Jack London
Poetry
Daybreak
George Sterling
In A Year
Moods
Sonnet
The Gift Of God
The Klondyker's Dream
The Lover's Liturgy
The Sea Sprite And The Shooting Star
The Song Of The Flames
The Way Of War
The Worker And The Tramp
Weasel Thieves
Where The Rainbow Fell
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Daybreak
The blushing dawn the easy illumes,
The birds their merry matins sing,
The buds breath forth their sweet perfumes,
And butterflies are on the wing.
I pause beneath the window high,
The door is locked, the house is quiet;
'Tis there, abed, she sure must lie, -
To Wake her, - ah! I'll try it.
And pebbles hurtling through the air,
Strike full upon the window-pane,
Awakening her who slumbers there
With their insistent hurricane.
Ye gods! in my imagination,
The wondrous scene do I behold -
A nymph's bewildered consternation
At summons thus so fierce and bold.
A moment passes, then I see
The gauzy curtains drawn aside,
And sweet eyes beaming down on me,
And then a window upward glide.
Fair as the morn, with rosy light,
She blushes with a faint surprise,
Then thinking of the previous night,
In dulcet tones she softly cries:
"It should have been put out by Nan,
But I'll be down within a minute -
No, never mind, leave your own can,
And put two quarts, please, in it."
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The Klondyker's Dream
In slumbers of midnight the Klondyker lay;
The snow was fast falling, the cold was intense;
But weary and hungry, his cares flew away,
And visions of dinners were calling him hence.
He dreamed of his home, of the dining-room table,
And servants that waited his every behest;
He longed 0 to eat, to eat all he was able,
For ah! of all dreams he had dreamed 'twas the best.
Then Fancy her marvelous miracles wrought,
And bade the thin starved one get out of his bed;
The Klondyke he left far behind him, he sought
The place where the hungered could always be fed.
He came in good season, the table was laid;
The rich, fragrant coffee was steaming and hot;
The pastries and puddings were there all arrayed;
The beefsteak was done, aye was done to a dot.
His fingers were trembling, so rich was the fare,
And when Grace was ended he murmured Amen!
And took, of all dishes, the beefsteak so rare;
Ah! he was the happiest man of all men.
The jaws of the sleeper are moving with joy;
Food quickens his palate, his hardships seem o'er;
A feeling of plenty steals over the boy -
"0 God! thou hast fed me, I ask for no more."
Ah! whence is that form which now bursts on his eye?
Ah! what is that sound that now catches his ear?
"Tis the dog of the Klondyke thieving so sly!
"Tis a crunching of jaws, a crunching quite near!
He springs from the blankets, he seizes his gun;
Gaunt Famine confronts him with images dire;
But out of the tent goes the dog on the run,
For well he knows when it's time to retire.
The last piece of bacon is gone from the sack;
He weeps, 0 he weeps, for he knows what it means;
The last piece of bacon - 'twill never come back;
Henceforth his diet must be sour bread and beans.
0 'Klondyker, woe to thy dreams of good fare!
In waking they left thee, they left on the fly;
Where now is that beefsteak so juicy and rare;
The coffee, the pudding, the pastry and pie?
October 1898
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Sonnet
A Trumpet call, a bursting of the sod,
And lo! I flung aside the clinging clay
Lifted my flight along the star-strewn way
Among the white-robed saints that fled to God.
And he that held the gate, with holy nod,
Did bid me enter that my feet might stray
Amid the flowers with those that God obey;
The just, the good, and pure on earth there trod.
Dear heart: I questioned him if thou wert there,
One of that bright-browed throng whos voices led
The heavenly hymn of praise, the wondrous strain
That kissed in ecstacy the trembling air?
But he that held the gate did shake his head,
Thou wast not there; I turned away again.
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In A Year
In a year, in a year, when the grapes are ripe,
I shall stay no more away -
Then if you still are true, my love,
It will be our wedding day.
In a year, in a year, when my time is past -
Then I'll live in your love for aye.
Then if you still are true, my love,
It will be our wedding day.
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The Lover's Liturgy
Ah! my brothers, we are mortals,
Atoms on Time's ebb and flow,
Soon we pass the dreary portals,
Soon to dreamless sleep we go;
We are sparkles, evanescent,
Doomed to perish in the hour,
And our time is in the present,
Ours but a moment's power.
Love, my brothers, is the essence,
In the scheme of life and light;
Birth and death are fearful lessons -
Out of darkness into night, -
Thus we flash, a moment's living,
'Twixt the silent walls of death,
Flashing for a moment, giving
Song but for a moment's breath.
