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125 198 POKMS VOLUME TWO QUOTABLE POEMS An Ant h o I o gy of Modern Verse VOLUME TWO COMPILED BY THOMAS CURTIS CLARK i WILLETT, CLARK & COMPANY CHICAGO NEW YORK 1931 Copyright 193 i by WILLETT, CLARK & COMPANY Manufactured in The U. S. A. by The Plimpton Frew Norwood, Mass.-LaPorte, Ind. To My Brother CHARLES PATTON CLARK MEDICAL SCIENTIST AND LOVER OF BEAUTY CONTENTS The poems in this volume are deliberately placed without attempt to classify them either as to subject or author. Pages 1-324 contain 560 poems selected for their quotability, modern tone, and genuine poetic quality. Readers who de- sire to find poems on any particular theme will find ample guidance in the very complete indexes beginning on page 325, including (a) Index of Subjects, pp. 325 to 336. (b) Index of Authors, pp. 337 to 348. (c) Index of Titles, pp. 349 to 358. (d) Index of First Lines, pp. 359 to 366. Detailed acknowledgment to authors and publishers will also be found on p. 367. vii QUOTABLE POEMS VOLUME TWO They Went Forth to Battle but They Always Fell They went forth to battle but they always fell. Something they saw above the sullen shields. Nobly they fought and bravely, but not well, And sank heart-wounded by a subtle spell. They knew not fear that to the foeman yields, They were not weak, as one who vainly wields A faltering weapon; yet the old tales tell How on the hard-fought field they always fell. It was a secret music that they heard, The murmurous voice of pity and of peace, And that which pierced the heart was but a word, Though the white breast was red-lipped where the sword Pressed a fierce cruel kiss and did not cease Till its hot thirst was surfeited. Ah these By an unwarlike troubling doubt were stirred, And died for hearing what no foeman heard. They went forth to battle but they always fell. Their might was not the might of lifted spears. Over the battle-clamor came a spell Of troubling music, and they fought not well. Their wreaths are willows and their tribute, tears. Their names are old sad stories in men's ears. Yet they will scatter the red hordes of Hell, Who went to battle forth and always fell. Shaemas O'Sheel QUOTABLE POEMS Opportunity In an old city by the storied shores, Where the bright summit of Olympus soars, A cryptic statue mounted toward the light Heel-winged, tip-toed, and poised for instant flight. " statue, tell your name," a traveler cried; And solemnly the marble lips replied: " Men call me Opportunity, I lift My wing&d feet from earth to show how swift My flight, how short my stay How Fate is ever waiting on the way." " " But why that tossing ringlet on your brow? " That men may seize me any moment: Now, Now is my other name; today my date; O traveler, tomorrow is too late!" Edwin Markham Prayer God, though this life is but a wraith, Although we know not what we use; Although we grope with little faith, God, give me the heart to fight and lose. Ever insurgent let me be, Make me more daring than devout; From slock contentment keep inc free And fill me with a buoyant doubt. Open my eyes to visions girt With beauty, and with wonder lit, QUOTABLE POEMS But let me always see the dirt, And all that spawn and die in it. Open my ears to music, let Me thrill with Spring's first flutes and drums But never let me dare forget The bitter ballads of the slums. From compromise and things half-done, Keep me, with stern and stubborn pride; But when at last the fight is won, God, keep me still unsatisfied. Louis Untermeyer For Those Who Fail " All honor to him who shall win the prize/' The world has cried for a thousand years; But to him who tries and who fails and dies, I give great honor and glory and tears. great is the hero who wins a name, But greater many and many a time Some pale-faced fellow who dies in shame, And lets God finish the thought sublime. And great is the man with a sword undrawn, And good is the man who refrains from wine; But the man who fails and yet fights on, Lo, he is the twin-born brother of mine! Joaquin Miller QUOTABLE POEMS In Flanders Fields In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead/ Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe; To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields. John McCrac Sealed Orders We bear sealed orders o'er Life's weltered sea, Our haven dim and far; We can but man the helm rigKt cheerily, Steer by the brightest star, And hope that when at last the Great Command Is read, we then may hear Our anchor song, and see the longed-for land Lie, known and very near. Richard Burton QUOTABLE POEMS From Song of the Open Road Afoot and lighthearted I take to the open road, Healthy, free, the world before me, The long brown path before me leading me wherever I choose. Henceforth I ask not good fortune, I myself am good for- tune, Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing; Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms, Strong and content I travel the open road. Walt Whitman Joses, the Brother of Jesus Joses, the brother of Jesus, plodded from day to day With never a vision within him to glorify his clay; Joses, the brother of Jesus, was one with the heavy clod, But Christ was. the soul of rapture, and soared, like a lark, with God. Joses, the brother of Jesus, was only a worker in wood, And he never could see the glory that Jesus, his brother, could. " " Why stays he not in the workshop? he often used to complain, " Sawing the Lebanon cedar, imparting to woods their stain? Why must he go thus roaming, forsaking my father's trade, While hammers are busily sounding, and there is gain to be made? " QUOTABLE POEMS Thus ran the mind of Joses, apt with plummet and rule, And deeming whoever surpassed him either a knave or a fool For he never walked with the prophets in God's great garden of bliss And of all mistakes of the ages, the saddest, methinks, was this To have such a brother as Jesus, to speak with him day by day, But never to catch the vision which glorified his clay. Harry Kemp The Judgment When before the cloud-white throne We are kneeling to be known In self's utter nakedness, Mercy shall be arbitress. Love shall quench the very shame That is our tormenting flame; Love, the one theology, Set the souls in prison free Free as sunbeams forth to fare Into outer darkness, where It shall be our doom to make Glory from each earth-mistake. Not archangels God elects For celestial architects; On the stones of hell, the guilt Of the world, is Zion built. Katharine Lee Bates QUOTABLE POEMS Mountain Air Tell me of Progress if you will, But give me sunshine on a hill The grey rocks spiring to the blue, The scent of larches, pinks and dew, And summer sighing in the trees, And snowy breath on every breeze. Take towns and all that you find there, And leave me sun and mountain air! John Galsworthy From Tintern Abbey For I have learned To look on Nature, not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity, Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power To chasten and subdue. And I have felt A presence that disturbs rne with the joy Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime, Of something far more deeply interfused, Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, And the round ocean and the living air, And the blue sky, and in the mind of man; A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods, And mountains; and of all that we behold From this green earth; of all the mighty world Of eye and ear both what they half create, QUOTABLE POEMS And what perceive; well pleased to recognize In nature and the language of the sense, The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, the of and soul The guide, guardian my heart, Of all my moral being. William Wordsworth The Ideal City O you whom God hath called and set apart To build a city after His own heart, Be this your task to fitll the city's veins With the red blood of friendship; plant her plains With seeds of peace: above her portals wreathe Greeting and welcome: let the air we breathe Be musical with accents of good will That leap from lip to lip with joyous thrill; So may the stranger find upon the streets A kindly look in every face he meets; So may the spirit of the city tell All her souls within her gates that all is well; In all her homes let gentleness be found, In every neighborhood let grace abound, In every store and shop and forge and mill Where men of toil their daily tasks fulfill, Where guiding brain and workmen's skill are wise To shape the product of our industries, Where treasured stores the hands of toil sustain, Let friendship speed the work and share the gain, And thus, through all the city's teeming life, Let helpfulness have room with generous strife To serve.

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