#AmericanWriters
Uncle Sidney, when he wuz here, Maked me a squirtgun out o’ some Elder-bushes ‘at growed out near Where wuz the brickyard—’way out c… To where the toll-gate come!
Only a dream! Her head is bent Over the keys of the instrument, While her trembling fingers go ast… In the foolish tune she tries to p…
Sweet little myth of the nursery s… Earliest love of mine infantile br… Be something tangible, bloom in th… Into existence, as thou art addres… Hasten! appear to me, guileless an…
DIED—Early morning of September… in the gleaming dawn of ‘name and… Hamilton J. Dunbar. Dead! Dead! Dead! We thought him ours alone;
The audience entire seemed pleased… _Extremely_ pleased. And little M… From her task of instructing, ran… Her wondrous colored picture to an… Among the company.
Gracie wuz allus a _careless_ tot; But Gracie dearly loved her doll, An’ played wiv it on the winder-si… 'Way up-stairs, when she ought to… An’ her muvver _telled_ her so an’…
O The South Wind and the Sun! How each loved the other one Full of fancy—- full folly— Full of jollity and fun! How they romped and ran about,
The harp of the minstrel has never… As sad as the song in his bosom to… For the magical touch of his finge… Can not waken the echoes that brea… But oh! as the smile of the moon m…
DEAD! my wayward boy—_my own_— Not _the Law’s!_ but _mine_—the g… God’s free gift to me alone, Sanctified by motherhood. ‘Bad,’ you say: Well, who is not?
Time is so long when a man is dead… Some one sews; and the room is mad… Very clean; and the light is shed Soft through the window-shade. Yesterday I thought: ‘I know
Because her eyes were far too deep And holy for a laugh to leap Across the brink where sorrow trie… To drown within the amber tide; Because the looks, whose ripples k…
They meet to say farewell: Their… Of saying this is hard to say—. He holds her hand an Instant, who… Distressed—and she unclasps it slo… He lends his gaze evasively
At Noey’s house—when they arrived… How snug seemed everything, and ne… The little picket-fence, and littl… It’s little pulley, and its little… All glib as clock-work, as it clic…
When frost’s all on our winder, an… All out-o’-doors, our 'Old-Kriss’… A-drivin’ round, ist purt’-nigh fr… With his old white mustache froze… But when it’s summer an’ all warm…
All hope of rest withdrawn me?— What dread command hath put This awful curse upon me— The curse of the wandering foot! Forward and backward and thither,