Posts tagged ‘1902’

Thursday, 29 September 2022

Each in His Own Tongue by William Herbert Carruth

A fire-mist and a planet,
A crystal and a cell,
A jelly-fish and a saurian,
And caves where the cave-men dwell;
Then a sense of law and beauty
And a face turned from the clod, —
Some call it Evolution,
And others call it God.

A haze on the far horizon,
The infinite, tender sky,
The ripe, rich tint of the cornfields,
And the wild geese sailing high;
And all over upland and lowland
The charm of the golden-rod, —
Some of us call it Autumn,
And others call it God.

Like tides on a crescent sea-beach,
When the moon is new and thin,
Into our hearts high yearnings
Come welling and surging in:
Come from the mystic ocean,
Whose rim no foot has trod, —
Some of us call it Longing,
And others call it God.

A picket frozen on duty,
A mother starved for her brood,
Socrates drinking the hemlock,
And Jesus on the rood;
And millions who, humble and nameless,
The straight, hard pathway plod, —
Some call it Consecration,
And others call it God.

From: Carruth, William Herbert, Each in His Own Tongue and Other Poems, 1908, G. P. Putnam’s Sons: New York and London, pp. 2-3.

Date: 1902

By: William Herbert Carruth (1859-1924)

Monday, 11 July 2022

Transgressions by Gustave Kahn

Forgive the transgressions of my flesh, love,
And my lying heart.
It’s a cruel illusion, this love of ours
And ends, sad moment,
We known not when.

Every flower has its fragrance,
And one must taste them all.
All love,
Let us speak the truth,
Ends in torment.


Date: ?1902 (original in French); 20?? (translation in English)

By: Gustave Kahn (1859-1936)

Translated by: Baudelaire Jones (19??- )

Sunday, 28 November 2021

Advent Days by Kate Seymour MacLean

The centuries grow old; one after one
The circle rounds into the perfect orb,
Forging the silver links that backward run
Along the twilight slopes of hoary time,
(Which the past darkness cannot quite absorb).
To that first day of Eden’s rosy prime,
When stars and seraphs, and the crystal spheres,
In the pure ether turning, sang the world’s first morn.
In music still the slow-revolving years
Turn in their silver chain, unheard of men,
Bringing the birthday of the world again, —
Bringing the infant Christ which should be born.

Once more bright angels gather in the sky,
And the dull ear of night awakes to hear
The far-off sound of heavenly pinions furled,
And glad hosannas singing sweet and clear —
Peace, peace on Earth— glory to God on high,
In the new birth-song of the ransomed world.
O day sublime to which all other days
Flow down convergent since earth’s days begun,
And all their separate and scattered rays,
Down the vast space, unmeasured of the sun —
The twilight of the ages— merge in one,
To kindle in these later alien skies
The white lamp of that earlier paradise!

From: MacLean, Kate Seymour, Advent Days and Poems of Remembrance, 1902, The Jackson Press: Kingston, p. [unnumbered].

Date: 1902

By: Kate Seymour MacLean (1829-1916)

Wednesday, 17 February 2021

The Adventures of Samuel and Selina by Jean C. Archer

In Spring,
While softly cooed
The Dove,
Told Selina of
His Love.

The Summer Moon
smiled on them both,
Selina plighted him her Troth.

But Autumn brought a gayer
Selina broke it off again.

‘Tis Winter now—
Selina’s slack—
She’d give her thumbs to have
him back.

When they met
She tossed her head;
Stared at her and
Cut her dead!

But Fate at last to them was
It sent

Just as Sam was passing by,
Blew off Selina’s Hat!
Oh! My!

Caught it—by a daring

Thump! Thump!! Thump!!!

“Oh, Sam! ” she cried;
Tears dimmed her sight—
And after that it all came

They made it up and very
They started on their Honey-

Selina proved a model wife,
Her Sam was all her joy in
She fetched his shoes and
darned his hose,
And sympathized with all his

As she let him have his say,
He loved her more from day
to day ;

And—on her birthday—for a
Took her to the Menagerie.

She revelled in the Monkey
Where Apes, of motley hue,
Each jumped—upon a yellow
All shining and brand new.

And picture, children, how the
Rejoiced her frugal mind;
They ate the Buns, they ate
the Bag,
And even stale cheese rind.

The Jub-jub birds Selina fed,
But they were rude and
They fought and scratched,
Nor would they stop
When they had had enough.

At last,
When happy, hot and

They found no more to see,
Sam took her to a shady spot
And treated her to tea.

Selina’s hat and dress he
She clapped his feeblest
It was a perfect carnival
Of sentiment and Buns!

Much time, alas! they cannot
Since holidays are few;
Soon, hand in hand, they start
To seek adventures new.

And all about along the
Stern “Cautions” they
“You need not fear,” said
“While I, my love, am

Alas! how brief are mortal
There comes an awful burbling

As, terror-struck, he turns to
Too late he hears her
anguished cry,
“O Samuel!
O Samuel!!
The awful

The Camel rushed!
The Camel flew !
Till all its spots were streaks
of blue;
To Samuel it seemed to be
Itself a whole

The Camel chased him round
and round;
He sank—exhausted—on the
The Camel never noticed that,
But pranced along—
with Sammy’s hat.

