#AmericanWriters
Leave him here in the fresh greening grasses and trees And the symbols of love, and the s… The saintly white lilies and bloss… In endless caress as
Bud, come here to your uncle a spe… And I’ll tell you something you m… For it’s a secret and shore-'nuf t… And maybe I oughtn’t to tell it t… But out in the garden, under the s…
_The Child-World—long and long si… A Fairy Paradise!— How always fair it was and fresh a… How every affluent hour heaped hea… With treasures of surprise!
I can’t extend to every friend In need a helping hand— No matter though I wish it so, 'Tis not as Fortune planned; But haply may I fancy they
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’m thist a little cripple boy, an… An’ get a great big man at all!—'c… When I was thist a baby onc’t, I… An’ got 'The Curv’ture of the Sp… I never had no Mother nen—fer my…
I’ve ben thinkin’ back, of late, S’prisin’!—And I’m here to state I’m suspicious it’s a sign Of _age_, maybe, or decline Of my faculties,—and yit
I had fed the fire and stirred it,… Snapped their saucy little fingers… And in dressing-gown and slippers,… throne’— The old split-bottomed rocker—and…
Ho! it’s come, kids, come! 'With a bim! bam! bum! Here’s little Billy bangin’ on hi… He’s a-marchin’ round the room, With his feather-duster plume
AFTER LEE O. HARRIS The master-hand whose pencils trac… This wondrous landscape of the mor… Is but the sun, whose glowing face Reflects the rapture and the grace
O the old trundle-bed where I sle… What canopied king might not covet… The glory and peace of that slumbe… Like a long, gracious rest in the… The quaint, homely couch, hidden c…
They’s a kind o’ _feel_ in the air… When the Chris’mas-times sets in. That’s about as much of a mystery As ever I’ve run ag’in!— Fer instunce, now, whilse I gain…
Writ in between the lines of his l… We trace the sacred service of a h… Answering the Divine command, in… Bearing on human weal: His love d… The loveless; and his gentle hands…
There is ever a song somewhere, my… There is ever a something sings al… There’s the song of the lark when… And the song of the thrush when th… The sunshine showers across the gr…
The orchard lands of Long Ago! O drowsy winds, awake, and blow The snowy blossoms back to me, And all the buds that used to be! Blow back along the grassy ways