When little Dickie Swope’s a man, He’s go’ to be a Sailor; An’ little Hamey Tincher, he’s A-go’ to be a Tailor: Bud Mitchell, he’s a-go’ to be

Mellow hazes, lowly trailing Over wood and meadow, veiling Somber skies, with wildfowl sailin… Sailor-like to foreign lands; And the north-wind overleaping

But yesterday!... O blooms of May, And summer roses—Where-away? O stars above, And lips of love

Such a dear little street it is, n… From the noise of the city and hea… In cool shady coverts of whisperin… With their leaves lifted up to sha… Which in all its wide wanderings n…

To William Morris Pierson [1868-1870] Of the wealth of facts and fancies That our memories may recall, The old school-day romances

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

There is ever a song somewhere, my… There is ever a something sings al… There’s the song of the lark when… And the song of the thrush when th… The sunshine showers across the gr…

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…

A barefoot boy! I mark him at his… For May is here once more, and so… His dusty trousers, rolled half to… And his bare ankles grimy, too, as… Cross-hatchings of the nettle, in…

I cannot say, and I will not say That he is dead– . He is just awa… With a cheery smile, and a wave of… He has wandered into an unknown la… And left us dreaming how very fair

How slight a thing may set one’s f… Upon the dead sea of the Past!—A… Sometimes an odor—or a rooster lif… A far-off ‘OOH! OOH-OOH!’ And suddenly we find ourselves ast…

A lover said, ‘O Maiden, love me… For I must go away: And should ANOTHER ever come t… Of love—What WILL you say?’ And she let fall a royal robe of h…

Wunst I looked our pepper-box lid An’ cut little pie-dough biscuits,… And cooked 'em on our stove one da… When our hired girl she said I ma… _Honey’s_ the goodest thing—Oo-_o…

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…

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,