#AmericanWriters
The greeting of the company throug… Was like a jubilee,—the children’s… And fusillading hand-claps, with g… And detonations of the older ones, Raged to such tumult of tempestuou…
Get gone, thou most uncomfortable… Thou really dost annoy me with thy… Impalpable transparency of grin; And the vague, shadowy shape of th… Hath vext me beyond boundary and c…
How many of my selves are dead? The ghosts of many haunt me: Lo, The baby in the tiny bed With rockers on, is blanketed And sleeping in the long ago;
Who shall sing a simple ditty abou… Dainty-fine and delicate as any be… That dandles high the dainty bird… Tremulously tender song of greetin… Bravest, too, of all the trees!—no…
Nothin’ to say, my daughter! Noth… Gyrls that’s in love, I’ve notice… Yer mother did, afore you, when he… Yit here I am, and here you air;… You look lots like yer mother: Pu…
Another hero of those youthful yea… Returns, as Noey Bixler’s name ap… And Noey—if in any special way— Was notably good-natured.—Work or… He entered into with selfsame deli…
With a sweeter voice than birds Dare to twitter in their sleep, Pipe for me a tune of words, Till my dancing fancies leap Into freedom vaster far
The Hoosier Folk-Child—all unsun… Unlettered all of mind and tongue; Unmastered, unmolested—made Most wholly frank and unafraid: Untaught of any school—unvexed
O her eyes are amber-fine— Dark and deep as wells of wine, While her smile is like the noon Splendor of a day of June. If she sorrow—lo! her face
I caught, for a second, across the… Just for a second, and barely that… A face, pox-pitted and evil-browed… Hid in the shade of a slouch-rim’d… With small gray eyes, of a look as…
I have jest about decided It 'ud keep a _town-boy_ hoppin’ Fer to work all winter, choppin’ Fer a’ old fire-place, like _I_ d… Lawz! them old times wuz contrairy…
There is a princess in the South About whose beauty rumors hum Like honey-bees about the mouth Of roses dewdrops falter from; And O her hair is like the fine
I heard the bells at midnight Ring in the dawning year; And above the clanging chorus Of the song, I seemed to hear A choir of mystic voices
I would not trace the hackneyed ph… Of shallow words and empty praise, And prate of 'peace’ till one migh… My foolish pen was drunk with ink. Nor will I here the wish express
_Curly Locks! Curly Locks! wilt… Thou shalt not wash the dishes, no… But sit on a cushion and sew a fin… And feast upon strawberries, sugar… Curly Locks! Curly Locks! wilt t…