#AmericanWriters
Let us be thankful—not only becaus… Since last our universal thanks we… We have grown greater in the world… And fortune’s newer smiles surpass… But thankful for all things that c…
I hain’t no hand at tellin’ tales, Er spinnin’ yarns, as the sailors… Someway o’ 'nother, language fails To slide fer me in the oily way That LAWYERS has; and I wisht…
Heigh-ho! Babyhood! Tell me where… Let’s toddle home again, for we ha… Take this eager hand of mine and l… Back to the Lotus lands of the fa… Turn back the leaves of life; don’…
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
‘He is my friend,’ I said,— ‘Be patient!’ Overhead The skies were drear and dim; And lo! the thought of him Smited on my heart—and then
A NEW VERSION BY LEE… WHITCOMB RILEY ‘You are old, Father William, and… All the veins in your body were dr… Yet the end of your nose is red as…
The Hired Man’s supper, which he… In near reach of the wood-box, the… And one leaf of the kitchen-table,… Somewhat belated, and in lifted pa… His dextrous knife was balancing a…
In youth he wrought, with eyes abl… Lorn-faced and long of hair— In youth—in youth he painted her A sister of the air— Could clasp her not, but felt the…
Who would be A merman gay, Singing alone, Sitting alone, With a mermaid’s knee,
He seemed so strange to me, every… In manner, and form, and size, From the boy I knew but yesterday… I could hardly believe my eyes! To hear his name called over there…
Season of snows, and season of flo… Seasons of loss and gain!— Since grief and joy must alike be… Why do we still complain? Ever our failing, from sun to sun,
Always suddenly they are gone— The friends we trusted and held se… Suddenly we are gazing on, Not a _smiling_ face, but the marb… Dead mask of a face that nevermore
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…
What is it in old fiddle-chunes 'a… And ripples up my backbone tel I’… Kindo’ like that sweet-sick feelin… The first you ever swung in, with… Yer first picnic—yer first ice-cre…
Noon-time and June-time, down aro… Have to furse with ‘Lizey Ann—but… Drives me off the place, and says… Land o’ gracious! time’ll come I’… Little Dave, a-choppin’ wood, nev…