Posts tagged ‘1886’

Friday, 23 July 2021

Three Burdens by Guido Pieter Theodorus Josephus Gezelle

Three burdens weigh upon my heart;
The first that men to death depart.
The second weighs still more on me:
I know not when my death shall be.
The third dismays me most of all;
‘t is that I know not what
thereafter shall befall!

From: Vincent, Paul (ed.), Poems of Guido Gezelle: A Bilingual Anthology, 2016, UCL Press: London, p. 147.

Date: 1886 (original in Dutch); 1999 (translation in English)

By: Guido Pieter Theodorus Josephus Gezelle (1830-1899)

Translated by: Albert van Eyken (19??- )

Friday, 26 February 2021

A Riverain Rhyme by Joseph Ashby-Sterry

Beside the river in the rain—
The sopping sky is leaden grey—
I watch the drops run down the pane!

Assuming the Tapleyan vein—
I sit and drone a dismal lay—
Beside the river in the rain!

With pluvial patter for refrain;
I’ve smoked the very blackest clay;
I watch the drops run down the pane.

I’ve gazed upon big fishes slain,
That on the walls make brave display,
Beside the river in the rain.

It will not clear, ’tis very plain,
The rain will last throughout the day—
I watch the drops run down the pane.

I almost feel my boundless brain
At last shows signs of giving way;
Beside the river in the rain.

O, never will I stop again—
No more will I attempt to stay,
Beside the river in the rain,
To watch the drops run down the pane!

From: Ashby-Sterry, J., The Lazy Minstrel (Third Edition), 1887, T. Fisher Unwin: London, pp. 78-79.

Date: 1886

By: Joseph Ashby-Sterry (1836 or 1838-1917)

Thursday, 9 January 2020

An Error by Joseph Skipsey

I never said my verse you’d mocked;
Nor how you’d giggled at my grammar—
You, on whom Fame her door has lock’d,
I little mark’d your empty clamour.

I merely said that when you’d call’d
On Fame, and thrice her cruel porters
Had kick’s you off, thrice back you crawl’d,
And kiss’d, thrice kiss’d, their hinder-quarters.


Date: 1886

By: Joseph Skipsey (1832-1903)

Monday, 20 August 2018

The Firefly by Mary Emily Neeley Bradley

Alone at dusk, her dull day’s labor done,
Sat one whose hope was trembling on despair.
For whom the daylight and the dark were one
In equal dearth of brightness. Sitting where
A little strip of turf sun-baked, and bare
Of bloom or verdure, all her prospect was —
She saw a sudden glimmer in the grass,
And lo, a firefly’s tiny taper there,
Twinkling as brightly the scant stubble through
As if in hedges dewy-sweet it flew.
Then in her soul a lofty shame was born
For vain repinings; and a patient grace,
Which, like the firefly in the barren place,
Shall haply shine through all her ways forlorn.

From: Bradley, Mary, Hidden Sweetness, 1886, Roberts Brothers: Boston, p. 54.

Date: 1886

By: Mary Emily Neeley Bradley (1835-1898)

Thursday, 24 May 2018

Arrière Pensée by Margaretta (Margaret) Wade Campbell Deland

It was not Love, you know,
That dream of ours:
No doubt we thought it so,
Catching the shine and glow
from sun and sky and flowers!

“/ called it Love!” you say?
What if I did?
The words but matched the day,
It died, and so should they,
None surely could forbid;

“Love never dies,” you swear?
“Love such as yours;”
Well, that must be your care,
To blame me is not fair,
Because your pain endures;

I ‘m really sorry I
Should seem unkind!
But you cannot deny
The Summer’s long gone by;
‘T was time to change my mind;

Indeed, it’s wiser, far,
To take my view:
Love always leaves a scar,
We ‘re better as we are,
And friendship will be new!

From: Deland, Margaret, The Old Garden and Other Verses, 1892, Houghton, Mifflin and Company: Boston and New York, pp. 60-61.

