#AmericanWriters
All hope of rest withdrawn me?— What dread command hath put This awful curse upon me— The curse of the wandering foot! Forward and backward and thither,
Welladay! Here I lay You at rest—all worn away, O my pencil, to the tip Of our old companionship!
All seemed delighted, though the e… Of course, than were the children.… Much interchange of mirthful compl… The story-teller said _his_ storie… (Like a bad candle) _best_ when th…
When Autumn shakes the rambo-tree… It’s a long, sweet way across the… The bird sings low as the bumble-b… It’s a long, sweet way across the… The poor shote-pig he says, says h…
I so loved once, when Death came… Away my face, And all my sweetheart’s tresses sh… To make my hiding-place. The dread shade passed me thus unh…
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…
O in the depths of midnight What fancies haunt the brain! When even the sigh of the sleeper Sounds like a sob of pain. A sense of awe and of wonder
Your hands– they are strangely fai… O Fair—for the jewels that sparkl… Fair– for the witchery of the spel… That ivory keys alone can tell; But when their delicate touches re…
With A Serious Conclusion Crowd about me, little children— Come and cluster 'round my knee While I tell a little story That happened once with me.
Let me come in where you sit weepi… Let me, who have not any child to… Weep with you for the little one w… I have known nothing of. The little arms that slowly, slowl…
While _any_ day was notable and de… That gave the children Noey, hist… Records his advent emphasized inde… With sharp italics, as he came to… The stock one special morning, fai…
I saw a man—and envied him beside— Because of this world’s goods he h… But even as I envied him, he died… And left me envious of him no more… I saw another man—and envied still…
Within the sitting-room, the compa… Had been increased in number. Two… Young couples had been added: Emm… Ella and Mary Mathers—all could s… Like veritable angels—Lydia Marti…
One 's the pictur’ of his Pa, And the _other_ of her Ma— Jes the bossest pair o’ babies ‘at… And we love ’em as the bees Loves the blossoms of the trees,
Maud Muller worked at making hay, And cleared her forty cents a day. Her clothes were coarse, but her h… And so she worked in the sweet sun… Singing as glad as a bird in May