And—when it found its victim
Imagine how the brute went
It bucked and reared
and kicked
and shied,
Till, finally,
and died.

When Sammy heard the loud
And saw the pieces fly,
He felt that sure as eggs was
He, too, must surely die.

But brave Selina, though
her tears
Fell all the while like
Washed off the dirt and
set him up
Upon his feet again.

She found the remnants of his
And led him to the gate ;
But there the Camel’s owner
As large and grim as fate.

Before they left, that
greedy man
Took all the cash they
And turned their pockets
(Which made Selina mad).

How different their coming
From their gay start at
They creep along—a sorry
Bedraggled and forlorn.

He knows he showed a
want of pluck,
Whatever she may say;
She feels that it was all
her fault
For having a birthday.

But—once at home—the
ruddy blaze
Each drooping spirit cheers;
Sam sets Selina by the fire
And wipes away her tears.

He draws her closer to
his side;
He tootles on a comb,
And sings her, as her
sobs subside,
A verse of
“Home, Sweet Home.”

From: Archer, Jean C., The Adventures of Samuel and Selina, 1902, Grant Richards: London.

Date: 1902

By: Jean C. Archer (fl. 1902-1903)

Saturday, 22 December 2018

Johnnie’s Christmas by Elizabeth (Libbie) Caroline Riley Baer

Papa and mama, and baby and Dot,
Willie and me—the whole of the lot
Of us all went over in Bimberlie’s sleigh,
To grandmama’s house on Christmas day.

Covered with robes on the soft cushioned seat,
With heads well wrapped up and hot bricks to our feet,
And two prancing horses, tho’ ten miles away,
The ride was quite short, on that bright Christmas day.

When all were tucked in and the driver said “Go!”
The horses just flew o’er the white, shining snow;
The town it slipped by us and meadow and tree,
And farm house till grandmama’s house we did see.

Grandmama was watching for us, there’s no doubt;
She soon come to meet us, and helped us all out;
And kissin’ and huggin’ said how we boys growed,
And big as our papa we’d soon be, she knowed.

And Dot she called handsome and said: “Ah! I guess
Grandmama’s woman has got a new dress.”
And said that the baby was pretty and smart;
“Dod b’ess it and love its own sweet ’ittle heart.”

And O, the red apples, and pop-corn on strings;
And balls of it, too, and nuts, candy and things;
And O, such a dinner and such pumpkin pie;
I eat and I eat till I thought I would die.

And grandmama urgin’, “Now, Johnnie, my man,
I wants you to eat; just eat all you can.”
When I eat all I could then I eat a lots more,
And I didn’t feel good as I had felt before.

At last it came time for us all to go back,
And into the sleigh again, all of us pack;
With grandmama kissin’ and sayin’ good byes,
With smiles on her lips, but the tears in her eyes.

We seemed much more crowded, and Bimberlie’s sleigh
Kept jerkin’ and hurtin’ me most all the way;
The robes were so stuffy I couldn’t get breath,
And Dot and the baby most squeezed me to death.

All night I kept tumblin’ and tossin’, ma said,
And frowed all the cover half off of the bed;
I dreamed of roast turkey and pop-corn and pie,
And fruit cake and candy, piled up to the sky!

And I dreamed I was sick and just lookin’ at it,
A wantin’ and yet I could not eat a bit;
And grandmama urgin’, “Now, Johnnie, my man,
I want you to eat, just eat all you can.”


Date: 1902

By: Elizabeth (Libbie) Caroline Riley Baer (1849-1929)

Thursday, 8 November 2018

Humor by Virginia Woodward Cloud

He who seeks to know me well
Looks not for the cap or bell;
He who seeks to know me better
Learns me not by line or letter;
He who holds my wings in thrall
Never looked for me at all.

From: Cloud, Virginia Woodward, A Reed By the River, 1902, Richard G. Badger, The Gorham Press: Boston, p. 24.

Date: 1902

By: Virginia Woodward Cloud (1861-1938)

Monday, 25 April 2016

The Song of the Dead* by John Henry Macartney Abbott

Large numbers of Australian and New Zealand volunteers are already on the water bound for Vancouver, en route for Europe.–Paragraph of War News, 1915.

Oh Land of Ours, hear the song we make for you
Land of yellow wattle bloom, land of smiling Spring-
Hearken to the after words, land of pleasant memories,
Shea–oaks of the shady creeks, hear the song we sing.
For we lie quietly, underneath the lonely hills,
Where the land is silent, where the guns have ceased boom,
Here we are waiting, and shall wait for Eternity–
Here on the battle–fields, where we found our doom.

Spare not thy pity–Life is strong and fair for you–
City by the waterside, homestead on the plain.
Keep ye remembrance, keep ye a place for us–
So all the bitterness of dying be not vain.
Oh, be ye mindful, mindful of our honor’s name;
Oh, be ye careful of the word ye speak in jest–
For we have bled for you; for we have died for you-
Yea, we have given, we have given our best.