Then that moment do not sadden,
Prayers, nor beads, nor aves tell;
Then that moment do not madden
With mad dreams of heaven or hell;
Trust that he who cast you idly,
Asked of you nor aye nor nay,
Flung you idly, wildly, widely,
For his whim will not ask pay.
For a whim of bubble-blowing,
Perhaps to while an empty day,
For a whim of stubble-sowing,
For a game at godlike play,
Shall the bubbles in the drifting,
Pay the whim of Him who played?
Shall the seedlets in the shifting,
Of the sifter be afraid?
Shall the playthings of a master,
Falling idly from his hand,
Meet meritless disaster,
Meet with unearned reprimand?
Shall the children of fancy,
Born a certain race to run,
By an absurd necromancy,
Penance pay when it is done?
O, my brothers, go not questing
For some mystic grail in vain -
Why should ye a Master's jesting,
Strive to fathom or make plain?
Wake ye from your fevered dreaming,
Groping for forbidden toys,
All about you life is teeming,
Singing of ungarnered joys.
Surely He who somewhere hovers,
'Yond the reach of mortal ken,
Gazing down on love and lovers,
Cannot blame the sons of men;
Cannot blame his bubbles bursting,
Heart to heart and lips to lips;
Cannot blame his seedlets thirsting
For the dew of honeyed lips.
Then again the golden chalice,
Once again a lingering draught;
Surely He will bear no malice
For the pledge divinely quaffed.
Thus, with sweet and fond caresses,
Hearts that beat with mutual bliss,
He who loves is he who blesses,
Sealing heaven with a kiss.
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The Way Of War
Man primeval hurled a rock,
Torn with angry passions, he;
To escape the which rude shock.
Foeman ducked behind a tree.
Man primeval made a spear,
Swifth of death on battle field;
Foeman fashioned other gear,
Fought behind his hidebound shield.
Man mediaeval built a wall,
Said he didn't give a dam;
Foeman not put out at all,
Smashed it with a battering ram.
Man mediaeval, just for fun,
Made himself a coat of mail;
Foeman laughed and forged a gun,
Peppered him with iron hail.
Modern man bethought a change,
Cast most massive armor-plate;
Foeman just increased his range,
Tipped his ball to penetrate.
Modern man, with toil untold,
Deftly built torpedo boats;
Foeman launched "destroyer" bold,
Swept the sea of all that floats.
Future man - ah! who can say? -
May blow to smithereens our earth;
In the course of warrior play
Fling death across the heavens' girth.
Future man may hurl the stars,
Leash the comets, o'er-ride space,
Sear the universe with scars,
In the fight 'twixt race and race.
Yet foeman will be just as cute -
Amid the rain falling suns,
Leave the world by parachute,
And build ethereal forts and guns.
And when the skies begin to fall
The foeman still will new invent -
Into a star-proof world he'll crawl,
Heaven insured from accident.
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The Worker And The Tramp
Heaven bless you, my friend -
You, the man who won't sweat;
Here's a quarter to spend.
If you did but mend,
My job you would get; -
Heaven bless you, my friend. -
On you I depend
For my work, don't forget; -
Here's a quarter to spend.
My hand I extend,
For I love you, you bet: -
Here's a quarter to spend.
Ah! you comprehend
That I owe a debt;
Heaven bless you, my friend,
Here's a quarter to spend.
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George Sterling
I saw a man open an iris petal.
He ran his finger underneath the edge,
unfolded it, and smoothed it out a little,
not as one guilty of a sacrilege —
because he knew flowers, and understood
that what he did would maybe help them grow -
though for a moment he was almost God.
Alone as we are, growing is so slow.
I think of one who tried like that to unfold
the margin of his life where it was curled,
to see into the shadows shot with gold
that lie in iris hues about the world.
Because he dared to touch the sacred rim,
does God resent this eagerness in him?
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Moods
Who has not laughed with the skylark,
And bid his heart rejoice?
Laughed till the mirth-loving heavens
Echoed his laughter back?
Joyed in the sheer joy of living,
And sung with gladsome voice,
Lays that were cheerful and merry,
And bid his heart rejoice?
Who has not frowned in the gloaming,
And felt the skies grow black;
While o'er him spread the dark mantle
Of sullen, solemn Gloom,
Whose mutterings broke the silence
Like echoes from the tomb -
Like echoes of lost endeavors -
Reproaches from the tomb?
Who has not cursed in his passion,
As Anger's stinging lash,
Biting and smarting and racking,
Fell on his naked back?
Felt in his veins feverish tumult,
The strife, the savage clash,
As when hot steel, leaped from the scabbard,
Meets steel with crash on crash?
Who has not wept in his sorrow,
And looked in vain for morn;
Waiting with hopeless yearning,
The sun from out the bourn?
Heard from the world the sad sobbing
Of Faith and Hope forlorn?
