John Vance Cheney

  • The Fallen

    (In Memoriam, May 30)
    I.
    TOLL the slow bell,
    Toll the low bell,
    Toll, toll,
    Make dole
    For them that wrought so well.
    Come, come,
    With muffled drum
    And wailing lorn
    Of dolorous horn;
    The solemn measure slow...

  • “The Man with the Hoe”: a Reply

       “Let us a little permit Nature to take her own way: she better understands her own affairs than we.”
    —MONTAIGNE, Of Experience.    

    NATURE reads not our labels, “great” and “small”;
    Accepts she one and all

    Who, striving, win and hold the vacant place;...

  • The Happiest Heart

    Who drives the horses of the sun
    Shall lord it but a day;
    Better the lowly deed were done,
    And kept the humble way.

    The rust will find the sword of fame,
    The dust will hide the crown;
    Ay, none shall nail so high his name
    Time will not...

  • The Man with the Hoe

    Nature reads not our labels, “great” and “small”;
    Accepts she one and all

    Who, striving, win and hold the vacant place;
    All are of royal race.

    Him, there, rough-cast, with rigid arm and limb,
    The Mother moulded him,

    Of his rude realm ruler...

  • Whither

    Whither leads this pathway, little one?—
    It runs just on and on, is never done.

    Whither leads this pathway, mistress fair?—
    That path to town, sir; to the village square.

    Whither leads this pathway, father old?—
    To the white quiet of the churchyard...

  • The Skilful Listener

    The skilful listener, he, methinks, may hear
    The grass blades clash in sunny field together,
    The roses kissing, and the lily, whether
    It joy or sorrow in the summer’s ear,
    The jewel dew-bells of the mead ring clear
    When morning lightly moves them in June...

  • Evening Songs

    I
    the birds have hid, the winds are low,
    The brake is awake, the grass aglow:
    The bat is the rover,
    No bee on the clover,
    The day is over,
    And evening come.

    The heavy beetle spreads her wings,
    The toad has the road, the cricket...

  • Every One to His Own Way

    Oak leaves are big as the mouse’s ear,
    So, farmer, go plant. But the frost—
    Beware! the witch o’ the year,
    See that her palm be crossed.
    The bee is abroad, and the ant;
    Spider is busy; ho, farmer, go plant.

    The winds blow soft from the glazy sea...

  • The Strong

    Dost deem him weak that owns his strength is tried?
      Nay, we may safely lean on him that grieves:
    The pine has immemorially sighed,
      The enduring poplar’s are the trembling leaves.

    To feel, and bow the head, is not to fear;
      To cheat with jest—that is...

  • The Happiest Heart

    Who drives the horses of the sun
    Shall lord it but a day;
    Better the lowly deed were done,
    And kept the humble way.

    The rust will find the sword of fame,
    The dust will hide the crown;
    Ay, none shall nail so high his name
    Time will not...