The Project Gutenberg eBook ofMinor PoemsThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: Minor PoemsEditor: Rossiter JohnsonRelease date: November 15, 2010 [eBook #34331]Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Meredith Bach, Delphine Lettau and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MINOR POEMS ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: Minor PoemsEditor: Rossiter JohnsonRelease date: November 15, 2010 [eBook #34331]Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Meredith Bach, Delphine Lettau and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Title: Minor Poems
Editor: Rossiter Johnson
Editor: Rossiter Johnson
Release date: November 15, 2010 [eBook #34331]
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Meredith Bach, Delphine Lettau and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MINOR POEMS ***
PageAe Fond KissRobert Burns52Age of Wisdom, TheWilliam Makepeace Thackeray115Arsenal at Springfield, TheHenry Wadsworth Longfellow146AstarteRobert Bulwer Lytton54Betrothed AnewEdmund Clarence Stedman86Blindness, On hisJohn Milton143Brave at Home, TheThomas Buchanan Read142Break, break, breakAlfred Tennyson53Bridal Dirge, ABryan Waller Procter163Brookside, TheRichard Monckton Milnes36Bugle-songAlfred Tennyson40Cavalier's Song, TheWilliam Motherwell132Chambered Nautilus, TheOliver Wendell Holmes214ChangesRobert Bulwer Lytton71Children's Hour, TheHenry Wadsworth Longfellow152Christmas Hymn, AAlfred Dommett217Cloud, TheJohn Wilson213Come, rest in this bosomThomas Moore46CoronachSir Walter Scott133Courtin', TheJames Russell Lowell26Days that are no more, TheAlfred Tennyson65Death-Bed, TheThomas Hood160Death of the Flowers, TheWilliam Cullen Bryant100Death's Final ConquestJames Shirley182Dirge for a SoldierGeorge Henry Boker134Drake, Joseph RodmanFitz-Greene Halleck169Driving Home the CowsKate Putnam Osgood140Eagle, TheAlfred Tennyson105EnticedWilliam C. Wilkinson224EpilogueThe Editor231Evelyn HopeRobert Browning161Farewell, ACharles Kingsley199Farewell, AAlfred Tennyson112Girdle, On aEdmund Waller23Going HomeBenjamin F. Taylor185Graves of a Household, TheFelicia Hemans174Haunted HousesHenry Wadsworth Longfellow73Health, AEdward Coate Pinkney21Hermit, TheJames Beattie175HeroesEdna Dean Proctor144Highland MaryRobert Burns166How's my Boy?Sydney Dobell150Hymn to the NightHenry Wadsworth Longfellow103IchabodJohn Greenleaf Whittier123Indian Gold Coin, To anJohn Leyden183In MemoriamThomas K. Hervey173I Remember, I RememberThomas Hood72Ivy Green, TheCharles Dickens90Knight's Tomb, TheSamuel Taylor Coleridge133Kubla KhanSamuel Taylor Coleridge16Lament, APercy Bysshe Shelley192Lament of the Irish EmigrantLady Dufferin158Land of Lands, TheAlfred Tennyson126Land o' the Leal, TheLady Nairne156Last Leaf, TheOliver Wendell Holmes117Last Rose of Summer, TheThomas Moore111Lie, TheSir Walter Raleigh204LifeAnna Lætitia Barbauld193LifeHenry King192Lines on a SkeletonAnonymous201Lines to an Indian AirPercy Bysshe Shelley42Little Black Boy, TheWilliam Blake181Little Years, TheRobert T. S. Lowell114Long-Ago, TheRichard Monckton Milnes88Lost Leader, TheRobert Browning119Love NotCaroline Norton51Lucasta, ToRichard Lovelace125Maid of Athens, ere we partLord Byron45Mango Tree, TheCharles Kingsley59Man's MortalitySimon Wastel189MarianaAlfred Tennyson37Mary in Heaven, ToRobert Bums61Minstrel's SongThomas Chatterton171MontereyCharles Fenno Hoffman128Moore, Thomas, ToLord Byron110Musical Instrument, AElizabeth Barrett Browning11My ChildJohn Pierpont154My Heid is like to rendWilliam Motherwell56My PsalmJohn Greenleaf Whittier221My SlainRichard Realf219Nice Correspondent, AFrederick Locker24Night and DeathJoseph Blanco White104Not Far to GoWilliam Barnes43OdeWilliam Collins139OdeTheodore P. Cook137OdeSir William Jones148OdeHenry Timrod136Ode on a Grecian UrnJohn Keats199Oft in the Stilly NightThomas Moore64Old