#AmericanWriters
OH, who is the Lord of the land o… When hotly goes the fray? When, fierce we smile in the midst… Then whom shall we obey? Oh, Love is the Lord of the land…
LET me close the eyes of my soul That I may not see What stands between thee and me. Let me shut the ears of my heart That I may not hear
UNCLE JOHN, he makes me tired; Thinks 'at he’s jest so all—fired Smart, 'at he kin pick up, so, Ever’thing he wants to know. Tried to ketch me up last night,
THE YOUNG MASTER ASKS… Whut you say, dah? huh, uh! chile, You 's enough to dribe me wile. Want a sto’y; jes’ hyeah dat! Whah’ 'll I git a sto’y at?
Oh, summer has clothed the earth In a cloak from the loom of the su… And a mantle, too, of the skies’ s… And a belt where the rivers run. And now for the kiss of the wind,
‘GOOD-BYE,’ I said to my consc… ‘Good-bye for aye and aye,’ And I put her hands off harshly, And turned my face away; And conscience smitten sorely
THOUGH the winds be dank, And the sky be sober, And the grieving Day In a mantle gray Hath let her waiting maiden robe h…
OH, I haven’t got long to live, f… Die soon, e’en those who live long… And the poorest and weakest are ta… Along with the richest and stronge… So it’s heigho for a glass and a s…
My neighbor lives on the hill, And I in the valley dwell, My neighbor must look down on me, Must I look up?—ah, well, My neighbor lives on the hill,
The sun hath shed its kindly light… Our harvesting is gladly o’er Our fields have felt no killing bl… Our bins are filled with goodly st… From pestilence, fire, flood, and…
Ashes to ashes, dust unto dust, What of his loving, what of his lu… What of his passion, what of his p… What of his poverty, what of his p… Earth, the great mother, has calle…
UNDERNEATH the autumn sky, Haltingly, the lines go by. Ah, would steps were blithe and ga… As when first they marched away, Smile on lip and curl on brow,
Bones a—gittin’ achy, Back a—feelin’ col’, Han’s a—growin’ shaky, Jes’ lak I was ol’. Fros’ erpon de meddah
In this sombre garden close What has come and passed, who know… What red passion, what white pain Haunted this dim walk in vain? Underneath the ivied wall,
Tek a cool night, good an’ cleah, Skiff o’ snow upon de groun’; Jes’ 'bout fall—time o’ de yeah W’en de leaves is dry an brown; Tek a dog an’ tek a axe,