#Americans #XIXCentury #XXCentury
Had a hare-lip—Joney had: Spiled his looks, and Joney knowe… Fellers tried to bore him, bad— But ef ever he got mad, He kep’ still and never showed it.
We must get home—for we have been… So long it seems forever and a day… And O so very homesick we have gr… The laughter of the world is like… In our tired hearing, and its song…
Back from a two-years’ sentence! And though it had been ten, You think, I were scarred no deep… In the eyes of my fellow-men. ‘My fellow-men—?’ Sounds like a s…
Thou drowsy god, whose blurred eye… Muse on me—, drifting out upon thy… I lave my soul as in enchanted str… Where revelling satyrs pipe along… And tipsy with the melody they dri…
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…
I find an old deserted nest, Half-hidden in the underbrush: A withered leaf, in phantom jest, Has nestled in it like a thrush With weary, palpitating breast.
Written In Madison Caweln’s ‘Lyr… Herein are blown from out the Sou… Songs blithe as those of Pan’s pu… As sweet in voice as, in perfume, The night-breath of magnolia-bloom…
Ay, thou varlet! Laugh away! All the world’s a holiday! Laugh away, and roar and shout Till thy hoarse tongue lolleth out… Bloat thy cheeks, and bulge thine…
‘Why do I sing—Tra-la-la-la-la! Glad as a King?—Tra-la-la-la-la! Well, since you ask,— I have such a pleasant task, I can not help but sing!
Lying listless in the mosses Underneath a tree that tosses Flakes of sunshine, and embosses Its green shadow with the snow— Drowsy-eyed, I sink in slumber
No song is mine of Arab steed— My courser is of nobler blood, And cleaner limb and fleeter speed… And greater strength and hardihood Than ever cantered wild and free
_(Grandfather, musing.)_ In childish days! O memory, You bring such curious things to m… Laughs to the lip—tears to the eye… In looking on the gifts that lie
Where are they—the Afterwhiles— Luring us the lengthening miles Of our lives? Where is the dawn With the dew across the lawn Stroked with eager feet the far
The past is like a story I have listened to in dreams That vanished in the glory Of the Morning’s early gleams; And—at my shadow glancing—
'I deem that God is not disquiete… This in a mighty poet’s rhymes I… And blazoned so forever doth abide Within my soul the legend glorifie… Though awful tempests thunder over…