, who have lost the stars, the sod, For chilling pave and cheerless light, Have made my meeting-place with God A new and nether Night --
Have found a fane where thunder fills Loud caverns, tremulous; -- and these Atone me for my reverend hills And moonlit silences.
A figment in the crowded dark, Where men sit muted by the roar, I ride upon the whirring Spark Beneath the city's floor.
In this dim firmament, the stars Whirl by in blazing files and tiers; Kin meteors graze our flying bars, Amid the spinning spheres.
Speed! speed! until the quivering rails Flash silver where the head-light gleams, As when on lakes the Moon impales The waves upon its beams.
Life throbs about me, yet I stand Outgazing on majestic Power; Death rides with me, on either hand, In my communion hour.
You that 'neath country skies can pray, Scoff not at me -- the city clod; -- My only respite of the Day Is this wild ride -- with God.
The Automobile.
Fluid the world flowed under us: the hills Billow on billow of umbrageous green Heaved us, aghast, to fresh horizons, seen One rapturous instant, blind with flash of rills And silver-rising storms and dewy stills Of dripping boulders, till the dim ravine Drowned us again in leafage, whose serene Coverts grew loud with our tumultuous wills.
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