Emily Dickinson - A Quiet Passion

Emily Dickinson is considered among the greatest poets in English literature. She is known for her unusual use of form and syntax; and for being “The poet of paradox”. Dickinson was a prolific writer and created nearly 1800 poems but only a handful of them were published during her lifetime.

Movie Quotes by Emily Dickinson

Because I could not stop for death, he kindly stopped for me.

This is my letter to the world that never wrote to me.The heart asks pleasure first and then excuse from pain.

We deceive ourselves and then others.

Poems are my solace for the eternity which surrounds us all.

If I can't have equality, then I want nothing of love.

Emily Dickinson: How can you go on loving me?

Vinnie Dickinson: You are so easy to love.

Clarity is one thing; obviousness is quite another.

Movie Review

Neither quiet nor passion

by Howard Schumann

October 29, 2016

The great American poet Emily Dickinson wrote:

"Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me;

The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality."

Whether or not Dickinson stopped for life, it kindly stopped for her and her immortality is enshrined in the legacy of the 1800 exquisite poems she left, only ten of which were published during her lifetime. She did not leave any commentaries to interpret her work, but left them for us to understand and explain. One interpretation of her life and work is provided by Terence Davies in his film, A Quiet Passion, a sympathetic but overwritten and curiously wooden look at her life and the influences that shaped her art. Starring Cynthia Nixon ("The Adderall Diaries") as Emily, Davies traces Dickinson's life in a standard linear format. Raised in the Puritan New England city of Amherst, Massachusetts (the film is shot near Antwerp, Belgium) the poet was lonely and secretive throughout her life, seldom left home, and visitors were few.

She stayed with her family all of her life, living through births, marriages, and deaths but always setting aside the early morning hours in her study to compose. Bright and outgoing as a young woman, Emily is portrayed as becoming more isolated, and bitter as she grows older. Her only companions were her austere and unforgiving father, Edward (Keith Carradine, "Ain't Them Bodies Saints"), a one-term Congressman, her haughty brother, Austin (Duncan Duff, "Island"), who became an attorney and lived next door with his wife Susan Gilbert (Johdi May, "Ginger and Rosa"), and her younger sister, Lavinia (Jennifer Ehle, "Little Men") who was her greatest solace. As the film opens, Emily is tagged as an outsider almost immediately. As a young student (Emma Bell, "See You in Valhalla") at the Mount Holyoke women's seminary, she stands up to the governess by declaring that she does not want either to be saved by divine Providence or forgotten by it and also speaks out for feminism, women's rights and abolitionism.

Her willingness to challenge conventional thinking by dismissing Longfellow's poem "The Song of Hiawatha" as "gruel," and her support for the poorly-regarded Bronte sisters was not appreciated by her family. "If they wanted to be wholesome," she retorted, "I imagine they would crochet." As Davies cleverly morphs the faces of Emily and her well-to-do family from children into adults, a clearer picture emerges of her relationship with her strict father and reserved mother (Joanna Bacon, "Love Actually"). Her only refuge from family conflicts and disappointments was her intimate relationship with Vinnie, the companionship of her best friend Vryling Buffam (Catherine Bailey, "The Grind"), and the sermons of Reverend Wadsworth (Eric Loren, "Red Lights"). Irreverent and provocative, Emily, Vinnie, and Vryling are shown walking through the gardens, exchanging witty aphorisms while they twirl their parasols, but the element of artifice is overbearing.

We do not see Emily in the process of composition but listen to her poems read aloud in voice-over. They are the highlight of the film, but there are not enough of them and too much time is spent on Emily's sad physical deterioration as she confronts the debilitating Bright's disease. In this regard, there is no subtlety in the film's presentation as the camera unnecessarily lingers over Emily's shaking fits for an inordinate length of time and her last days are an endurance test for the audience. In spite of the family's strong religious approach to life, there is no reflection about her life and legacy or talk about life's meaning and purpose.

Though Emily Dickinson's poetry glimmers with a spiritual glow, the uniqueness of who she is does not fully come across. For all of its fine performances and moments of comic satire, A Quiet Passion is dramatically inert, and its stilted and mannered dialogue is an emotional straitjacket with each character talking to the other as if they were reading a book of aphorisms. Terence Davies has directed some memorable period films in his career such as his remarkable adaptation of Edith Wharton's The House of Mirth. A Quiet Passion, however, has neither quiet nor passion. Gratitude must be offered, however, to Davies for introducing the poems of Emily Dickinson to a wider audience. Thanks Terence and thanks Emily.

You left me – Sire – two Legacies – (#713)

by Emily Dickinson

You left me – Sire – two Legacies – 

A Legacy of Love

A Heavenly Father would suffice

Had He the offer of –

You left me Boundaries of Pain –

Capacious as the Sea –

Between Eternity and Time –

Your Consciousness – and me –

Poems by Emily Dickinson

And with what body do they come (#10)

by Emily Dickinson

'And with what body do they come?' -

Then they do come - Rejoice!

What Door - What Hour - Run - run - My Soul!

Illuminate the House!

'Body!' Then real - a Face and Eyes -

To know that it is them!

Paul knew the Man that knew the News -

He passed through Bethlehem -

My Cocoon Tightens, Colors Tease (#17)

by Emily Dickinson

MY cocoon tightens, colors tease,

I 'm feeling for the air;

A dim capacity for wings

Degrades the dress I wear.

A power of butterfly must be

The aptitude to fly,

Meadows of majesty concedes

And easy sweeps of sky.

So I must baffle at the hint

And cipher at the sign,

And make much blunder, if at last

I take the clew divine.

For Each Ecstatic Instant (#37)

by Emily Dickinson

FOR each ecstatic instant

We must an anguish pay

In keen and quivering ratio

To the ecstasy.

For each beloved hour

Sharp pittances of years,

Bitter contested farthings

And coffers heaped with tears.

Success Is Counted Sweetest (#67)

by Emily Dickinson

Success is counted sweetest

By those who ne’er succeed.

To comprehend a nectar

Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple Host

Who took the Flag today

Can tell the definition

So clear of victory

As he defeated – dying –

On whose forbidden ear

The distant strains of triumph

Burst agonized and clear!

