#AmericanWriters
She waited in a rose-hued room; A wanton-hearted creature she, But beautiful and bright to see As some great orchid just in bloom… Upon wide cushions stretched at ea…
There is nothing, I hold, in the… That a human being may not achieve If he does not falter, or shrink,… And more than all, if he will beli… Believe in himself and the power b…
I’d rather have my verses win A place in common people’s hearts, Who, toiling through the strife an… Of life’s great thoroughfares, and… May read some line my hand has pen…
She leaned out into the soft June… With her long loose tresses the ni… Her eyes were as blue as the bells… Oh, what is so fair as a fair youn… She folded her hands, like the lea…
When I shall meet God’s generous… Of all the riches in the heavenly… Those lesser gods, who act as Rec… For loneliness and loss upon this… Methinks abashed, and somewhat hes…
It I may not reach the heights I see… My untried strength may fail me; Or, halfway up the mountain peak Fierce tempests may assail me.
So we must part forever; and altho… I long have beat my wings and crie… Free from your narrow limiting con… Forth into space, the true home of… Yet now, yet now that hour is draw…
I will paint you a sign, rumseller… And hang it above your door; A truer and better signboard Than ever you had before. I will paint with the skill of a m…
Over my desk in a dark office bend… Dim seems the sunlight and dull se… But when the afternoon draws towar… Here waits my steel steed-I mount… Like cobwebs of silver I see in t…
She’s the jauntiest of creatures,… With her pretty patent leathers or… With her eyes inviting glances and… As she wanders by the ocean or str… She’s a captivating dresser, and h…
Our lives are songs. God writes t… And we set them to music at pleasu… And the song grows glad, or sweet,… As we choose to fashion the measur… We must write the music, whatever…
I want more lives in which to love This world so full of beauty, I want more days to use the ways I know of doing duty; I ask no greater joy than this
The year has but one June, dear f… The year has but one June; And when that perfect month doth e… The robin’s song, though loud, tho… Seems never quite in tune.
My heart is like a little bird That sits and sings for very gladn… Sorrow is some forgotten word, And so, except in rhyme, is sadnes… The world is very fair to me—
Let no man pray that he know not s… Let no soul ask to be free from pa… For the gall of to-day is the swee… And the moment’s loss is the lifet… Through want of a thing does its w…