My Mary, O my Mary! The simmer-skies are blue; The dawnin’ brings the dazzle, An’ the gloamin’ brings the dew,— The mirk o’ nicht the glory

Ho! green fields and running brook… Knotted strings and fishing-hooks Of the truant, stealing down Weedy backways of the town. Where the sunshine overlooks,

Only a dream! Her head is bent Over the keys of the instrument, While her trembling fingers go ast… In the foolish tune she tries to p…

The landscape, like the awed face… Grew curiously blurred; a hush of… Fell on the fields, and in the dar… The zephyr held its breath. No wavering glamour-work of light…

Old friend of mine, whose chiming… Has been the burthen of a rhyme Within my heart since first I cam… To know thee in thy mellow prime; With warm emotions in my breast

An afternoon as ripe with heat As might the golden pippin be With mellowness if at my feet It dropped now from the apple-tree My hammock swings in lazily.

The Crankadox leaned o’er the edg… And wistfully gazed on the sea Where the Gryxabodill madly whist… To the air of ‘Ti-fol-de-ding-dee… The quavering shriek of the Fly-u…

Right here at home, boys, in old… Where strangers allus joke us when… And brag o’ _their_ old States an… Yit _settle_ here; and 'fore they… They’re 'hoosier’ as the rest of u…

O The South Wind and the Sun! How each loved the other one Full of fancy—- full folly— Full of jollity and fun! How they romped and ran about,

It’s a mystery to see me—a man o’… Who’s lived a cross old bachelor f… A-lookin’ glad and smilin’! And t… That you can guess the reason why… I must tell you all about it! But…

He was jes a plain ever’-day, all-… Consumpted-Iookin’—but la! The jokeiest, wittiest, story-tell… Feller you ever saw! Worked at jes coarse work, but you…

He called her in from me and shut… And she so loved the sunshine and… She loved them even better yet tha… That ne’er knew dearth of them—my… Nature had nursed me in her lap in…

The air falls chill; The whippoorwill Pipes lonesomely behind the Hill: The dusk grows dense, The silence tense;

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