Note: In this poem Dickinson uses the image of a victorious army and of a defeated soldier who is dying. Through this image she conveys that success can be understood best by those who have suffered defeat. The popularity of the poem lies in the fact that unlike some of her other poems which talk about losing in romance, ‘Success Is Counted Sweetest’ “can be applied to any situation where there are winners and losers.” - Learnodo Newtonic

Declaiming Waters None May Dread (#126)

by Emily Dickinson

Declaiming Waters none may dread -

But Waters that are still

Are so for that most fatal cause

In Nature - they are full -

On that dear Frame the Years had worn (#135)

by Emily Dickinson

On that dear Frame the Years had worn

Yet precious as the House

In which We first experienced Light

The Witnessing, to Us—

Precious! It was conceiveless fair

As Hands the Grave had grimed

Should softly place within our own

Denying that they died.

“Faith” is a fine invention (#185)

by Emily Dickinson

“Faith” is a fine invention
For Gentlemen who see!
But Microscopes are prudent
In an Emergency!

Notes: An often quoted poem, ‘”Faith” is a fine invention’ gives insight on Dickinson’s views on religion and science. While calling faith an invention and putting it in quotation marks suggests that the poem is pro science yet the ability for only some to ‘see’, or possess a kind a divine power, contradicts that. No wonder Dickinson is famous as the “The poet of paradox”. She goes on to add that it is wiser to use ‘microscopes’, or science, in an emergency. - Learnodo Newtonic

Wild nights – Wild nights! (#249)

by Emily Dickinson

Wild nights – Wild nights!

Were I with thee

Wild nights should be

Our luxury!

Futile – the winds –

To a Heart in port –

Done with the Compass –

Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden –

Ah – the Sea!

Might I but moor – tonight –

In thee!

Note: 'Wild nights – Wild nights!’ is widely discussed for its implications. It doesn’t tell a story but is an expression of wish or desire. Dickinson uses the sea as an image for passion. It remains one of the most popular romantic poems written by an American. - Learnodo Newtonic

Hope is the Thing with Feathers (#254)

by Emily Dickinson

"Hope" is the thing with feathers –

That perches in the soul –

And sings the tune without the words –

And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –

And sore must be the storm –

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm –

I’ve heard it in the chillest land –

And on the strangest Sea –

Yet – never – in Extremity,

It asked a crumb – of me.

Note: The most famous poem by Dickinson, “Hope is the Thing with Feathers” is ranked among the greatest poems in the English language. It metaphorically describes hope as a bird that rests in the soul, sings continuously and never demands anything even in the direst circumstances. - Learnodo Newtonic

I’m nobody! Who are you? (#288)

by Emily Dickinson

I’m Nobody! Who are you?

Are you — Nobody — Too?

Then there’s a pair of us!

Don’t tell! They’d banish us — you know!

How dreary — to be — Somebody!

How public — like a Frog —

To tell one’s name — the livelong June —

To an admiring Bog!

Note: In this poem the narrator considers that being nobody is a luxury and it is depressingly repetitive to be somebody, who like a frog has a compulsion to croak all the time. The most talked about detail of Dickinson’s life is perhaps that only 10 of her nearly 1800 works were published during her lifetime and she lived her life in anonymity. This and the fact that the poem is about the popular subject of “us against them” makes it one of the most famous poems written by Dickinson. - Learnodo Newtonic

So From The Mould (#335)

by Emily Dickinson

So from the mould

Scarlet and Gold

Many a Bulb will rise—

Hidden away, cunningly, From sagacious eyes.

So from Cocoon

Many a Worm

Leap so Highland gay,

Peasants like me,

Peasants like Thee

Gaze perplexedly!

Much Madness is divinest Sense (#435)

by Emily Dickinson

Much Madness is divinest Sense –
To a discerning Eye –
Much Sense – the starkest Madness –
‘Tis the Majority
In this, as all, prevail –
Assent – and you are sane –
Demur – you’re straightway dangerous –
And handled with a Chain –

Note: "Much Madness" begins with a paradoxical line which equates madness to divine sense. Dickinson talks about the insane society which treats individuality as madness. If you agree with the majority you are sane but if you raise objections you are considered dangerous and need to be controlled. The madness versus sanity theme of the poem can also be interpreted in various other ways adding to the popularity of the poem.- Learnodo Newtonic

The Murmur of a Bee (#443)

by Emily Dickinson

The Murmur of a Bee

A Witchcraft—yieldeth me—

If any ask me why—

'Twere easier to die—

Than tell—

The Red upon the Hill

Taketh away my will—

If anybody sneer—

Take care—for God is here—

That's all.

The Breaking of the Day

Addeth to my Degree—

If any ask me how—

Artist—who drew me so—

Must tell!

I heard a Fly buzz – when I died (#465)

by Emily Dickinson

I heard a Fly buzz – when I died –

The Stillness in the Room

Was like the Stillness in the Air –

Between the Heaves of Storm –

The Eyes around – had wrung them dry –

And Breaths were gathering firm

For that last Onset – when the King

Be witnessed – in the Room –

I willed my Keepsakes – Signed away

What portion of me be

Assignable – and then it was

There interposed a Fly –

With Blue – uncertain – stumbling Buzz –

Between the light – and me –

And then the Windows failed – and then

I could not see to see –

Note: In “I heard a Fly buzz” the narrator is on his or her deathbed in a still room surrounded by loved ones. Everyone is awaiting the arrival of the ‘King’. The figure of death appears as a tiny, often disregarded, fly with a ‘stumbling Buzz’. It comes between the narrator and light and then the narrator ‘could not see to see’ or is dead. The poem remains one of Dickinson’s most discussed and famous works. - Learnodo Newtonic

Because I could not stop for Death (#479)

by Emily Dickinson

Because I could not stop for Death –

He kindly stopped for me –

The Carriage held but just Ourselves –

And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste

And I had put away

My labor and my leisure too,

For His Civility –

We passed the School, where Children strove

At Recess – in the Ring –

We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –

We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed Us –

The Dews drew quivering and Chill –

For only Gossamer, my Gown –

My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemed

A Swelling of the Ground –

The Roof was scarcely visible –

The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet

Feels shorter than the Day

I first surmised the Horses' Heads

Were toward Eternity –

My Portion is Defeat - Today (#601)

by Emily Dickinson

My Portion is Defeat—today—

A paler luck than Victory—

Less Paeans—fewer Bells—

The Drums don't follow Me—with tunes—

Defeat—a somewhat slower—means—

More Arduous than Balls—

'Tis populous with Bone and stain—

And Men too straight to stoop again—,

And Piles of solid Moan—

And Chips of Blank—in Boyish Eyes—

And scraps of Prayer—

And Death's surprise,

Stamped visible—in Stone—

There's somewhat prouder, over there—

The Trumpets tell it to the Air—

How different Victory

To Him who has it—and the One

Who to have had it, would have been

Contender—to die—

Knows How to Forget! (#620)

by Emily Dickinson

Knows how to forget!

