The landscape, like the awed face… Grew curiously blurred; a hush of… Fell on the fields, and in the dar… The zephyr held its breath. No wavering glamour-work of light…

Here’s his ragged 'roundabout’; Turn the pockets inside out: See; his pen-knife, lost to use, Rusted shut with apple-juice; Here, with marbles, top and string…

While with Ambition’s hectic flam… He wastes the midnight oil, And dreams, high-throned on height… To rest him from his toil,— Death’s Angel, like a vast eclips…

Neglected now is the old guitar And moldering into decay; Fretted with many a rift and scar That the dull dust hides away, While the spider spins a silver st…

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…

I know all about the Sphinx— I know even what she thinks, Staring with her stony eyes Up forever at the skies. For last night I dreamed that she

He was jes a plain ever’-day, all-… Consumpted-Iookin’—but la! The jokeiest, wittiest, story-tell… Feller you ever saw! Worked at jes coarse work, but you…

O The Little Lady’s dainty As the picture in a book, And her hands are creamy-whiter Than the water-lilies look; Her laugh’s the undrown’d music

The same old story told again— The maiden droops her head, The ripening glow of her crimson c… Is answering in her stead. The pleading tone of a trembling v…

A king—estranged from his loving… By a foolish royal whim— Tired and sick of the dull routine Of matters surrounding him— Issued a mandate in this wise.—

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

MAY 30, 1878, Dying for victory, cheer on cheer Thundered on his eager ear. —CHARLES L. HOLSTEIN. Deep, tender, firm and true, the…

‘The voice of One hath spoken, And the bended reed is bruised— The golden bowl is broken, And the silver cord is loosed.’ Over the eyes of gladness

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…

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…