Advice To A Young Author

First begin
Taking in.
Cargo stored,
All aboard,
Think about
Giving out.
Empty ship,
Useless trip!

Never strain
Weary brain,
Hardly fit,
Wait a bit!
After rest
Comes the best.

Sitting still,
Let it fill;
Never press;
Nerve stress
Always shows.
Nature knows.

Critics kind,
Never mind!
Critics flatter,
No matter!
Critics curse,
None the worse.
Critics blame,
All the same!
Do your best.
Hang the rest!

Arthur Conan Doyle

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was a British writer and physician, famous for creating the detective Sherlock Holmes. He was born on May 22, 1859, in Edinburgh, Scotland, and died on July 7, 1930. Although best known for his Holmes series, Doyle was a versatile author who wrote in various genres, including science fiction, historical novels, and plays. Doyle was also involved in politics and was an advocate for spiritualism. His works greatly influenced different literary genres, making him one of the most significant literary figures of his time.

Arthur Conan Doyle

By The North Sea

Arthur Conan Doyle, Simple Poetry

The Home-Coming Of The 'Eurydice'

Arthur Conan Doyle, Simple Poetry

December's Snow

Arthur Conan Doyle, Simple Poetry

The Empire

Arthur Conan Doyle, Simple Poetry

English

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A Voyage

1909

Breathing the stale and stuffy air
Of office or consulting room,
Our thoughts will wander back to where
We heard the low Atlantic boom,

And, creaming underneath our screw,
We watched the swirling waters break,
Silver filagrees on blue
Spreading fan-wise in our wake.

Cribbed within the city's fold,
Fettered to our daily round,
We'll conjure up the haze of gold
Which ringed the wide horizon round.

And still we'll break the sordid day
By fleeting visions far and fair,
The silver shield of Vigo Bay,
The long brown cliff of Finisterre.

Where once the Roman galley sped,
Or Moorish corsair spread his sail,
By wooded shore, or sunlit head,
By barren hill or sea-washed vale

We took our way. But we can sw...

Arthur Conan Doyle

The End

"Tell me what to get and I will get it."
"Then get that picture that the girl in white."
"Now tell me where you wish that I should set it."
"Lean it where I can see it in the light."

"If there is more, sir, you have but to say it."
"Then bring those letters those which lie apart."
"Here is the packet! Tell me where to lay it."
"Stoop over, nurse, and lay it on my heart."

"Thanks for your silence, nurse! You understand me!
And now I'll try to manage for myself.
But, as you go, I'll trouble you to hand me
The small blue bottle there upon the shelf.

"And so farewell! I feel that I am keeping
The sunlight from you; may your walk be bright!
When you return I may perchance be sleeping,
So, ere you go, one hand-clasp and good night!"

Arthur Conan Doyle

Religio Medici

1
God's own best will bide the test,
And God's own worst will fall;
But, best or worst or last or first,
He ordereth it all.

2
For all is good, if understood,
(Ah, could we understand!)
And right and ill are tools of skill
Held in His either hand.

3
The harlot and the anchorite,
The martyr and the rake,
Deftly He fashions each aright,
Its vital part to take.

4
Wisdom He makes to form the fruit
Where the high blossoms be;
And Lust to kill the weaker shoot,
And Drink to trim the tree.

5
And Holiness that so the bole
Be solid at the core;
And Plague and Fever, that the whole
Be changing evermore.

6
He strews the microbes in the lung,
The blood-clot in the brain;
With test an...

Arthur Conan Doyle

Hope

Faith may break on reason,
Faith may prove a treason
To that highest gift
That is granted by Thy grace;
But Hope! Ah, let us cherish
Some spark that may not perish,
Some tiny spark to cheer us,
As we wander through the waste!

A little lamp beside us,
A little lamp to guide us,
Where the path is rocky,
Where the road is steep.
That when the light falls dimmer,
Still some God-sent glimmer
May hold us steadfast ever,
To the track that we should keep.

Hope for the trending of it,
Hope for the ending of it,
Hope for all around us,
That it ripens in the sun.

Hope for what is waning,
Hope for what is gaining,
Hope for what is waiting
When the long day is done.

Hope that He, the nameless,
May still b...

Arthur Conan Doyle

The Second Best

Moderate tasks and moderate leisure,
Quiet living, strict-kept measure
Both in suffering and in pleasure
Tis for this thy nature yearns.

But so many books thou readest,
But so many schemes thou breedest,
But so many wishes feedest,
That thy poor head almost turns.

And (the worlds so madly jangled,
Human things so fast entangled)
Natures wish must now be strangled
For that best which she discerns.

So it must be! yet, while leading
A straind life, while overfeeding,
Like the rest, his wit with reading,
No small profit that man earns,

Who through all he meets can steer him,
Can reject what cannot clear him,
Cling to what can truly cheer him!
Who each day more surely learns

That an impulse, from the distance

Matthew Arnold

The Inner Room

It is mine--the little chamber,
Mine alone.
I had it from my forbears
Years agone.
Yet within its walls I see
A most motley company,
And they one and all claim me
As their own.

There's one who is a soldier
Bluff and keen;
Single-minded, heavy-fisted,
Rude of mien.
He would gain a purse or stake it,
He would win a heart or break it,
He would give a life or take it,
Conscience-clean.

And near him is a priest
Still schism-whole;
He loves the censer-reek
And organ-roll.
He has leanings to the mystic,
Sacramental, eucharistic;
And dim yearnings altruistic
Thrill his soul.

There's another who with doubts
Is overcast;
I think him younger brother
To the last.
Walking wary stride by stride,

Arthur Conan Doyle