But could It teach it?

Easiest of Arts, they say

When one learn how

Dull Hearts have died

In the Acquisition

Sacrificed for Science

Is common, though, now—

I went to School

But was not wiser

Globe did not teach it

Nor Logarithm Show

"How to forget"!

Say—some—Philosopher!

Ah, to be erudite

Enough to know!

Is it in a Book?

So, I could buy it—

Is it like a Planet?

Telescopes would know—

If it be invention

It must have a Patent.

Rabbi of the Wise Book

Don't you know?

I Tend My Flowers for Thee (#622)

by Emily Dickinson

I tend my flowers for thee—

Bright Absentee!

My Fuchsia's Coral Seams

Rip—while the Sower—dreams—

Geraniums— tint—and spot—

Low Daisies—dot—

My Cactus—splits her Beard

To show her throat—

Carnations—tip their spice—

And Bees—pick up—

A Hyacinth—I hid—

Puts out a Ruffled Head—

And odors fall

From flasks—so small—

You marvel how they held—

Globe Roses—break their satin glake—

Upon my Garden floor—

Yet—thou—not there—

I had as lief they bore

No Crimson—more—

Thy flower—be gay—

Her Lord—away!

It ill becometh me—

I'll dwell in Calyx—Gray—

How modestly—alway—

Thy Daisy—

Draped for thee!

'Tis Good - the Looking Back On Grief (#660)

by Emily Dickinson

'Tis good—the looking back on Grief—

To re-endure a Day—

We thought the Mighty Funeral—

Of All Conceived Joy—

To recollect how Busy Grass

Did meddle—one by one—

Till all the Grief with Summer—waved

And none could see the stone.

And though the Woe you have Today

Be larger—As the Sea

Exceeds its Unremembered Drop—

They're Water—equally—

Because I Could Not Stop For Death (#712)

by Emily Dickinson

Because I could not stop for Death –

He kindly stopped for me –

The Carriage held but just Ourselves –

And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste

And I had put away

My labor and my leisure too,

For His Civility –

We passed the School, where Children strove

At Recess – in the Ring –

We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –

We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed Us –

The Dews drew quivering and Chill –

For only Gossamer, my Gown –

My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemed

A Swelling of the Ground –

The Roof was scarcely visible –

The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – ’tis Centuries – and yet

Feels shorter than the Day

I first surmised the Horses’ Heads

Were toward Eternity –

Note: Many of Dickinson’s poems deal with the themes of death and immortality; and this is the most famous of them all. In it Emily personifies death as a gentle guide who takes a leisurely carriage ride with the poet to her grave. According to prominent American poet Allen Tate, “If the word great means anything in poetry, this poem is one of the greatest in the English language; it is flawless to the last detail.” - Learnodo Newtonic

If I can stop one Heart from breaking (#919)

by Emily Dickinson

If I can stop one heart from breaking,

I shall not live in vain;

If I can ease one life the aching,

Or cool one pain,

Or help one fainting robin

Unto his nest again,

I shall not live in vain.

Note: This simple and often quoted poem by Dickinson talks about the deeds one can do which will insure that one’s life was not is vain. - Learnodo Newtonic

Tell all the truth but tell it slant (#1129)

by Emily Dickinson

Tell all the truth but tell it slant —

Success in Circuit lies

Too bright for our infirm Delight

The Truth’s superb surprise

As Lightning to the Children eased

With explanation kind

The Truth must dazzle gradually

Or every man be blind —

Note: In this poem Dickinson presents truth as a powerful entity whose dazzling brilliance can bring this world to an end. Hence she suggests that it would be wise to tell the truth but ‘tell it slant’ and to gradually ease it into the world. - Learnodo Newtonic

A Word made Flesh is seldom (#1715)

by Emily Dickinson

A Word made Flesh is seldom

And tremblingly partook

Nor then perhaps reported

But have I not mistook

Each one of us has tasted

With ecstasies of stealth

The very food debated

To our specific strength --

A Word that breathes distinctly

Has not the power to die

Cohesive as the Spirit

It may expire if He --

"Made Flesh and dwelt among us"

Could condescension be

Like this consent of Language

This loved Philology.

Cynthia Nixon plays Emily Dickinson in Terence Davies' new film A Quiet Passion. "I think she was afraid of life," Davies says. "Like a lot of geniuses, she had — skin missing. And that makes you very, very vulnerable." | Johan Voets/Hurricane Films/Courtesy of Music Box Films

New Film Celebrates Emily Dickinson's Poetry

And 'Quiet Passion'

http://www.npr.org/2017/04/13/523799211/new-film-celebrates-emily-dickinsons-poetry-and-quiet-passion

by Lynn Neary

April 13, 2017

Many people are drawn to Emily Dickinson because of her mysterious life — the brilliant poet rarely left her family home in Amherst, Mass., and her work wasn't recognized until after her death.

But British film director Terence Davies says it was her poetry, more than her personal life, that drew him in. Davies discovered Dickinson on television. An actress was reading one of her poems and afterwards Davies immediately ran out to buy one of her collections.

"What moves me about all the poems I've read is everything is distilled down to the bare essential," Davies explains. "But it's the very reticence of that that makes it desperately, desperately moving."

His new film, A Quiet Passion, stars Cynthia Nixon as Dickinson. The movie creates an image of a complicated woman whose poetry is steeped in pain.