Life that we might have lived, love that we might have loved,
Sorrow of all sorrows, we have drunk thy bitter lees.
Speak thou a word to us, here in our narrow beds–
Word of thy mourning lands beyond the Seas.
Lo, we have paid the price, paid the cost of Victory.
Do not forget, when the rest shall homeward come–
Mother of our childhood, sister of our manhood days,
Loved of our heavy hearts, whom we have left alone.

Hark to the guns–pause and turn, and think of us–
Red was our life’s blood, and heavy was the cost.
But ye have Nationhood, but ye are a people strong–
Oh, have ye love for the brothers ye have lost?
Oh, by the blue skies, clear beyond the mountain tops,
Oh, by the dear, dun plains where we were bred,–
What be your tokens, tokens that ye grieve for us,
Tokens of your Sorrowing for we that be Dead?

*This poem was originally published (in a slightly different version) in 1902 as part of the author’s memoirs of the Australian involvement in the Boer War (in which he took part) but was re-issued (with alterations to reflect the new theatre of war) at some time after the Australian and New Zealand forces withdrew from Gallipoli at the end of 1915.


Date: 1916?

By: John Henry Macartney Abbott (1874-1953)

Wednesday, 4 November 2015

If I Loved You by Mary MacKay (Marie Corelli)

If I loved you, and you loved me,
How happy this little world would be-
The light of the day, the dancing hours,
The skies, the trees, the birds the flowers,
Would all be part of our perfect gladness;-
And never a note of pain or sadness
Would jar life’s beautiful melody
If I loved you, and you loved me!

“If I loved you!” Why, I scarcely know
How, if I did, the time would go!-
I should forget my dreary cares,
My sordid toil, my long despairs,
I should watch your smile, and kneel at your feet,
And live my life in the love of you, Sweet!-
So mad, so glad, so proud I should be,
If I loved you, and you loved me!

“If you loved me!” Ah, nothing so strange
As that could chance in this world of change!-
As well expect a planet to fall,
Or a queen to serve as a beggar’s thrall;-
But if you did,- romance and glory
Might spring from our lives’ united story,
And angels might be less happy than we-
If I loved you, and you loved me!

“If I loved you, and you loved me!”
Alas! ’tis a joy we shall never see-
For the world to us is cruel and cold,-
We shall drift along till we both grow old,
Till we reach our waiting graves and die,
Looking back on the days that have passed us by,
When “what might have been” can no longer be,-
When I lost you, and you lost me!


Date: 1902

By: Mary MacKay (Marie Corelli) (1855-1924)

Tuesday, 13 January 2015

Amor Vincit by Anna Johnston MacManus (Ethna Carbery)

A rush of wings upon the air, while here you sit and spin–
Give over wailing, O sad heart, and let the Summer in!
Love knocks without your guarded gate, your fire is burning red–
“I cannot let him in,” she wept, “because of Love that’s dead.”

His wings are heavy with the rain, his curls are tempest-tossed,
He bears fair gifts to compensate for all the joy’s you’ve lost;
Your silent house hath need of him, your lonely ingleside–
“I gave Love shelter once,” she said, “for this my heart hath died.”

“But if I be the Love of old,” uprose his pleading sweet,
“Say might I then have welcoming, and nestle at your feet?
I only slept, uncared, unsought, beneath the stress of tears,
And ashes of remembrance, piled by the passing years.

“Yet Love outlives–if Love be true–aught born of blind disdain,
Comes in the gladness of the Spring, and seeks his own again–
Aught born of wrath when speech rings free and tried souls drift afar–
So Love be true, his benison can heal the deepest scar.

“Then let me in”–Her mournful eyes glow with their vanished grace
To see his drifted locks of gold, the glory on his face.
There’s bloom in desert-lands to-day, there’s singing in the sky,
Since Love remembered one sad heart, and cast his dreaming by.

From: Carbery, Ethna (Anna MacManus), The Four Winds of Eirinn, 1906, M. H. Gill and Son LtdL Dublin, pp. 131-132.

Date: 1902

By: Anna Johnston MacManus (Ethna Carbery) (1866-1902)

Tuesday, 15 July 2014

The Prayer of Running Water by Eleanor Jane (Nora) Hopper Chesson

(A Japanese Legend)

Hear the Prayer of Running Water,
Kindly son or loving daughter!

I who lie in this small space
Never saw my baby’s face:

I who lie here all unshriven
May not enter hell or heaven.

Near my grave there runs a spring.
Ivies near it clasp and cling,

Cling and clasp above the water,
As I fain would clasp my daughter.

Near the spring my mourners left
Little cloth of finest weft,

Little cup of crystal fine
Never yet brimmed up with wine.

Fill the cup with water sweet,
On the linen sprinkle it:

When the linen wears in two,
All my pains are struggled through,

When these tokens twain be cloven,
Crystal cup and linen woven,

I who lost, shall find my daughter —
Hear the Prayer of Running Water.

From: Chesson, Nora, Aquamarines, 1902, Grant Richards: London, pp. 94-95.

Date: 1902

By: Eleanor Jane (Nora) Hopper Chesson (1871-1906)