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Guilielmus Rex Guilielmus Rex

Guilielmus Rex
The folk who lived in Shakespeare's day And saw that gentle figure pass By London Bridge, his frequent way-- They little knew what man he was. The pointed beard, the courteous mien, The equal port to high and low, All this they saw or might have seen-- But not the light behind the brow! The doublet's modest gray or brown, The slender sword-hilt's plain device, What sign had these for prince or clown? Few turned, or none, to scan him twice. Yet 'twas the king of England's kings!... Poems - Post by : lauraw - Date : July 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 2915

Echo-song Echo-song

Echo-song
I Who can say where Echo dwells? In some mountain-cave, methinks, Where the white owl sits and blinks; Or in deep sequestered dells, Where the foxglove hangs its bells, Echo dwells. Echo!... Poems - Post by : waynz - Date : July 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 1091

Monody On The Death Of Wendell Phillips Monody On The Death Of Wendell Phillips

Monody On The Death Of Wendell Phillips
I One by one they go Into the unknown dark-- Star-lit brows of the brave, Voices that drew men's souls. Rich is the land, O Death! Can give you dead like our dead!-- Such as he from whose hand The magic web of romance Slipt, and the art was lost! Such as he who erewhile-- The last of the Titan brood-- With his thunder the Senate shook; Or he who, beside the Charles, Untoucht of envy or hate, Tranced the world with his song; Or... Poems - Post by : LegitIncomes - Date : July 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 1639

'i Vex Me Not With Brooding On The Years' "i Vex Me Not With Brooding On The Years"

'i Vex Me Not With Brooding On The Years'
I vex me not with brooding on the years That were ere I drew breath: why should I then Distrust the darkness that may fall again When life is done? Perchance in other spheres-- Dead planets--I once tasted mortal tears, And walked as now among a throng of men, Pondering things that lay beyond my ken, Questioning death, and solacing my fears. Ofttimes indeed strange sense have I of this,... Poems - Post by : Niceday_Jacky - Date : July 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 1046

The Shipman's Tale The Shipman's Tale

The Shipman's Tale
Listen, my masters! I speak naught but truth. From dawn to dawn they drifted on and on, Not knowing whither nor to what dark end. Now the North froze them, now the hot South scorched. Some called to God, and found great comfort so; Some gnashed their teeth with curses, and some laughed An empty laughter, seeing they yet lived, So sweet was breath between their foolish lips. Day after day the same relentless sun, Night after night the same unpitying stars. At intervals fierce lightnings tore the clouds,... Poems - Post by : E-Bookbiz4u - Date : July 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 1362

Act V Act V

Act V
(Midnight.) First, two white arms that held him very close, And ever closer as he drew him back Reluctantly, the loose gold-colored hair A thousand delicate fibres reaching out Still to detain him; then some twenty steps Of iron staircase winding round and down, And ending in a narrow gallery hung With Gobelin tapestries--Andromeda Rescued by Perseus, and the sleek Diana With her nymphs bathing; at the farther end A door that gave upon a starlit grove Of citron and clipt palm-trees; then a path As bleached as... Poems - Post by : investx - Date : July 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 2256

Batuschka Batuschka

Batuschka
(Note: Batuschka: "Little Father," or "Dear Little Father," a term of endearment applied to the Tsar in Russian folk-song.)From yonder gilded minaret Beside the steel-blue Neva set, I faintly catch, from time to time, The sweet, aerial midnight chime-- "God save the Tsar!" Above the ravelins and the moats Of the white citadel it floats; And men in dungeons far beneath Listen, and pray, and gnash their teeth-- "God save the Tsar!" The soft reiterations sweep Across the horror of... Poems - Post by : mmsvete - Date : July 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 3567

At The Funeral Of A Minor Poet At The Funeral Of A Minor Poet

At The Funeral Of A Minor Poet
(One of the Bearers soliloquizes:) . . . Room in your heart for him, O Mother Earth, Who loved each flower and leaf that made you fair, And sang your praise in verses manifold And delicate, with here and there a line From end to end in blossom like a bough The May breathes on, so rich it was. Some thought The workmanship more costly than the thing Moulded or carved, as in those ornaments Found at Mycaene. And yet Nature's self Works in this wise; upon a blade... Poems - Post by : billzhu - Date : July 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 1729

Alec Yeaton's Son Alec Yeaton's Son

Alec Yeaton's Son
GLOUCESTER, AUGUST, 1720 The wind it wailed, the wind it moaned, And the white caps flecked the sea; "An' I would to God," the skipper groaned, "I had not my boy with me!" Snug in the stern-sheets, little John Laughed as the scud swept by; But the skipper's sunburnt cheek grew wan As he watched the wicked sky. "Would he were at his mother's side!" And the skipper's eyes were dim. "Good Lord in heaven,... Poems - Post by : essoess - Date : July 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 2692

In Westminster Abbey In Westminster Abbey

In Westminster Abbey
"The Southern Transept, hardly known by any other name but Poet's Corner." DEAN STANLEY. TREAD softly here; the sacredest of tombs Are those that hold your Poets. Kings and queens Are facile accidents of Time and Chance. Chance sets them on the heights, they climb not there! But he who from the darkling mass of men Is on the wing of heavenly thought upborne To finer ether, and becomes a voice For all the voiceless, God anointed him: His name shall be a star, his grave a... Poems - Post by : drevis - Date : July 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 2930

