To The Reader Of This Book

        This little book's a letter,
            I send direct to you;
        I hope that you will like it,
            And read it thru and thru.
        And after you have read it,
            Just send a thot to me;
        Your thots will help to make me
            The "Poet" I would be.

                        Yours very truly,

                                    ALAN L. STRANG,

                        Redwood City, California.

Alan L. Strang

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Alan L. Strang

Our Soldier Boy

Alan L. Strang, Simple Poetry

Do Not Worry

Alan L. Strang, Simple Poetry

The Lily Of The Valley

Alan L. Strang, Simple Poetry

English

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To Almon Keefer

INSCRIBED IN "TALES OF THE OCEAN"

This first book that I ever knew
Was read aloud to me by you -
Friend of my boyhood, therefore take
It back from me, for old times' sake -
The selfsame "Tales" first read to me,
Under "the old sweet apple tree,"
Ere I myself could read such great
Big words, - but listening all elate,
At your interpreting, until
Brain, heart and soul were all athrill
With wonder, awe, and sheer excess
Of wildest childish happiness.

So take the book again - forget
All else, - long years, lost hopes, regret;
Sighs for the joys we ne'er attain,
Prayers we have lifted all in vain;
Tears for the faces seen no more,
Once as the roses at the door!
Take the enchanted book - And lo,
On grassy swards of long ago,
Spra...

James Whitcomb Riley

The Lily Of The Valley

        I've a lily of the Valley
        That I'm keeping here for you;
        I care for and protect it,
        And water it with dew.
        It is a living emblem
        Of the wonderful domain,
        Where all is pure and love-like,
        And where we feel no pain.

        Yes, the Lily of the Valley
        Is a tie twixt you and me;
        For every time you see one
        Think how happy I must be.
        I'm an atom of the infinite,
        How wonderful it seems;
        Yet from your sphere the finite
        But a thin veil intervenes.

Alan L. Strang

His Answer to Her Letter

Being asked by an intimate party,
Which the same I would term as a friend,
Though his health it were vain to call hearty,
Since the mind to deceit it might lend;
For his arm it was broken quite recent,
And theres something gone wrong with his lung,
Which is why it is proper and decent
I should write what he runs off his tongue.

First, he says, Miss, hes read through your letter
To the end,    and the end came too soon;
That a slight illness kept him your debtor,
(Which for weeks he was wild as a loon);
That his spirits are buoyant as yours is;
That with you, Miss, he challenges Fate,
(Which the language that invalid uses
At times it were vain to relate).

And he says that the mountains are fairer
For once being held in your thought;...

Bret Harte

REPLY: To A Friend In The City, From Her Friend In The Country. Which I Am Grateful For Permission To Insert.

Dear Madam,
Many thanks for your missive so charming in verse,
So kind and descriptive, so friendly and terse;
It came opportune on a cold stormy day,
And scattered ennui and "blue devils" away;
For though in the city, where "all's on the go,"
We often aver we feel only "so so,"
And sigh for a change - then here comes a letter!
What could I desire more welcome and better?
But how to reply? I'm lost in dismay,
I cannot in rhyme my feelings portray.
The nine they discard me, I'm not of their train,
They entreatingly beg, "I'll ne'er woo them again;"
But I'll brave their displeasure, and e'en write to you
A few lines of doggrel, then rhyming adieu.
My errors do "wink at," for hosts you'll descry,
And spare all rebuff, and the keen crit...

Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow

Introduction and Conclusion of a Long Poem

I have gone sometimes by the gates of Death
And stood beside the cavern through whose doors
Enter the voyagers into the unseen.
From that dread threshold only, gazing back,
Have eyes in swift illumination seen
Life utterly revealed, and guessed therein
What things were vital and what things were vain.
Know then, like a vast ocean from my feet
Spreading away into the morning sky,
I saw unrolled my vanished days, and, lo,
Oblivion like a morning mist obscured
Toils, trials, ambitions, agitations, ease,
And like green isles, sun-kissed, with sweet perfume
Loading the airs blown back from that dim gulf,
Gleamed only through the all-involving haze
The hours when we have loved and been beloved.

Therefore, sweet friends, as often as by Love
You rise absorb...

Alan Seeger

Lines Sent To Alexander Mclaughlan, Amaranth Station, With A Copy Of My Poems

        We send to you these rugged rhymes
        In memory of the olden times,
        Great chief of our poetic clan,
        Admired by all, McLaughlan.

James McIntyre