Strange Jokes.

Well: Death is a huge omnivorous Toad
Grim squatting on a twilight road.
He catcheth all that Circumstance
Hath tossed to him.
He curseth all who upward glance
As lost to him.

Once in a whimsey mood he sat
And talked of life, in proverbs pat,
To Eve in Eden, - "Death, on Life" -
As if he knew!
And so he toadied Adam's wife
There, in the dew.

O dainty dew, O morning dew
That gleamed in the world's first dawn, did you
And the sweet grass and manful oaks
Give lair and rest
To him who toadwise sits and croaks
His death-behest?

Who fears the hungry Toad? Not I!
He but unfetters me to fly.
The German still, when one is dead,
Cries out "Der Tod!"
But, pilgrims, Christ will walk ahead
And clear the road.


Macon, Georgia, July, 1867.

Sidney Lanier

Sidney Lanier, born February 3, 1842, in Macon, Georgia, was an American musician, poet, and author. He was known for his musical and poetic works that embodied the natural beauty and culture of the American South. Lanier fought in the American Civil War, an experience that deeply influenced his later works. He is celebrated for his technical mastery and innovative use of meter and musicality in poetry. Lanier passed away on September 7, 1881, in Lynn, North Carolina.

Sidney Lanier

A Dedication. To Charlotte Cushman.

Sidney Lanier, Simple Poetry

The Waving of the Corn.

Sidney Lanier, Simple Poetry

Tyranny.

Sidney Lanier, Simple Poetry

The Tournament.

Sidney Lanier, Simple Poetry

English

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Death's Ramble.[1]

One day the dreary old King of Death
Inclined for some sport with the carnal,
So he tied a pack of darts on his back,
And quietly stole from his charnel.

His head was bald of flesh and of hair,
His body was lean and lank,
His joints at each stir made a crack, and the cur
Took a gnaw, by the way, at his shank.

And what did he do with his deadly darts,
This goblin of grisly bone?
He dabbled and spill'd man's blood, and he kill'd
Like a butcher that kills his own.

The first he slaughter'd, it made him laugh,
(For the man was a coffin-maker,)
To think how the mutes, and men in black suits,
Would mourn for an undertaker.

Death saw two Quakers sitting at church,
Quoth he, "We shall not differ."
And he let them alone, like figures of...

Thomas Hood

To J. D. H.

(Killed at Surrey C. H., October, 1866.)



.    .    .    .    .

Dear friend, forgive a wild lament
Insanely following thy flight.
I would not cumber thine ascent
Nor drag thee back into the night;

But the great sea-winds sigh with me,
The fair-faced stars seem wrinkled, old,
And I would that I might lie with thee
There in the grave so cold, so cold!

Grave walls are thick, I cannot see thee,
And the round skies are far and steep;
A-wild to quaff some cup of Lethe,
Pain is proud and scorns to weep.

My heart breaks if it cling about thee,
And still breaks, if far from thine.
O drear, drear death, to live without thee,
O sad life - to keep thee mine.

Sidney Lanier

A Florida Ghost.

Down mildest shores of milk-white sand,
By cape and fair Floridian bay,
Twixt billowy pines - a surf asleep on land -
And the great Gulf at play,

Past far-off palms that filmed to nought,
Or in and out the cunning keys
That laced the land like fragile patterns wrought
To edge old broideries,

The sail sighed on all day for joy,
The prow each pouting wave did leave
All smile and song, with sheen and ripple coy,
Till the dusk diver Eve

Brought up from out the brimming East
The oval moon, a perfect pearl.
In that large lustre all our haste surceased,
The sail seemed fain to furl,

The silent steersman landward turned,
And ship and shore set breast to breast.
Under a palm wherethrough a planet burned
We ate, and sank to rest.

Sidney Lanier

To Our Mocking-Bird.

Died of a cat, May, 1878.



I.

Trillets of humor, - shrewdest whistle-wit, -
Contralto cadences of grave desire
Such as from off the passionate Indian pyre
Drift down through sandal-odored flames that split
About the slim young widow who doth sit
And sing above, - midnights of tone entire, -
Tissues of moonlight shot with songs of fire; -
Bright drops of tune, from oceans infinite
Of melody, sipped off the thin-edged wave
And trickling down the beak, - discourses brave
Of serious matter that no man may guess, -
Good-fellow greetings, cries of light distress -
All these but now within the house we heard:
O Death, wast thou too deaf to hear the bird?


II.

Ah me, though never an ear for song, thou hast
A tireless t...

Sidney Lanier

A Strange Wild Song

He thought he saw an Elephant
That practiced on a fife:
He looked again, and found it was
A letter from his wife.
At length I realize, he said,
The bitterness of life!

He thought he saw a Buffalo
Upon the chimney-piece:
He looked again, and found it was
His Sisters Husbands Niece.
Unless you leave this house, he said,
Ill send for the police!

he thought he saw a Rattlesnake
That questioned him in Greek:
He looked again, and found it was
The Middle of Next Week.
The one thing I regret, he said,
Is that it cannot speak!

He thought he saw a Bankers Clerk
Descending from the bus:
He looked again, and found it was
A Hippopotamus.
If this should stay to dine, he said,
There wont be much for us!...

Lewis Carroll

Death And The Dying.

^[1]

Death never taketh by surprise
The well-prepared, to wit, the wise -
They knowing of themselves the time
To meditate the final change of clime.
That time, alas! embraces all
Which into hours and minutes we divide;
There is no part, however small,
That from this tribute one can hide.
The very moment, oft, which bids
The heirs of empire see the light
Is that which shuts their fringèd lids
In everlasting night.
Defend yourself by rank and wealth,
Plead beauty, virtue, youth, and health, -
Unblushing Death will ravish all;
The world itself shall pass beneath his pall.
No truth is better known; but, truth to say,
No truth is oftener thrown away.

A man, well in his second century,
Complain'd that Death had call'd him su...

Jean de La Fontaine