In the film Davies uses Dickinson's poetry as a kind of commentary on her life. In the opening scene, Dickinson is severely chastised by the headmistress of her school because she refuses to say she wants to be Christian. Dickinson is dismissed as a "no hoper." As the scene ends she stands alone by a window as Nixon reads one of her poems:

For each ecstatic instant

We must an anguish pay

In keen and quivering ratio

To the ecstasy.

For each beloved hour

Sharp pittances of years,

Bitter contested farthings

And coffers heaped with tears.

Much of A Quiet Passion focuses on Dickinson's spiritual struggles. Davies says he identified with her because he also went through a spiritual crisis in his youth.

Emily Dickinson had a "green thumb"

"From 15 to 22 there was seven years of doubt and I really, really prayed for God to reveal himself, and of course he didn't," he recalls. "So I know what that is like. Faced with mortality, what do we do with this thing we call the soul?"

In the film, Dickinson's refusal to compromise her beliefs often puts her at odds with the conservative religious beliefs of her family and friends. In one scene, she refuses to kneel when a visiting minister leads her family in prayer. Her disobedience infuriates her father.

"My soul is my own," she tells him.

"Your soul is God's!" he replies.

The American Poet, Emily Dickinson

Dickinson had a few close relationships but is heartbroken when friends leave her. The only man she is attracted to is already married. He appreciates her poetry but few others do. She withdraws into her family home, sheltering herself from a world she doesn't really understand.

"To interpret the world you have to be an observer of it," Davies says. "What being an observer does, it puts you on the outside of life. You're never really part of it and life seems almost incomprehensible. How do other people manage their way through the world?"

Dickinson's reclusive life has been always been a source of fascination for artists.

"There's a kind of mystery around Dickinson and where mystery is, stories bloom," says Brenda Wineapple, author of White Heat, about Dickinson's friendship with a well-known abolitionist. Wineapple sees Dickinson as a strong, witty woman who did have lasting friendships. She says Davies has created a Dickinson whose radical life choices cost her a great deal.

"Over time she becomes caustic and angry and disappointed, which is not necessarily how people, particularly in the recent past, have imagined Emily Dickinson," Wineapple says.

But Davies says of course Dickinson was angry — she wanted to be loved and she wanted her work recognized even though she chose to live as a recluse.

"In the end that haven becomes a prison," he says. "It's sort of an emotional prison she can't get away from. That's very sad and very hard to bear, I think."

A Quiet Passion ends with Dickinson's death, before the hundreds of poems that would make her famous, were discovered.

---

For Further Reading:

Billy Collins: A Poet's Affection For Emily Dickinson

Biography Speculates Emily Dickinson Had Epilepsy

Elizabeth Akers Allen - Rock Me to Sleep

Rock Me to Sleep

by Elizabeth Akers Allen

Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight,

Make me a child again just for tonight!

Mother, come back from the echoless shore,

Take me again to your heart as of yore;

Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care,

Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair;

Over my slumbers your loving watch keep; -

Rock me to sleep, mother, - rock me to sleep!

Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years!

I am so weary of toil and of tears, -

Toil without recompense, tears all in vain, -

Take them, and give me my childhood again!

I have grown weary of dust and decay, -

Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away;

Weary of sowing for others to reap; -

Rock me to sleep, mother - rock me to sleep!

Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue,

Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you!

Many a summer the grass has grown green,

Blossomed and faded, our faces between:

Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain,

Long I tonight for your presence again.

Come from the silence so long and so deep; -

Rock me to sleep, mother, - rock me to sleep!

Over my heart, in the days that are flown,

No love like mother-love ever has shone;

No other worship abides and endures, -

Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours:

None like a mother can charm away pain

From the sick soul and the world-weary brain.

Slumber’s soft calms o’er my heavy lids creep; -

Rock me to sleep, mother, - rock me to sleep!

Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold,

Fall on your shoulders again as of old;

Let it drop over my forehead tonight,

Shading my faint eyes away from the light;

For with its sunny-edged shadows once more

Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore;

Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep; -

Rock me to sleep, mother, – rock me to sleep!

Mother, dear mother, the years have been long

Since I last listened your lullaby song:

Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem

Womanhood’s years have been only a dream.

Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace,

With your light lashes just sweeping my face,

Never hereafter to wake or to weep; -

Rock me to sleep, mother, - rock me to sleep!

* * * * * * * * * * *

Elizabeth Akers Allen

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Elizabeth Anne (Chase) Akers Allen (October 9, 1832 – August 7, 1911), initially writing as Florence Percy and Elizabeth Akers, was an American poet and journalist.

Writing career

She was born Elizabeth Anne Chase in 1832 in Strong, Maine. Her mother died when she was an infant, and her father moved the family to Farmington, where she attended Farmington Academy.

Her earliest poems are said to have been published when she was between 12 and 15 years old, under the pen name 'Florence Percy'. In 1855, using this pseudonym, she published her first book of poetry, Forest Buds from the Woods of Maine. She started contributing poems to the Atlantic Monthly in 1858. In 1866, she published her second collection, Poems, under the name of Elizabeth Akers. All subsequent volumes were published under the name Elizabeth Akers Allen.

For much of her career, Allen earned her living partly as a journalist. The success of her first book allowed her to travel in Europe in 1859–60. While in Europe she served as a correspondent for the Portland Transcript and the Boston Evening Gazette. In 1874, she moved to Portland, Maine, where she spent seven years as the literary editor of the Daily Advertiser. She was a member of the professional women's club Sorosis, which had many writer members.

Allen is best known for the first couplet of her sentimental poem "Rock Me to Sleep, Mother" (1859), which was written during her European sojourn and first published in the Saturday Evening Post of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Though it is not considered her finest work, it was very popular during the Civil War, and for some years she was forced to dispute its authorship with a number of claimants. The first couplet runs:

Backward, turn backward, O time, in thy flight;
Make me a child again, just for to-night.

During the Civil War, in 1863, Allen had an appointment as a government clerk in the War Office in Washington, D.C., and also worked as a nurse.

She move to Tuckahoe, New York in 1881 and died there in 1911.

Her papers are held by Colby College.

Personal life

In 1851 she married Marshall S. M. Taylor, but he abandoned her and their infant daughter and they were divorced in 1857.

She married Paul Akers, a Maine sculptor whom she had met in Rome, in 1860; he died of tuberculosis in 1861. Their only child died shortly afterwards.

