DAWN As though a gipsy maiden with dim… Sat crooning by the roadside of th… So, Autumn, in thy strangeness, t… To read dark fortunes for us from…

On the banks o’ Deer Crick! Ther… Worter slidin’ past ye jes as clai… See yer shadder in it, and the sha… And the shadder o’ the buzzard as… Shadder o’ the pizen-vines, and sh…

He was a Dreamer of the Days: Indolent as a lazy breeze Of midsummer, in idlest ways Lolling about in the shade of tree… The farmer turned—as he passed him…

There was a curious quiet for a sp… Directly following: and in the fac… Of one rapt listener pulsed the fl… Of the heat-lightning that pent pa… Long ere the crash of speech.—He…

O heart of mine, we shouldn’t Worry so! What we’ve missed of calm we could… Have, you know! What we’ve met of stormy pain,

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…

The smiling face of a happy boy With its enchanted key Is now unlocking in memory My store of heartiest joy. And my lost life again to-day,

'I have twankled the strings of th… I have burnished the meteor’s mail… I have bridled the wind When he whinnied and whined With a bunch of stars tied to his…

It tossed its head at the wooing b… And the sun, like a bashful swain, Beamed on it through the waving tr… With a passion all in vain,— For my rose laughed in a crimson g…

They called him Mr. What’s-his-na… From where he was, or why he came, Or when, or what he found to do, Nobody in the city knew. He lived, it seemed, shut up alone

Wasn’t it pleasant, O brother min… In those old days of the lost suns… Of youth—when the Saturday’s chor… And the 'Sunday’s wood’ in the ki… And we went visiting, ‘me and you,…

DEAD! my wayward boy—_my own_— Not _the Law’s!_ but _mine_—the g… God’s free gift to me alone, Sanctified by motherhood. ‘Bad,’ you say: Well, who is not?

I know all about the Sphinx— I know even what she thinks, Staring with her stony eyes Up forever at the skies. For last night I dreamed that she

They ain’t no style about 'em, And they’re sorto’ pale and faded, Yit the doorway here, without ‘em, Would be lonesomer, and shaded With a good ’eal blacker shudder

Of all the doctors I could cite y… Doc Sifers is my favorite, jes’ t… Count in the Bethel Neighberhood,… And Sifers’ standin’s jes’ as goo… There’s old Doc Wick, and Glenn,…