Second Book of Verse E-Book

Eugene Field

• Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

Eugene Field's "Second Book of Verse" is a quintessential collection that captures the essence of childhood wonder and the ephemeral nature of life through its charming and evocative poetry. Field employs a lyrical style, characterized by musicality and vivid imagery, transporting readers to idyllic landscapes filled with the joys and sorrows of youth. The verses reflect a Romantic sensibility, integrating elements of nostalgia and innocence while exploring profound themes such as love, loss, and the passage of time, all of which are rendered through Field'Äôs masterful use of rhythm and rhyme. As a prominent American poet during the late 19th century, Eugene Field was heavily influenced by his own experiences and the cultural zeitgeist of the time. With a background in journalism and a penchant for children'Äôs literature, Field's work often mirrors his affection for children and the rich tapestry of forgotten childhood dreams. This collection illustrates his keen observations of the world around him and reflects the broader literary movements that framed his era, making "Second Book of Verse" an important text in understanding American poetry's progression. Readers who cherish the delicate interplay of nostalgia and poetic beauty will find great delight in Field's verses. "Second Book of Verse" is not only a tribute to the melodies of childhood but also a profound reflection on the joys and hardships inherent in growing up. This collection is an essential read for anyone seeking to explore the rich emotional landscape of human experience through the lens of masterful poetry.

Leseprobe

Eugene Field

Second Book of Verse

Published by Good Press, 2022

[email protected]

EAN 4064066208608

Table of Contents

The Verse in this Second Book.

Second Book of Verse.

FATHER'S WAY.

TO MY MOTHER.

KÖRNER'S BATTLE PRAYER.

GOSLING STEW.

CATULLUS TO LESBIA.

JOHN SMITH.

ST. MARTIN'S LANE.

THE SINGING IN GOD'S ACRE.

DEAR OLD LONDON.

CORSICAN LULLABY.

THE CLINK OF THE ICE.

THE BELLS OF NOTRE DAME.

LOVER'S LANE, SAINT JO.

CRUMPETS AND TEA.

AN IMITATION OF DR. WATTS.

INTRY-MINTRY.

MODJESKY AS CAMEEL.

TELLING THE BEES.

THE TEA-GOWN.

DOCTORS.

BARBARA.

THE CAFÉ MOLINEAU.

HOLLY AND IVY.

THE BOLTONS, 22.

DIBDIN'S GHOST.

THE HAWTHORNE CHILDREN.

THE BOTTLE AND THE BIRD.

AN ECLOGUE FROM VIRGIL.

PITTYPAT AND TIPPYTOE.

ASHES ON THE SLIDE.

THE LOST CUPID OF MOSCHUS.

CHRISTMAS EVE.

CARLSBAD.

THE SUGAR-PLUM TREE.

RED.

JEWISH LULLABY.

AT CHEYENNE.

THE NAUGHTY DOLL.

THE PNEUMOGASTRIC NERVE.

TEENY-WEENY.

TELKA.

PLAINT OF THE MISSOURI 'COON IN THE BERLIN ZOÖLOGICAL GARDENS.

ARMENIAN LULLABY.

THE PARTRIDGE.

CORINTHIAN HALL.

THE RED, RED WEST.

THE THREE KINGS OF COLOGNE.

IPSWICH.

BILL'S TENOR AND MY BASS.

FIDUCIT.

THE "ST. JO GAZETTE."

IN AMSTERDAM.

TO THE PASSING SAINT.

THE FISHERMAN'S FEAST.

NIGHTFALL IN DORDRECHT.

THE ONION TART.

GRANDMA'S BOMBAZINE.

RARE ROAST BEEF.

GANDERFEATHER'S GIFT.

OLD TIMES, OLD FRIENDS, OLD LOVE.

OUR WHIPPINGS.

BION'S SONG OF EROS.

MR. BILLINGS OF LOUISVILLE.

POET AND KING.

LYDIA DICK.

LIZZIE.

LITTLE HOMER'S SLATE.

ALWAYS RIGHT.

"TROT, MY GOOD STEED, TROT!"

PROVIDENCE AND THE DOG.

GETTIN' ON.

THE SCHNELLEST ZUG.

BETHLEHEM-TOWN.

THE PEACE OF CHRISTMAS-TIME.

THE DOINGS OF DELSARTE.

BUTTERCUP, POPPY, FORGET-ME-NOT.

NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1896

Copyright, 1892,By Julia Sutherland Field.

A little bit of a woman cameAthwart my path one day; So tiny was she that she seemed to be A pixy strayed from the misty sea,Or a wandering greenwood fay. "Oho, you little elf!" I cried,"And what are you doing here? So tiny as you will never do For the brutal rush and hullaballooOf this practical world, I fear." "Voice have I, good sir," said she.—"'Tis soft as an Angel's sigh, But to fancy a word of yours were heard In all the din of this world's absurd!"Smiling, I made reply. "Hands have I, good sir" she quoth.—"Marry, and that have you! But amid the strife and the tumult rife In all the struggle and battle for life,What can those wee hands do?" "Eyes have I, good sir," she said.—"Sooth, you have," quoth I, "And tears shall flow therefrom, I trow, And they betimes shall dim with woe,As the hard, hard years go by!"

That little bit of a woman castHer two eyes full on me, And they smote me sore to my inmost core, And they hold me slaved forevermore,—Yet would I not be free! That little bit of a woman's handsReached up into my breast And rent apart my scoffing heart,— And they buffet it still with such sweet artAs cannot be expressed. That little bit of a woman's voiceHath grown most wondrous dear; Above the blare of all elsewhere (An inspiration that mocks at care)It riseth full and clear. Dear one, I bless the subtle powerThat makes me wholly thine; And I'm proud to say that I bless the day When a little woman wrought her wayInto this life of mine!