In 1865 or 1866 she married Elijah M. Allen and they lived in Richmond, Virginia, and Ridgewood, New Jersey, before settling in New York.

Selected publications

• Forest Buds from the Woods of Maine (1855, as Florence Percy)
• Poems (1866, as Elizabeth Akers)
• Queen Catharine's Rose (1885)
• The Silver Bridge, and Other Poems (1885)
• Two Saints (1888)
• The High-Top Sweeting, and Other Poems (1891)
• The Proud Lady of Stavoven (1897)
• The Ballad of the Bronx (1901)
• The Sunset Song, and Other Verses (1902)

R.E. Slater - Anguish

Anguish

by R.E. Slater

I

Two guests arrive at a wedding, one invited and one not...

A delivery driver pulls into a parking lot to decide whether to quit or continue his route...

A young mother picks up her kids from school returning home remembering all the dreams

she once dreamt as a youth...

A ballerina dances gracefully across the stage wondering if fulfillment meant more than this…

An older pastor, now retired, thinks back to his school days wondering if he heard God's call

aright or simply his own self urging forward...

A college student sits in class wondering if his lessons enlighten so much as persuade...

Two sisters lead happy lives but neither are happy within....

II

Two streams diverged in a woods - one to wander through the bramble and hillocks,

the other to grow wider, deeper; which were the more successful?

If fate chooses fortune, or fortune fate, what chooses the other to do the choosing?

If wonderment is stillborn can awe ever follow?

Where do dreams go if they die within?

If evil brought good how can good succeed against such horror?

If life wrought ruin is life better lived unloved or unlived?

Can anguish be escaped or does it define who we are?

III

If all choices never were choices but momentary streams wresting apart could one ever

be sure which stream to follow?

If old age brought wisdom can youth have none without experience or regrets?

If regrets pile up one upon another can its force be overturned?

Can the eye that guides the heart serve the heart if betraying itself?

Where can peace be found if peace can nowhere be found but within?

Were enlightenment all one thing gathered together could it ever be known?

Two guests arrived at a wedding - who then was invited if no wedding was held?

R.E. Slater

May 7, 2017

@copyright R.E. Slater Publications

all rights reserved

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - Catawba Wine

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Catawba Wine

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1907-1882)

*Written on the receipt of a gift of Catawba wine

from the vineyards of Nicholas Longworth on the Ohio River.

    This song of mine
    Is a Song of the Vine,
To be sung by the glowing embers
    Of wayside inns,
    When the rain begins
To darken the drear Novembers. 

    It is not a song
    Of the Scuppernong,
From warm Carolinian valleys,
    Nor the Isabel
    And the Muscadel
That bask in our garden alleys. 

    Nor the red Mustang,
    Whose clusters hang
O'er the waves of the Colorado,
    And the fiery flood
    Of whose purple blood
Has a dash of Spanish bravado. 

    For richest and best
    Is the wine of the West,
That grows by the Beautiful River;
    Whose sweet perfume
    Fills all the room
With a benison on the giver. 

    And as hollow trees
    Are the haunts of bees,
Forever going and coming;
    So this crystal hive
    Is all alive
With a swarming and buzzing and humming. 

    Very good in its way
    Is the Verzenay,
Or the Sillery soft and creamy;
    But Catawba wine
    Has a taste more divine,
More dulcet, delicious, and dreamy. 

    There grows no vine
    By the haunted Rhine,
By Danube or Guadalquivir,
    Nor on island or cape,
    That bears such a grape
As grows by the Beautiful River. 

    Drugged is their juice
    For foreign use,
When shipped o'er the reeling Atlantic,
    To rack our brains
    With the fever pains,
That have driven the Old World frantic. 

    To the sewers and sinks
    With all such drinks,
And after them tumble the mixer;
    For a poison malign
    Is such Borgia wine,
Or at best but a Devil's Elixir. 

    While pure as a spring
    Is the wine I sing,
And to praise it, one needs but name it;
    For Catawba wine
    Has need of no sign,
No tavern-bush to proclaim it. 

    And this Song of the Vine,
    This greeting of mine,
The winds and the birds shall deliver
    To the Queen of the West,
    In her garlands dressed,
On the banks of the Beautiful River.

Catawba Wine by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Cincinnati, Ohio, Fountain Square - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow verse on wall nearby

Setting

Cincinnati Museum Center

http://library.cincymuseum.org/cincifaq.htm

How Did Cincinnati Come to be Known as the Queen City?

During the first forty years after its founding, Cincinnati experienced spectacular growth. By 1820, citizens, extremely proud of their city, were referring to it as The Queen City or The Queen of the West.

On May 4, 1819, Ed. B. Cooke wrote in the Inquisitor and Cincinnati Advertiser, "The City is, indeed, justly styled the fair Queen of the West: distinquished for order, enterprise, public spirit, and liberality, she stands the wonder of an admiring world."

In 1854, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote his poem, Catawba Wine, to memorialize the city's vineyards, especially those of Nicholas Longworth. The last stanza of the poem reads:

And this Song of the Vine,

This greeting of mine,
The winds and the birds shall deliver,
To the Queen of the West,
In her garlands dressed,
On the banks of the Beautiful River.

Introduction

http://host31.spidergraphics.com/jos/doc/Ode_to_Catawba_-_Short_Version.pdf

Nicolas Longworth was a self-made millionaire and attorney who had an avid interest in horticulture. Beginning as early as 1813, he started vineyards along the banks of the Ohio River, hiring German immigrants whose homeland work was similar. He first began with a grape called “Alexander”, but found that it was only palatable as a fortified wine. He also planted “Catawba” vines and made a table wine which met with some success with the German immigrants in the area. An accidental discovery in the 1840’a led him to produce, with the later help of instruction from French winemakers on the “methode champenoise”, a sparkling Catawba wine – which met with great success both locally and on the East Coast. By the 1850’s, Longworth was producing 100,000 bottles of sparkling Catawba a year and advertising nationally. In the mid-1850’s he sent a case to poet, Henry Longfellow, then living in New York City, who wrote this ode. Remember, when Longfellow refers to the “Beautiful River”, he is referring to the Ohio River, which begins in Pittsburgh and passes through Cincinnati and Louisville, Kentucky on its way to Mississippi.

