Thomas Bailey Aldrich
an American poet, novelist, travel writer and editor.
Early life and education
Thomas Bailey Aldrich was born in Portsmouth, New Hampshire on November 11, 1836. When Aldrich was a child, his father moved to New Orleans. After 10 years, Aldrich was sent back to Portsmouth to prepare for college. This period of his life is partly described in his semi-autobiographical novel The Story of a Bad Boy (1870), in which "Tom Bailey" is the juvenile hero. Critics have said that this novel contains the first realistic depiction of childhood in American fiction and prepared the ground for Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.
His father's death in ... more »
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Thomas Bailey Aldrich Poems
SOMEWHERE--in desolate wind-swept space-- In Twilight-land--in No-man's land-- Two hurrying Shapes met face to face, And bade each other stand.
My mind lets go a thousand things Like dates of wars and deaths of kings, And yet recalls the very hour-- 'T was noon by yonder village tower,
The smooth-worn coin and threadbare classic phrase Of Grecian myths that did beguile my youth, Beguile me not as in the olden days: I think more grief and beauty dwell with truth.
A Touch of Nature
When first the crocus thrusts its point of gold Up through the still snow-drifted garden mould, And folded green things in dim woods unclose Their crinkled spears, a sudden tremor goes
At the Funeral of a Minor Poet
[One of the Bearers Soliloquizes:] . . . Room in your heart for him, O Mother Earth, Who loved each flower and leaf that made you fair,
[Author's Note: The title means "little father" or "dear little father", a term of endearment applied to the Tsar in Russian folk-song. --T.B.A.] From yonder gilded minaret Beside the steel-blue Neva set,
An Alpine Picture
Stand here and look, and softly draw your breath Lest the dread avalanche come crashing down! How many leagues away is yonder town Set flower-wise in the valley? Far beneath
Thus spake his dust (so seemed it as I read The words): Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbeare (Poor ghost!) To digg the dust enclosèd heare -- Then came the malediction on the head
A blight, a gloom, I know not what, has crept upon my gladness-- Some vague, remote ancestral touch of sorrow, or of madness; A fear that is not fear, a pain that has not pain's insistence; A sense of longing, or of loss, in some foregone exsistence;
By the Potomac
The soft new grass is creeping o'er the graves By the Potomac; and the crisp ground-flower Tilts its blue cup to catch the passing shower; The pine-cone ripens, and the long moss waves
At Bay Ridge, Long Island
Pleasant it is to lie amid the grass Under these shady locusts, half the day, Watching the ships reflected on the Bay, Topmast and shroud, as in a wizard's glass;
Alec Yeaton's Son
GLOUCESTER, AUGUST, 1720 The wind it wailed, the wind it moaned, And the white caps flecked the sea;
I Who can say where Echo dwells? In some mountain-cave, methinks,
At a Reading
The spare professor, grave and bald, Began his paper. It was called, I think, "A Brief Historic Glance At Russia, Germany, and France."
Comments about Thomas Bailey Aldrich
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
SOMEWHERE--in desolate wind-swept space--
In Twilight-land--in No-man's land--
Two hurrying Shapes met face to face,
And bade each other stand.
"And who are you?" cried one a-gape,
Shuddering in the gloaming light.
"I know not," said the second Shape,
"I only died last night!"