The Verse in this Second Book.

Table of Contents

PageFather's Way1To my Mother5Körner's Battle Prayer7Gosling Stew9Catullus to Lesbia12John Smith13St. Martin's Lane22The Singing in God's-Acre25Dear Old London28Corsican Lullaby (Folk-Song) 33The Clink of the Ice35Bells of Notre Dame39Lover's Lane, St. Jo41Crumpets and Tea44An Imitation of Dr. Watts47Intry-Mintry48Modjesky as Cameel51Telling the Bees60The Tea-Gown62Doctors64Barbara69The Café Molineau72Holly and Ivy75The Boltons, 2277Dibdin's Ghost83The Hawthorne Children87The Bottle and the Bird91An Eclogue from Virgil96Pittypat and Tippytoe103Ashes on the Slide106The Lost Cupid of Moschus110Christmas Eve113Carlsbad115The Sugar-Plum Tree120Red122Jewish Lullaby124At Cheyenne126The Naughty Doll128The Pneumogastric Nerve131Teeny-Weeny134Telka137Plaint of a Missouri 'Coon146Armenian Lullaby151The Partridge153Corinthian Hall156The Red, Red West162The Three Kings of Cologne165Ipswich167Bill's Tenor and my Bass170Fiducit (from the German)175The "St. Jo Gazette"177In Amsterdam183To the Passing Saint186The Fisherman's Feast188Nightfall in Dordrecht (Slumber Song)191The Onion Tart193Grandma's Bombazine197Rare Roast Beef203Ganderfeather's Gift208Old Times, Old Friends, Old Love211Our Whippings213Bion's Song of Eros218Mr. Billings of Louisville220Poet and King222Lydia Dick225Lizzie229Little Homer's Slate231Always Right233"Trot, my good Steed" (Volkslied)235Providence and the Dog237Gettin' on242The Schnellest Zug245Bethlehem-Town250The Peace of Christmas-Time252Doings of Delsarte254Buttercup, Poppy, Forget-me-not259

Second Book of Verse.

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FATHER'S WAY.

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MY father was no pessimist; he loved the things of earth,— Its cheerfulness and sunshine, its music and its mirth. He never sighed or moped around whenever things went wrong,— I warrant me he'd mocked at fate with some defiant song; But, being he warn't much on tune, when times looked sort o' blue, He'd whistle softly to himself this only tune he knew,—

Now mother, when she heard that tune which father whistled so, Would say, "There's something wrong to-day with Ephraim, I know; He never tries to make believe he's happy that 'ere way But that I'm certain as can be there's somethin' wrong to pay." And so betimes, quite natural-like, to us observant youth There seemed suggestion in that tune of deep, pathetic truth. When Brother William joined the war, a lot of us went down To see the gallant soldier boys right gayly out of town. A-comin' home, poor mother cried as if her heart would break, And all us children, too,—for hers, and not for William's sake! But father, trudgin' on ahead, his hands behind him so, Kept whistlin' to himself, so sort of solemn-like and low. And when my oldest sister, Sue, was married and went West, Seemed like it took the tuck right out of mother and the rest. She was the sunlight in our home,—why, father used to say It wouldn't seem like home at all if Sue should go away; But when she went, a-leavin' us all sorrer and all tears, Poor father whistled lonesome-like—and went to feed the steers. When crops were bad, and other ills befell our homely lot, He'd set of nights and try to act as if he minded not; And when came death and bore away the one he worshipped so, How vainly did his lips belie the heart benumbed with woe! You see the telltale whistle told a mood he'd not admit,— He'd always stopped his whistlin' when he thought we noticed it. I'd like to see that stooping form and hoary head again,— To see the honest, hearty smile that cheered his fellow-men. Oh, could I kiss the kindly lips that spake no creature wrong, And share the rapture of the heart that overflowed with song! Oh, could I hear the little tune he whistled long ago, When he did battle with the griefs he would not have us know!

TO MY MOTHER.

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HOW fair you are, my mother!Ah, though 't is many a yearSince you were here, Still do I see your beauteous face,And with the glow Of your dark eyes cometh a graceOf long ago. So gentle, too, my mother!Just as of old, upon my brow,Like benedictions now, Falleth your dear hand's touch;And still, as then, A voice that glads me over-muchCometh again,My fair and gentle mother! How you have loved me, mother,I have not power to tell,Knowing full well That even in the rest aboveIt is your will To watch and guard me with your love,Loving me still. And, as of old, my mother,I am content to be a child,By mother's love beguiled From all these other charms;So to the last Within thy dear, protecting armsHold thou me fast,My guardian angel, mother!

KÖRNER'S BATTLE PRAYER.

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FATHER, I cry to Thee! Round me the billows of battle are pouring, Round me the thunders of battle are roaring;Father on high, hear Thou my cry,—Father, oh, lead Thou me!Father, oh, lead Thou me! Lead me, o'er Death and its terrors victorious,— See, I acknowledge Thy will as all-glorious;Point Thou the way, lead where it may,—God, I acknowledge Thee!God, I acknowledge Thee! As when the dead leaves of autumn whirl round me, So, when the horrors of war would confound me,Laugh I at fear, knowing Thee near,—Father, oh, bless Thou me!Father, oh, bless Thou me! Living or dying, waking or sleeping, Such as I am, I commit to Thy keeping:Frail though I be, Lord, bless Thou me!Father, I worship Thee!Father, I worship Thee! Not for the love of the riches that perish, But for the freedom and justice we cherish,Stand we or fall, blessing Thee, all—God, I submit to Thee!God, I submit to Thee! Yea, though the terrors of Death pass before me, Yea, with the darkness of Death stealing o'er me,Lord, unto Thee bend I the knee,—Father, I cry to Thee!

GOSLING STEW.

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