I want to sing something—but this… I try and I try, but the rhymes a… As though they were damp, and the… Limp and unlovable. Words will not say what I yearn t…

Her heart knew naught of sorrow, Nor the vaguest taint of sin— 'Twas an ever-blooming blossom Of the purity within: And her hands knew only touches

I heard the bells at midnight Ring in the dawning year; And above the clanging chorus Of the song, I seemed to hear A choir of mystic voices

A little boy once played so loud That the Thunder, up in a thunder… Said, 'Since I can’t be heard, wh… I’ll never, never thunder again!' And a little girl once kept so sti…

Oh! the old swimmin’-hole! whare t… Looked like a baby-river that was… And the gurgle of the worter round… Sounded like the laugh of somethin… Before we could remember anything…

Sir Launcelot rode overthwart and… path but as wild adventure led him… horse, and took off his saddle and… unlaced his helm, and ungirdled hi… his shield before the cross.—Age o…

Nobody on the old farm here but M… Except, of course, the extry he’p… And then, I want to say to you, w… As you’d admit, ef you’d a-seen th… A better quarter-section, ner a ri…

Ha! My dear! I’m back again— Vendor of Bohemia’s wares! Lordy! How it pants a man Climbing up those awful stairs! Well, I’ve made the dealer say

Ah, Almon Keefer! what a boy you… With your back-tilted hat and care… And open, honest, fresh, fair face… With their all-varying looks of pl… And joyous interest in flower and…

Thou Poet, who, like any lark, Dost whet thy beak and trill From misty morn till murky dark, Nor ever pipe thy fill: Hast thou not, in thy cheery note,

I am not prone to moralize In scientific doubt On certain facts that Nature trie… To puzzle us about,— For I am no philosopher

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.

Last night—how deep the darkness w… And well I knew its depths, becau… I waded it from shore to shore, Thinking to reach the light no mor… She would not even touch my hand—-…

Would that the winds might only bl… As they blew in the golden long ag… Laden with odors of Orient isles Where ever and ever the sunshine s… And the bright sands blend with th…

_May 1, 1891_. Elizabeth! Elizabeth! The first May-morning whispereth Thy gentle name in every breeze That lispeth through the young-lea…