Ye buds of Brutus land, courageous youths, now play your parts!Unto your tackle stand, abide the brunt with valiant hearts!For news is carried too and fro that we must forth to warfare go

A Female I by Name

© Gifford Humphrey

A female I by name Am sister to a brother:In all the world may not be found Our like, nor one nor other

It's goodbye now to Africa, but kiss your hand againTo the upland trek and the old trade road and kop and kloof and plain; There's another trek instead for us, And a long strange road ahead for us,But never the old home outspan, however the team may strain

To a Dead Crow

© Ghose Kasiprasad

Gay minstrel of the Indian clime!How oft at morning's rosy primeWhen thou didst sing in caw, caw numbers,Vexed I've awoke from my sweet slumbers,And to avoid that hateful sound,That plagues a head howe'er profound,Have walked out in my garden, whereBeside the tank, in many a square,Sweet lilies, jasmines, roses bloom,Far from those trees within whose gloomOf foliage thick, thou hadst thy nestFrom daily toil at night to rest

The War of the Ghosts

© William Gay

Three Ghosts that haunt me have I, Three Ghosts in my soul that fight,Three grandsire Ghosts in my soul, That haunt me by day and by night.

To a Nurse

© William Gay

As dropping moisture on December flowers, As sunlight breaking o'er the August plain,As shines the Virgin on the midnight hours, So is thy presence at the bed of pain;And as the flowers revive to bloom more fair, And o'er the plain the wattles burst in fire,And midnight hours to morn at last repair, So hope and life thy minist'rings inspire;And though for me there's but the life and hope That lie abundant past the gates of Death,Yet thither as with feeble steps I grope Thy friendly arm assists my failing breath;Nor will I deem of Providence the worseWho sent me pain to send me thee for nurse

Storm

© William Gay

I love not when the oily seas Heave huge and slow beneath the sun,When decks are hot, and dead the breeze, And wits are dropping one by one.

The Sorrowful Fate of Bartholomew Jones

© William Gay

Bartholemew Jones made his money in mines,And although he has left us his fame still shinesAs a man who was knowing in various lines.

A Sonnet of Faith

© William Gay

I am not daunted by the show of things,Nor do I pass them with averted eyes,Feigning I do not see, nor on the wingsOf fair deluding fancy lightly riseAnd from afar the radiant world beholdIn happy silence spinning smoothly by

The Singer

© William Gay

Nay! sing no more thy wild delusive strain(I heard them say, while I my song pursued),'Tis but the rage of thy delirious brain(I heard them say, yet still my song renewed);Nay! sing no more with reckless, idle breathOf man immortal and of life to come,For one brief moment scan the face of death,Then be thy foolish song for ever dumb;Behold the dusty ash that once was fire,And mark the summer leaf in autumn fall,Watch thou the wavering breath of man expire,And know that Death hath lordship over all(I heard them say with many a scornful word,Yet still sang on as one who nothing heard)

Resurge

© William Gay

Come forth, O Man, from darkness into light,Renounce the dust, break through thy sordid bars,For ever leave the crawling shapes of Night,And move erect among thy native stars:No longer grovel in a foetid cellWhen all the spaces of the sky are thine,With Sloth and Want no more a beggar dwellWhen thou canst claim a heritage divine;Awake and live! nor dream the dreams of deathThat brood, fantastic, fearful, o'er thy grave,Thou art not of the stuff that perisheth,Nor unto Fate and Time art thou a slave;Thy power extends beyond the starry Pole,And worlds and suns revolve within thy soul

Primroses

© William Gay

They shine upon my table there, A constellation mimic, sweet,No stars in Heaven could shine more fair, Nor Earth has beauty more complete;And on my table there they shine, And speak to me of things Divine

Milford Sound In Winter

© William Gay

Love's Menu: Pommes de Terre Frites

© William Gay

Fried potatoes is a dishGood as any one could wish:Cheap it is, and appetizing;Turn a saint to gormandizing:Good and cheap and tasty too,Just the thing for Love's Menu.