Known that the sun had forever
Gone down into the bourn?
October 1898
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The Sea Sprite And The Shooting Star
A little sea sprite,
on the sea one night,
Cried "Now is the time for me,"
And he looked above,
And he looked for his love;
For he was in love, you see.
But his love was a star
In the sky a-far,
And she knew not his love so true;
So he tried to think
Of a magic link
'Twixt the sea and the sky so blue.
Then out of the sky,
From the moon on high,
A silvery moonbeam fell;
And it fell on the brine,
With its wonderful shine,
On the brine where the sea sprites dwell.
Though the siren sing
Where the sea bells ring
And the sleepy poppies dream -
Though the sea sprite knew
Their songs untrue,
He knew not the false moonbeam.
For the way seemed clear
To his love so dear,
And he needn't have wings to fly;
Up its silvery stream
He would climb by the beam,
He would climb right into the sky.
Up the glittering step
He carefully crept,
While his heart beat a merry tune;
But O what a fright
To the poor little sprite,
When he came to the crescent moon.
Alas! and A-lack!
He couldn't get back,
For the moonbeams flew away;
And the stars in the sky
Knew not he was nigh,
Or that he had lost his way.
There he sat forlorn,
On the crescent horn,
And thought of his home in the sea
Of his brothers at play
All the livelong day
On the foam so fresh and free.
Then he saw his star,
In her golden car,
As she twinkled above his head;
And he sobbed and sighed,
And woefully cried
That he wished - he wished he was dead.
But the little the star heard
His every word,
And thrilled at his musical voice
Like the tinkling of bells,
Or the songs of shells,
And it bade her heart rejoice,
For she was lonely and sad,
And no lover had;
And she'd twinkled so long up there,
It had often been said
That she never would wed -
And yet she was wonderous fair,
But often she'd seen,
On the ocean green,
The sea sprite who had loved her so;
Though he came not to woo,
She had loved him too,
Yet she never would tell him - oh no.
But as she looked down
On the lover she'd found -
The story is strange to relate -
She sprang from her car,
For the height was no bar,
And hurried to join her mate.
Oh how her heart beat,
As she leaped from her seat,
And fell to the moon below;
And the stars were aghast,
As she darted past,
And they all said "I told you so."
And her golden hair,
As she fell through the air,
Shown bright like a comet's tail;
While the people on earth,
All ceased from their mirth
As they watched her fiery trail.
Not a bit too soon,
She came to the moon,
Where she grasped her lover's hand;
And they sang with glee,
As they splashed in the sea,
Right into the sea sprite's land.
And the sea o' nights
Is bright with lights,
Whenever they're out to play
For the white sea foam
Is their beautiful home,
Where they live forever and aye.
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Where The Rainbow Fell
(Triolet)
Just over the way where the rainbow fell,
I knew I would find a treasure of gold,
So I clambered over the fence pell mell,
Just over the way where the rainbow fell;
But I promised her I never would tell,
And I know if I tell you'll tell her I told.
Just over the way where the rainbow fell,
I certainly found a treasure of gold.
January 1899
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Weasel Thieves
The weasel thieves in silver suit,
The rabbit runs in gray,
And Pan takes up his frosty flute
To pipe the cold away.
The flocks are folded, boughs are bare,
The salmon takes the sea;
And oh, my fair, would I somewhere
Might house my heart with thee.
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The Song Of The Flames
We are motes of sunshine stolen
When the world was fair and young,
Stolen from our joytime golden,
Into earth's black bowels flung;
Kissed of light and born of passion,
Thrilling with the wine of life,
Ravished in most cruel fashion,
We were banished from the strife.
Pent in prisons dark and loathsome,
Cells of sorrow, 'reft of mirth,
In our rocky chamber, lonesome,
Slept we till our second birth, -
Slept we through the long, long ages,
Dreaming of the time to be,
Till God, turning many pages,
Deemed it fit to set us free.
March 1899
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The Gift Of God
I
"Name me the gift of God!"
A man commanded.
His brow was furrowed
With thought.
He wished to know all things.
II
There was a clamor among the peoples;
Many strove to answer,
And many were silent.
Some did not care,
Yet none were too busy to listen.
At first,
They named all things,
In loud voices,
Till the weak were hushed.
III
Then the strong ones became as one:
"Life is the gift of God!" they cried,
In a mighty chant,
Which shook the heavens.
But in time,
They became tired,
And no longer outraged the sky.
IV
Then a graybeard,
Doddering on the edge of his grave,
Raised a thin voice.
He had seen three generations
Come and go;
He knew all tricks;
He said. "Death is the gift of God."
He knew.
But the people were angry,
And in a great clamor,
Drowned his thin voice.
June 1899
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