Catawba (grape)

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Catawba is a red American grape variety used for wine as well as juice, jams and jellies. The grape can have a pronounced musky or "foxy" flavor. Grown predominantly on the East Coast of the United States, this purplish-red grape is a likely cross of the Native American Vitis labrusca and Vitis vinifera. Its exact origins and parentage are unclear but it seems to have originated somewhere on the East coast from the Carolinas to Maryland.

Catawba played an important role in the early history of American wine. During the early to mid-19th century, it was the most widely planted grape variety in the country and was the grape behind Nicholas Longworth's acclaimed Ohio sparkling wines that were distributed as far away as California and Europe.

Catawba is a late-ripening variety, ripening often weeks after many other labrusca varieties and, like many vinifera varieties, it can be susceptible to fungal grape diseases such as powdery mildew.

Palm Sunday Readings, Poems & Observances

Palm Sunday

http://www.seedbed.com/scripture-quotes-poems-palm-sunday/

The Gospel of John notes that Jerusalem welcomed him with palm branches (John 12:13). Palm trees were in abundance in the Mediterranean and were even found on ancient coins. After the Maccabean Revolt (167-160 AD), the Jews rededicated the temple carrying palm branches (1 Macc. 13:51). In Revelation 7:9, people from all nations use palm branches in their worship of Jesus. All four Gospels provide an account of Jesus triumphal entry into Jerusalem:

Matt. 21:1–11

Mark 11:1–10

Luke 19:28–38

John 12:12–18

Many churches initiate the Palm Sunday service with a procession that represents Jesus’ procession into Jerusalem. This practice is attested to as early as in the 4th century in the Pilgrimage of Egeria.

"Lift up your heads, O gates! And be lifted up, O ancient doors, that the King of glory may come in." - Psalm 24:7

"Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! We bless you from the house of the Lord. The Lord is God, and he has made his light to shine upon us." - Psalm 118:26-27a

"Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion! Shout, daughter of Jerusalem! See, your king comes to you; righteous and having salvation, gentle and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey." - Zechariah 9:9

Palm Sunday Observances & Poems

Within the very liturgy of Palm Sunday, the tension is evident; traditionally, it is the only day with two Gospel readings—the enervating triumphal entry, and the tragic narrative of crucifixion. Palms turn to passion. It is the way God has designed it, for he did not count equality with God something to be grasped. - Brian Rhea

O Christ our God

When Thou didst raise Lazarus from the dead before Thy Passion,

Thou didst confirm the resurrection of the universe

Wherefore, we like children,

carry the banner of triumph and victory,

and we cry to Thee, O Conqueror of love,

Hosanna in the highest

Blessed is He that cometh

in the Name of the Lord.

- Toparion of Lazarus Saturday and Palm Sunday

When Christ entered into Jerusalem the people spread garments in the way: when He enters into our hearts, we pull off our own righteousness, and not only lay it under Christ’s feet but even trample upon it ourselves. - Augustus Toplady

No pain, no palm;

no thorns, no throne;

no gall, no glory;

no cross, no crown.

- William Penn

Rest for my soul -- REST! Admidst fears,

Doubts, insecurities -- REST! For my anxious

Heart REST! You made the flower of the field and clothed it --

REST! FOR MY WORK-A-HOLIC

BUSY WAY OF AVOIDING YOU -- rest! FOR TIRED

FEET AND TIRED HANDS.

YOU ARE THE ONE UNRAVELING ME --SLOWING ME

DOWN SO I CAN FEEL AGAIN -- SO I CAN FIND Hope

IN SOMETHING MORE reliable than my own success -- 

YOU ARE SETTING ME free

Healing my wounds

Purifying my desires

Pushing back the effects of the fall

And you are coming soon

I can feel it every time I see the flowers.

- Samantha Wedelich

The smell of church reminds me of my childhood

but over the years, the priest becomes a foolish man.

I've pondered over my faith for so long -

sometimes I reach into my conscious and

pull out steaming fistfuls of pop culture like,

watching Rosemary's Baby on Saturday.

Was God dead in the 50s?

Not nearly as much as he is now.

Today was Palm Sunday, and I felt like a baby,

so naked in the desert sand.

Delicate church, how do you reel me in?

- Kyra Rae

Now to the gate of my Jerusalem,

The seething holy city of my heart,

The saviour comes. But will I welcome him?

Oh crowds of easy feelings make a start;

They raise their hands, get caught up in the singing,

And think the battle won. Too soon they’ll find

The challenge, the reversal he is bringing

Changes their tune. I know what lies behind

The surface flourish that so quickly fades;

Self-interest, and fearful guardedness,

The hardness of the heart, its barricades,

And at the core, the dreadful emptiness

Of a perverted temple. Jesus come

Break my resistance and make me your home.

- from a Christian Lectionary

* * * * * * * *

A Collection of Palm Sunday Observances

http://happyvalentineimages.com/palm-sunday-quotes-poem-for-god-from-bible/

Palm Sunday is also known as a "Movable Feast" as the church celebrates on the Sunday before Easter. It celebrates Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem.

1. "Palm Sunday is like a glimpse of Easter. It’s a little bit joyful after being somber during Lent." - Laura Gale

2. "What should young people do with their lives today? Many things, obviously. But the most daring thing is to create stable communities in which the terrible disease of loneliness can be cured." - Kurt Vonnegut

3. "Palm Sunday tells us that it is the cross [where] is the truer tree of life." - Pope Benedict XVI

4. "Palm Sunday is like a glimpse of Easter. It’s a little bit joyful after being somber during Lent." - Laura Gale

5. "Then I saw heaven opened and a white horse appeared. Its rider is the Faithful and True; he judges and wages just wars." - Revelation 19:11

6. "Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion! Shout, daughter of Jerusalem! See, your king comes to you; righteous and having salvation, gentle and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey." - Zechariah 9:9

7. "It is wiser to build our dependence on God than building it on people because people can choose to leave us at any moment. But only we can choose to leave God because He is ever present and there for those who need and seek Him with a sincere Heart. Happy Palm Sunday!" - Anon