Familiar Faces, TheCharles Lamb66Old Man's Idyl, AnRichard Realf84On a Picture of Peel CastleWilliam Wordsworth209Over the RiverNancy Priest Wakefield78O, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?William Knox177Pauper's Death-Bed, TheCaroline Bowles Southey208Petition to Time, ABryan Waller Procter122Philip, my KingDinah Maria Mulock Craik149ProgressRobert Bulwer Lytton179Qua Cursum VentusArthur Hugh Clough69River Path, TheJohn Greenleaf Whittier82St. AgnesAlfred Tennyson215Sands of Dee, TheCharles Kingsley102SerenadeHenry Wadsworth Longfellow41She died in beautyCharles Doyne Sillery164She is far from the landThomas Moore170She walks in beautyLord Byron34She was a phantom of delightWilliam Wordsworth18She was not fair, nor full of graceBryan Waller Procter165Skylark, TheJames Hogg104Skylark, To thePercy Bysshe Shelley106Slanten Light o' Fall, TheWilliam Barnes20Snow-Storm, ACharles Gamage Eastman97Soldier's Dream, TheThomas Campbell127Song,—"The heath this night"Sir Walter Scott124Song for September, AThomas William Parsons63Song of the Camp, ABayard Taylor130SonnetsWilliam Shakespeare48Spinning-Wheel Song, TheJohn Francis Waller32Stanzas,—"My life is like the summer rose"Richard Henry Wilde113Summer LongingsDenis Florence Mac-Carthy91ThanatopsisWilliam Cullen Bryant75They are all goneHenry Vaughan80Three Fishers, TheCharles Kingsley143Tiger, TheWilliam Blake96Time's ChangesDavid Macbeth Moir67TithonusAlfred Tennyson193Tom BowlingCharles Dibdin168Too Late!Dinah Maria Mulock Craik167Too LateFitz-Hugh Ludlow120Toujours AmourEdmund Clarence Stedman228Treasures of the Deep, TheFelicia Hemans212Two WomenNathaniel Parker Willis207Undiscovered Country, TheEdmund Clarence Stedman220VirtueGeorge Herbert203Voiceless, TheOliver Wendell Holmes229Voyage, TheAlfred Tennyson13WearinessHenry Wadsworth Longfellow227Welcome, TheThomas Davis35When the Kye come HameJames Hogg30Woman of Three Cows, TheJames Clarence Mangan196Woman's Question, AAdelaide Anne Procter46Yarrow UnvisitedWilliam Wordsworth93
What was he doing, the great god Pan,Down in the reeds by the river?Spreading ruin and scattering ban,Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat,And breaking the golden lilies afloatWith the dragon-fly on the river.He tore out a reed, the great god Pan,From the deep cool bed of the river:The limpid water turbidly ran,And the broken lilies a-dying lay,And the dragon-fly had fled away,Ere he brought it out of the river.High on the shore sat the great god Pan,While turbidly flowed the river;And hacked and hewed as a great god can,With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed,Till there was not a sign of a leaf indeedTo prove it fresh from the river.He cut it short, did the great god Pan,(How tall it stood in the river!)Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man,Steadily from the outside ring,And notched the poor dry empty thingIn holes, as he sat by the river."This is the way," laughed the great god Pan(Laughed while he sat by the river),"The only way, since gods beganTo make sweet music, they could succeed."Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed,He blew in power by the river.Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan!Piercing sweet by the river!Blinding sweet, O great god Pan!The sun on the hill forgot to die,And the lilies revived, and the dragon-flyCame back to dream on the river.Yet half a beast is the great god Pan,To laugh as he sits by the river,Making a poet out of a man:The true gods sigh for the cost and pain,—For the reed which grows nevermore againAs a reed with the reeds in the river.Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
What was he doing, the great god Pan,Down in the reeds by the river?Spreading ruin and scattering ban,Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat,And breaking the golden lilies afloatWith the dragon-fly on the river.
