The Little Book of Modern Verse: A Selection from the Work of Contemporaneous American Poets
Jessie Belle Rittenhouse
Houghton Mifflin, 1913 - American poetry - 211 pages
What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Other editions - View all
Common terms and phrases
Babylon battle beat beauty beneath bird blind blow blue breast breath bright BUILDING cold comes dark dead dear death deep dream dust earth eyes face fair fall feet fields fire flame flowers forever forget give God's gold golden green grow hand hath head hear heard heart heaven hills hold hour kings kiss knew lady land leaves lift light lips living look Lord memory moon morning never night once pass Poems rain rest ride road rose seemed shine silence singing smile song soul sound spirit spring star stay strong sweet tears thee things thou thought touch town tree turn voice wait wild wind wings wonder young youth
Page 137 - The color of the ground was in him, the red earth; The smack and tang of elemental things...
Page 193 - There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood — Touch of manner, hint of mood; And my heart is like a rhyme, With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time. The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry Of bugles going by.
Page 183 - He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot, And Priam's neighbors. Miniver mourned the ripe renown That made so many a name so fragrant; He mourned Romance, now on the town, And Art, a vagrant. Miniver loved the Medici, Albeit he had never seen one; He would have sinned incessantly Could he have been one.
Page 139 - He held his place — Held the long purpose like a growing tree — Held on through blame and faltered not at praise. And when he fell in whirlwind, he went down As when a kingly cedar green with boughs Goes down with a great shout upon the hills, And leaves a lonesome place against the sky.
Page 140 - For he, to whom we have applied Our shopman's test of age and worth, Was elemental when he died, As he was ancient at his birth: The saddest among kings of earth, Bowed with a galling crown, this man Met rancor with a cryptic mirth, Laconic — and Olympian.
Page 48 - A wisp of fog betwixt us and the sun; A call to battle, and the battle done Ere the last echo dies within our ears; A rose choked in the grass; an hour of fears; The gusts that past a darkening shore do beat; The burst of music down an unlistening street — I wonder at the idleness of tears. Ye old, old dead, and ye of yesternight, Chieftains, and bards, and keepers of the sheep, By every cup of sorrow that you had, Loose me from tears, and make me see aright How each hath back what once he stayed...
Page 118 - How will you ever straighten up this shape; Touch it again with immortality; Give back the upward looking and the light; Rebuild in it the music and the dream; Make right the immemorial infamies, Perfidious wrongs, immedicable woes?
Page 138 - As to the great oak flaring to the wind — To the grave's low hill as to the Matterhorn That shoulders out the sky.
Page 21 - Bloomed, burst, and scattered down its deadly seed, — They swept, and died like freemen on the height, Like freemen, and like men of noble breed; And when the battle fell away at night By hasty and contemptuous hands were thrust Obscurely in a common grave with him The fair-haired keeper of their love and trust.
Page 20 - Crouched in the sea-fog on the moaning sand All night he lay, speaking some simple word From hour to hour to the slow minds that heard, Holding each poor life gently in his hand And breathing on the base rejected clay Till each dark face shone mystical and grand Against the breaking day; And lo, the shard the potter cast away Was grown a fiery chalice crystal-fine, Fulfilled of the divine Great wine of battle wrath by God's ring-finger stirred. Then upward, where the shadowy bastion loomed Huge on...