The Last Caesar The Last Caesar

The Last Caesar
1851-1870 I Now there was one who came in later days To play at Emperor: in the dead of night Stole crown and sceptre, and stood forth to light In sudden purple. The dawn's straggling rays Showed Paris fettered, murmuring in amaze, With red hands at her throat--a piteous sight. Then the new Caesar, stricken with affright At his own daring, shrunk from public gaze In the Elysee, and had lost the day But that around him flocked his birds of prey, Sharp-beaked, voracious, hungry for the deed.... Poems - Post by : Matthew.3638 - Date : July 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 2128

The Sisters' Tragedy The Sisters' Tragedy

The Sisters' Tragedy
A. D. 1670 AGLAE, a widow MURIEL, her unmarried sister. IT happened once, in that brave land that lies For half the twelvemonth wrapt in sombre skies, Two sisters loved one man. He being dead, Grief loosed the lips of her he had not wed, And all the passion that through heavy years Had masked in smiles unmasked itself in tears. No purer love may mortals know than this, The hidden love that guards another's bliss. High in a turret's westward-facing room, Whose painted window held the sunset's... Poems - Post by : beetee - Date : July 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 2714

Robert Herrick Robert Herrick

Robert Herrick
I A LITTLE over three hundred years ago England had given to her a poet of the very rarest lyrical quality, but she did not discover the fact for more than a hundred and fifty years afterward. The poet himself was aware of the fact at once, and stated it, perhaps not too modestly, in countless quatrains and couplets, which were not read, or, if read, were not much regarded at the moment. It has always been an incredulous world in this matter. So many poets have announced their arrival, and not arrived! Robert Herrick was descended in a direct line... Essays - Post by : redman34 - Date : July 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 3027

The Autograph Hunter The Autograph Hunter

The Autograph Hunter
One that gathers samphire, dreadful trade! --_King Lear._THE material for this paper on the autograph hunter, his ways and his manners, has been drawn chiefly from experiences not my own. My personal relations with him have been comparatively restricted, a circumstance to which I owe the privilege of treating the subject with a freedom that might otherwise not seem becoming. No author is insensible to the compliment involved in a request for his autograph, assuming the request to come from some sincere lover of books and bookmen. It is an affair of different complection when he is... Essays - Post by : mclserv01 - Date : July 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 3517

Poor Yorick Poor Yorick

Poor Yorick
THERE is extant in the city of New York an odd piece of bric-a-brac which I am sometimes tempted to wish was in my own possession. On a bracket in Edwin Booth's bedroom at The Players--the apartment remains as he left it that solemn June day ten years ago--stands a sadly dilapidated skull which the elder Booth, and afterward his son Edwin, used to soliloquize over in the graveyard at Elsinore in the fifth act of "Hamlet." A skull is an object that always invokes interest more or less poignant; it always has its pathetic story, whether told or untold; but... Essays - Post by : thaley - Date : July 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 2765

Historical Novels Historical Novels

Historical Novels
IN default of such an admirable piece of work as Dr. Weir Mitchell's "Hugh Wynne," I like best those fictions which deal with kingdoms and principalities that exist only in the mind's eye. One's knowledge of actual events and real personages runs no serious risk of receiving shocks in this no-man's-land. Everything that happens in an imaginary realm--in the realm of Ruritania, for illustration--has an air of possibility, at least a shadowy vraisemblance. The atmosphere and local color, having an authenticity of their own, are not to be challenged. You cannot charge the writer with ignorance of the period in which... Essays - Post by : dbhatta - Date : July 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 2605

Wishmakers' Town Wishmakers' Town

Wishmakers' Town
A LIMITED edition of this little volume of verse, which seems to me in many respects unique, was issued in 1885, and has long been out of print. The reissue of the book is in response to the desire off certain readers who have not forgotten the charm which William Young's poem exercised upon them years ago, and, finding the charm still potent, would have others share it. The scheme of the poem, for it is a poem and not simply a series of unrelated lyrics, is ingenious and original, and unfolds itself in measures at once strong and delicate. The... Essays - Post by : kpsbusiness - Date : July 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 2473

On A Certain Affectation On A Certain Affectation

On A Certain Affectation
EXCEPTING on the ground that youth is the age of vain fantasy, there is no accounting for the fact that young men and young women of poetical temperament should so frequently assume to look upon an early demise for themselves as the most desirable thing in the world. Though one may incidentally be tempted to agree with them in the abstract, one cannot help wondering. That persons who are exceptionally fortunate in their environment, and in private do not pretend to be otherwise, should openly announce their intention of retiring at once into the family tomb, is a problem not easily... Essays - Post by : jayleishman - Date : July 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 1405

The Male Costume Of The Period The Male Costume Of The Period

The Male Costume Of The Period
I WENT to see a play the other night, one of those good old-fashioned English comedies that are in five acts and seem to be in fifteen. The piece with its wrinkled conventionality, its archaic stiffness, and obsolete code of morals, was devoid of interest excepting as a collection of dramatic curios. Still I managed to sit it through. The one thing in it that held me a pleased spectator was the graceful costume of a certain player who looked like a fine old portrait--by Vandyke or Velasquez, let us say--that had come to life and kicked off its tarnished frame.... Essays - Post by : Gilles_Turbide - Date : July 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 3468

Un Poete Manque Un Poete Manque

Un Poete Manque
IN the first volume of Miss Dickinson's poetical melange is a little poem which needs only a slight revision of the initial stanza to entitle it to rank with some of the swallow-flights in Heine's lyrical intermezzo. I have tentatively tucked a rhyme into that opening stanza: I taste a liquor never brewed In vats upon the Rhine; No tankard ever held a draught Of alcohol like mine. Inebriate of air am I, And... Essays - Post by : Archmage - Date : July 2011 - Author : Thomas Bailey Aldrich - Read : 4122