He tore out a reed, the great god Pan,From the deep cool bed of the river:The limpid water turbidly ran,And the broken lilies a-dying lay,And the dragon-fly had fled away,Ere he brought it out of the river.
High on the shore sat the great god Pan,While turbidly flowed the river;And hacked and hewed as a great god can,With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed,Till there was not a sign of a leaf indeedTo prove it fresh from the river.
He cut it short, did the great god Pan,(How tall it stood in the river!)Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man,Steadily from the outside ring,And notched the poor dry empty thingIn holes, as he sat by the river.
"This is the way," laughed the great god Pan(Laughed while he sat by the river),"The only way, since gods beganTo make sweet music, they could succeed."Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed,He blew in power by the river.
Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan!Piercing sweet by the river!Blinding sweet, O great god Pan!The sun on the hill forgot to die,And the lilies revived, and the dragon-flyCame back to dream on the river.
Yet half a beast is the great god Pan,To laugh as he sits by the river,Making a poet out of a man:The true gods sigh for the cost and pain,—For the reed which grows nevermore againAs a reed with the reeds in the river.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
We left behind the painted buoyThat tosses at the harbor-mouth:And madly danced our hearts with joy,As fast we fleeted to the south:How fresh was every sight and soundOn open main or winding shore!We knew the merry world was round,And we might sail forevermore.Warm broke the breeze against the brow,Dry sang the tackle, sang the sail:The lady's-head upon the prowCaught the shrill salt, and sheered the gale.The broad seas swelled to meet the keel,And swept behind: so quick the run,We felt the good ship shake and reel,We seemed to sail into the sun!How oft we saw the sun retire,And burn the threshold of the night,Fall from his ocean-lane of fire,And sleep beneath his pillared light!How oft the purple-skirted robeOf twilight slowly downward drawn,As through the slumber of the globeAgain we dashed into the dawn!New stars all night above the brimOf waters lightened into view;They climbed as quickly, for the rimChanged every moment as we flew.Far ran the naked moon acrossThe houseless ocean's heaving field,Or flying shone, the silver bossOf her own halo's dusky shield;The peaky islet shifted shapes,High towns on hills were dimly seen,We passed long lines of northern capesAnd dewy northern meadows green.We came to warmer waves, and deepAcross the boundless east we drove,Where those long swells of breaker sweepThe nutmeg rocks and isles of clove.By peaks that flamed, or, all in shade,Gloomed the low coast and quivering brineWith ashy rains, that spreading madeFantastic plume or sable pine;By sands and steaming flats, and floodsOf mighty mouth, we scudded fast,And hills and scarlet-mingled woodsGlowed for a moment as we passed.O hundred shores of happy climes,How swiftly streamed ye by the bark!At times the whole sea burned, at timesWith wakes of fire we tore the dark;At times a carven craft would shootFrom havens hid in fairy bowers,With naked limbs and flowers and fruit,But we nor paused for fruits nor flowers.For one fair Vision ever fledDown the waste waters day and night,And still we followed where she ledIn hope to gain upon her flight.Her face was evermore unseen,And fixed upon the far sea-line;But each man murmured, "O my Queen,I follow till I make thee mine."And now we lost her, now she gleamedLike Fancy made of golden air,Now nearer to the prow she seemedLike Virtue firm, like Knowledge fair,Now high on waves that idly burstLike Heavenly Hope she crowned the sea,And now, the bloodless point reversed,She bore the blade of Liberty.And only one among us,—himWe pleased not,—he was seldom pleased:He saw not far: his eyes were dim:But ours he swore were all diseased."A ship of fools!" he shrieked in spite,"A ship of fools!" he sneered and wept.And overboard one stormy nightHe cast his body, and on we swept.And never sail of ours was furledNor anchor dropped at eve or morn;We loved the glories of the world,But laws of nature were our scorn;For blasts would rise and rave and cease,But whence were those that drove the sailAcross the whirlwind's heart of peace,And to and through the counter-gale?Again to colder climes we came,For still we followed where she led:Now mate is blind and captain lame,And half the crew are sick or dead.But blind or lame or sick or sound,We follow that which flies before:We know the merry world is round,And we may sail forevermore.Alfred Tennyson.