8. "The great gift of Easter is hope – Christian hope which makes us have that confidence in God, in his ultimate triumph, and in his goodness and love, which nothing can shake." - Basil Hume

9. A Palm Sunday’s thought: "Life is full of ups and downs. Glorify God during the ups and fully trust in Him during the downs." - Anon

10. "Anyway - because we are readers, we don’t have to wait for some communications executive to decide what we should think about next - and how we should think about it. We can fill our heads with anything from aardvarks to zucchinis - at any time of night or day." - Kurt Vonnegut

11. "What’s with this final curtain? When God-disturbed churches are packed Palm Sunday, Easter, and Christmas, but not in-between? Will we feel the fateful lightening of his terrible swift sword? Is this Armageddon?" - Buck Malachi

12. "Jesus found a donkey and sat upon it, as Scripture says: Do not fear, city of Zion! See, your king is coming, sitting on the colt of a donkey!" - John 12:14

13. "There would be no Christmas if there was no Easter." - Gordon B. Hinckley

14. "Let every man and woman count himself immortal. Let him catch the revelation of Jesus in his resurrection. Let him say not merely, ‘Christ has risen,’ but ‘I shall rise.’" - Phillips Brooks

William Sharp - A Crystal Forest & Other Poems (Poetry from 2017 "Beauty & the Beast")

A CRYSTAL FOREST

by William Sharp

The air is blue and keen and cold,
With snow the roads and fields are white
But here the forest's clothed with light
And in a shining sheath enrolled.
Each branch, each twig, each blade of grass,
Seems clad miraculously with glass:

Above the ice-bound streamlet bends
Each frozen fern with crystal ends.
.
.
.
Belle reads William Sharp's poem "A Crystal Forest"
in Beauty & the Beast and then adds the following
lines from the Disney script:

"For in that solemn silence is heard
in the whisper of every sleeping thing:

Look, look at me,
Come wake me up
for still here I'll be."

Transcripts from Nature

from "The Human Inheritance" and "Earth's Voices"

1882-1886

WILD ROSES

Against the dim hot summer blue
Yon wave of white wild-roses lies,
Watching with listless golden eyes
The green leaves shutting out their view,
The tiny leaves whose motions bright
Are like small wings of emerald light:

White butterflies like snow-flakes fall
And brown bees drone their honey-call.

THE EBBING TIDE

A long low gurgle down the strand,
The sputtering of the drying wrack
The tide is slowly ebbing back
With listless murmuring from the land,
And the small waves reluctant flow
Where the broad-bosomed currents go.

The sea has fall'n asleep, and lies
Dense blue beneath the dense blue skies.

DAWN AMID SCOTCH FIRS

The furtive lights that herald dawn
Are shimmering 'mid the steel-blue firs;
A slow awakening wind half stirs
And the long branches breathe upon;
The east grows clearer---clearer---lo,
The day is born! A refluent flow:

Of silver waves along each tree
For one brief moment darlingly.

A DEAD CALM AND MIST
(Towards evening)

The slow heave of the sleeping sea
With pulse-like motion swells and falls,
And drowsily a stray gull calls
The very wail of melancholy;
All day the moveless mist has slept
On the same bosom east winds swept:

No breath of change in the grey mist,
Save just a dream of amethyst.

TANGLED SUNRAYS

Aslant from yonder sunlit hill

The lance-like sunrays stream across
The meadows where the king-cups toss
I' the wind, and where the beech-leaves thrill
With flooding light they twist and turn
And seem to interlace and burn:

Until at last in tangle spun
'Mid the damp grass their race is run.

LOCH CORUISK (SKYE)

The bleak and barren mountains keep
A never-ending gloom around
The lonely loch; the winds resound,
The rains beat down, the tempests sweep,
The days are calm and dark and still,---
No other changes Coruisk fill:

Scarce living sound is heard, save high
The eagle's scream or wild swan's cry.

SUNRISE ABOVE BROAD WHEAT- FIELDS

The pale tints of the twilight fields

Have turnéd into burnished gold,
For waves of yellow light have rolled
From the open'd east across the wealds
While 'mid the wheat spires far behind
Stirs lazily the awaken'd wind:

A skylark high (a song-made bird)

Sings as though God his singing heard.

PHOSPHORESCENT SEA

The sea scarce heaves in its calm sleep,
The wind has not awakened yet
Tho' in its dreams it seems to fret
For, ever and again, the deep
Hearkens a sigh that steals along
As might some echo of sad song:

Ah, there the wind stirs! Lo, the dark
Dim sea's on fire around our barque.

A GREEN WAVE

Between the salt sea-send before
And all the flowing gulfs behind,
Half lifted by the rising wind,
Half eager for the ungain'd shore,
A great green wave of shining light
Sweeps onward crowned with dazzling white:

Above, the east wind shreds the sky
With plumes from the grey clouds that fly.

A CRYSTAL FOREST

The air is blue and keen and cold,
With snow the roads and fields are white
But here the forest's clothed with light
And in a shining sheath enrolled.
Each branch, each twig, each blade of grass,
Seems clad miraculously with glass:

Above the ice-bound streamlet bends
Each frozen fern with crystal ends.

THE WASP

Where the ripe pears droop heavily
The yellow wasp hums loud and long
His hot and drowsy autumn song:
A yellow flame he seems to be,
When darting suddenly from high
He lights where fallen peaches lie:

Yellow and black, this tiny thing's
A tiger-soul on elfin wings.

AN AUTUMNAL EVENING

Deep black against the dying glow
The tall elms stand; the rooks are still;
No windbreath makes the faintest thrill
Amongst the leaves; the fields below
Are vague and dim in twilight shades---
Only the bats wheel in their raids:

On the grey flies, and silently
Great dusky moths go flitting by.

A WINTER HEDGEROW

The wintry wolds are white; the wind
Seems frozen; in the shelter'd nooks
The sparrows shiver; the black rooks
Wheel homeward where the elms behind
The manor stand; at the field's edge
The redbreasts in the blackthorn hedge:

Sit close and under snowy eaves
The shrewmice sleep 'mid nested leaves.

THE ROOKERY AT SUNRISE

The lofty ehn-trees darkly dream
Against the steel-blue sky; till far
I' the twilit east a golden star
O'erbrims the dusk in one vast stream
Of yellow light, and lo! a cry
Breaks from the windy nest---the sky:

Is filled with wheeling rooks---they sway
In one black phalanx towards the day.

