This is a pretty little book, but I didn't enjoy the poems as much as I'd hoped. I had recognized a number of the author's names so was looking forward to what might be offered, but most of the selections simply didn't appeal to me. There's no explaining my relationship with poetry. The ones I love mean the world to me but there is so much of it that I don't like at all. Who knows why?
I did have one good laugh somewhere in the middle of the book. It had all been fairly serious up till that point, then I came across A Hand In The Bird, by Roald Dahl. I can't reprint it for you here because of copyright law, but do find a copy if you can. It cracked me up.
Some of the poets whose works are included are Thomas Hardy, William Blake, A. E. Houseman, John Keats, William Wordsworth, Percy Byshe Shelley, Christina Rossetti and William Shakespeare. Quite an elite group, isn't it? I feel rather ashamed of myself that I couldn't find anything to love.