We left behind the painted buoyThat tosses at the harbor-mouth:And madly danced our hearts with joy,As fast we fleeted to the south:How fresh was every sight and soundOn open main or winding shore!We knew the merry world was round,And we might sail forevermore.
Warm broke the breeze against the brow,Dry sang the tackle, sang the sail:The lady's-head upon the prowCaught the shrill salt, and sheered the gale.The broad seas swelled to meet the keel,And swept behind: so quick the run,We felt the good ship shake and reel,We seemed to sail into the sun!
How oft we saw the sun retire,And burn the threshold of the night,Fall from his ocean-lane of fire,And sleep beneath his pillared light!How oft the purple-skirted robeOf twilight slowly downward drawn,As through the slumber of the globeAgain we dashed into the dawn!
New stars all night above the brimOf waters lightened into view;They climbed as quickly, for the rimChanged every moment as we flew.Far ran the naked moon acrossThe houseless ocean's heaving field,Or flying shone, the silver bossOf her own halo's dusky shield;
The peaky islet shifted shapes,High towns on hills were dimly seen,We passed long lines of northern capesAnd dewy northern meadows green.We came to warmer waves, and deepAcross the boundless east we drove,Where those long swells of breaker sweepThe nutmeg rocks and isles of clove.
By peaks that flamed, or, all in shade,Gloomed the low coast and quivering brineWith ashy rains, that spreading madeFantastic plume or sable pine;By sands and steaming flats, and floodsOf mighty mouth, we scudded fast,And hills and scarlet-mingled woodsGlowed for a moment as we passed.
O hundred shores of happy climes,How swiftly streamed ye by the bark!At times the whole sea burned, at timesWith wakes of fire we tore the dark;At times a carven craft would shootFrom havens hid in fairy bowers,With naked limbs and flowers and fruit,But we nor paused for fruits nor flowers.
For one fair Vision ever fledDown the waste waters day and night,And still we followed where she ledIn hope to gain upon her flight.Her face was evermore unseen,And fixed upon the far sea-line;But each man murmured, "O my Queen,I follow till I make thee mine."
And now we lost her, now she gleamedLike Fancy made of golden air,Now nearer to the prow she seemedLike Virtue firm, like Knowledge fair,Now high on waves that idly burstLike Heavenly Hope she crowned the sea,And now, the bloodless point reversed,She bore the blade of Liberty.
And only one among us,—himWe pleased not,—he was seldom pleased:He saw not far: his eyes were dim:But ours he swore were all diseased."A ship of fools!" he shrieked in spite,"A ship of fools!" he sneered and wept.And overboard one stormy nightHe cast his body, and on we swept.
And never sail of ours was furledNor anchor dropped at eve or morn;We loved the glories of the world,But laws of nature were our scorn;For blasts would rise and rave and cease,But whence were those that drove the sailAcross the whirlwind's heart of peace,And to and through the counter-gale?
Again to colder climes we came,For still we followed where she led:Now mate is blind and captain lame,And half the crew are sick or dead.But blind or lame or sick or sound,We follow that which flies before:We know the merry world is round,And we may sail forevermore.
Alfred Tennyson.