MOONRISE

The first snows of the year lie white

Upon the branches bending low;
A surging wind the flakes doth blow
Before the coming feet of Night--
Half dusk, half day, betwixt the pines
Green-yellow the full moon reclines:

Green-yellow, and now wholly green,
While faint the windy stars are seen.

FIREFLIES

Softly sailing emerald lights

Above the cornfields come and go,
Listlessly wandering to and fro
The magic of these July nights
Has surely even pierced down deep
Where the earth's jewels unharmed sleep:

And filled with fire the emeralds there
And raised them thus to the outer air.

THE CRESCENT MOON

As though the Power that made the Nautilus
A living glory o'er seas perilous
Scathless to roam, had from the utmost deep
Called a vast flawless pearl from out its sleep
And carv'd it crescent-wise, exceeding fair,---
So seems the crescent moon that thro' the air:

With motionless motion glides from out the West,
And sailing onward ever seems at rest.

THE EAGLE

Between two mighty hills a sheer
Abyss---far down in the ravine
A thread-like torrent and a screen
Of oaks like shrubs-and one doth rear
A dry scarp'd peak above all sound
Save windy voices wailing round:

At sunrise here, in proud disdain
The eagle scans his vast domain.

A VENETIAN SUNSET: BEFORE A CHANGE

(Returning from Torcello)

In violet hues each dome and spire
Stands outlined against flawless rose;
O'er this a carmine ocean flows
Streak'd with pure gold and amber fire,
And through the sea of sundown mist
Float isles of melted amethyst:

Storm-portents, saffron streamers rise,
Fan-like, from Venice to the skies.

EMPIRE (PERSEPOLIS)

The yellow waste of yellow sands,
The bronze haze of a scorching sky!
Lo, what are these that broken lie;
Were these once temples made with hands
Once towers and palaces that knew
No hint of that which one day threw:

Their greatness to the winds---made this
The memory of Persepolis?

* * * * * * * *

William Sharp photographed in 1894

by Frederick Hollyer.

Poems by William Sharp - http://www.sundown.pair.com/Sharp/WSVol_1/contents.htm

Wikipedia - William Sharp (writer)

Biography of William Sharp

by PoemHunter

William Sharp (12 September 1855 – 12 December 1905) was a Scottish writer, of poetry and literary biography in particular, who from 1893 wrote also as Fiona MacLeod, a pseudonym kept almost secret during his lifetime. He was also an editor of the poetry of Ossian, Walter Scott, Matthew Arnold, Algernon Charles Swinburne and Eugene Lee-Hamilton.

Sharp was born in Paisley and educated at Glasgow Academy and the University of Glasgow, which he attended 1871-1872 without completing a degree. In 1872 he contracted typhoid. During 1874-5 he worked in a Glasgow law office. His health broke down in 1876 and he was sent on a voyage to Australia. In 1878 he took a position in a bank in London.

He was introduced to Dante Gabriel Rossetti by Sir Noel Paton, and joined the Rossetti literary group; which included Hall Caine, Philip Bourke Marston and Swinburne. He married his cousin Elizabeth in 1884, and devoted himself to writing full time from 1891, travelling widely.

Also about this time, he developed an intensely romantic but perhaps asexual attachment to Edith Wingate Rinder, another writer of the consciously Celtic Edinburgh circle surrounding Patrick Geddes and "The Evergreen." It was to Rinder ("EWR") he attributed the inspiration for his writings as Fiona MacLeod thereafter, and to whom he dedicated his first MacLeod novel ("Pharais") in 1894. Sharp had a complex and ambivalent relationship with W. B. Yeats during the 1890s, as a central tension in the Celtic Revival. Yeats initially found MacLeod acceptable and Sharp not, and later fathomed their identity. Sharp found the dual personality an increasing strain.

On occasions when it was necessary for "Fiona MacLeod" to write to someone unaware of the dual identity, Sharp would dictate the text to his sister (Mary Beatrice Sharp), whose handwriting would then be passed off as Fiona's manuscript. During his MacLeod period, Sharp was a member of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn.

He died (and is buried) at Castello di Maniace, Sicily. In 1910, Elizabeth Sharp published a biographical memoir attempting to explain the creative necessity behind the deception, and edited a complete edition of his works.

William Sharp's Works:

* Dante Gabriel Rossetti: A Record and Study (1882)
* The Human Inheritance, The New Hope, Motherhood and Other Poems (1882)
* Sopistra and Other Poems (1884);
* Earth's Voices (1884) poems
* Sonnets of this century (1886) editor
* Sea-Music: An Anthology of Poems (1887)
* Life of Percy Bysshe Shelley (1887)
* Romantic Ballads and Poems of Phantasy (1888)
* Sport of chance (1888) novel
* Life of Heinrich Heine (1888)
* American Sonnets (1889)
* Life of Robert Browning (1889)
* The Children of Tomorrow (1889)
* Sospiri di Roma (1891) poems
* Life of Joseph Severn (1892)
* A Fellowe and his Wife (1892)
* Flower o' the Vine (1892)
* Pagan Review (1892)
* Vistas (1894);
* Pharais (1894) novel as FM
* The Gipsy Christ and Other Tales (1895)
* Mountain Lovers (1895) novel as FM
* The Laughter of Peterkin (1895) as FM
* The Sin-Eater and Other Tales (1895) as FM
* Ecce puella and Other Prose Imaginings (1896)
* The Washer of the Ford (1896) novel as FM
* Fair Women in Painting and Poetry (1896)
* Lyra Celtica: An Anthology of Representative Celtic Poetry (1896)
* By Sundown Shores (1900) as FM
* The Divine Adventure (1900) as FM
* Iona (1900) as FM
* From the Hills of Dream, Threnodies Songs and Later Poems (1901) as FM
* The Progress of Art in the Nineteenth century (1902)
* The House of Usna (1903) play as FM
* Literary Geography (1904)
* The Winged Destiny: Studies in the Spiritual History of the Gael (1904) as FM and dedicated to Dr John Goodchild
* The Immortal Hour (1908) play as FM