Date: 1886

By: Margaretta (Margaret) Wade Campbell Deland (1857-1945)

Wednesday, 20 December 2017

Shemuel by Edward Ernest Bowen

Shemuel, the Bethlehemite,
Watched a fevered guest at night;
All his fellows fared afield,
Saw the angel host revealed;
He nor caught the mystic story,
Heard the song, nor saw the glory.

Through the night they gazing stood,
Heard the holy multitude;
Back they came in wonder home,
Knew the Christmas kingdom come,
Eyes aflame, and hearts elated;
Shemuel sat alone, and waited.

Works of mercy now, as then,
Hide the angel host from men;
Hearts atune to earthly love
Miss the angel notes above;
Deeds, at which the world rejoices,
Quench the sound of angel voices.

So they thought, nor deemed from whence
His celestial recompense.
Shemuel, by the fever bed,
Touched by beckoning hands that led,
Died, and saw the Uncreated;
All his fellows lived, and waited.

From: Bowen, Edward E., Harrow Songs and Other Verses, 1886, Longmans, Green, and Co.: London, pp. 76-77.

Date: 1886

By: Edward Ernest Bowen (1836-1901)

Wednesday, 23 August 2017

A Perfect Day by Isabella Fyvie Mayo

Along the rock-bound shore the sunshine crept;
Our little boat upon the summer sea
Rocked lightly, and a merry crew were we.
Yet eyes were there which bitter tears had wept,
And hearts were there that lonely secrets kept,
Even as on the reefs lay winter wrecks
Of riven masts and ruined quarter-decks,
While in the sunny sea the dead men slept;
And tears will fall again, and storms will break,
Hearts will beat low, and faces will grow pale;
And yet new dawns will blush, and sea-birds wake.
Our God was with our gladness.   Come what may,
Nothing can rob us of a perfect day,
Nor of the faith that such days shall not fail.


Date: 1886

By: Isabella Fyvie Mayo (1843-1914)

Friday, 24 March 2017

A Sonnet by Amelie Louise Rives Chandler Troubetzkoy

Take all of me,–I am thine own, heart, soul,
Brain, body,–all; all that I am or dream
Is thine forever; yea, though space should teem
With thy conditions, I ‘d fulfil the whole–
Were to fulfil them to be loved of thee.
Oh, love me!–were to love me but a way
To kill me–love me; so to die would be
To live forever. Let me hear thee say
Once only, “Dear, I love thee,”–then all life
Would be one sweet remembrance, thou its king:
Nay, thou art that already, and the strife
Of twenty worlds could not uncrown thee. Bring
O Time! my monarch to possess his throne
Which is my heart and for himself alone.


Date: 1886

By: Amelie Louise Rives Chandler Troubetzkoy (1863-1945)

Friday, 27 February 2015

The White Rose by John Boyle O’Reilly

The red rose whispers of passion,
And the white rose breathes of love;
Oh, the red rose is a falcon.
And the white rose is a dove.

But I send you a cream-white rosebud
With a flush on its petal tips;
For the love that is purest and sweetest
Has a kiss of desire on the lips.

From: O’Reilly, John Boyle, In Bohemia, 1890, The Pilot Publishing Co: Boston, p. 24.

Date: 1886

By: John Boyle O’Reilly (1844-1890)

Sunday, 22 September 2013

A Ballad of Fair Oscar by Charles Waddell Chesnutt

Fair Oscar is a youth who dwells
On the Fifth Avenue;
He is the toniest of swells;
But what does Oscar do?

He rides, he drives, he turns his wheel,
On Fifth Avenue, For manly sports is full of zeal;
What else does Oscar do?

He sleeps, he smokes, he drinks, he eats,
On Fifth Avenue,
And at the club his friends he meets;
What else does Oscar do?

He basks in beauty’s sunny smile;
The ladies are not few
Who fain would live in Oscar’s style,
On Fifth Avenue.

He spends the wealth his father earned-
A thrifty man and true-
What’er he touched to money turned;
What else does Oscar do?

O Oscar! cease this idle life
On Fifth Avenue;
Go start a bank, or take a wife-
Find something else to do.

This active age of ours can give
Each man some work to do;
It is not all of life to live . . .
On Fifth Avenue.


Date: 1886

By: Charles Waddell Chesnutt (1858-1932)