#AmericanWriters
You think it is a sorry thing That I am blind. Your pitying Is welcome to me; yet indeed, I think I have but little need Of it. Though you may marvel much
On old Brandywine—about Where White’s Lots is now laid ou… And the old crick narries down To the ditch that splits the town—… Kingry’s Mill stood. Hardly see
If I knew what poets know, Would I write a rhyme Of the buds that never blow In the summer-time? Would I sing of golden seeds
1 Granny’s come to our house, 2 And ho! my lawzy-daisy! 3 All the childern round the p… 4 Is ist a-runnin’ crazy! 5 Fetched a cake fer little J…
Pap’s got his patent-right, and ri… But where’s the peace and comfort… Le’s go a-visitin’ back to Griggs… Back where we ust to be so happy a… The likes of us a-livin’ here! It…
AFTER LEE O. HARRIS The master-hand whose pencils trac… This wondrous landscape of the mor… Is but the sun, whose glowing face Reflects the rapture and the grace
Within the sitting-room, the compa… Had been increased in number. Two… Young couples had been added: Emm… Ella and Mary Mathers—all could s… Like veritable angels—Lydia Marti…
Ah, friend of mine, how goes it, Since you’ve taken you a mate?— Your smile, though, plainly shows… Is a very happy state! Dan Cupid’s necromancy!
SONG [W.S.] With a hey! and a hi! and a hey-ho… O the shepherd lad He is ne’er so glad
O we go down to sea in ships— But Hope remains behind, And Love, with laughter on his li… And Peace, of passive mind; While out across the deeps of nigh…
Old Man Whiskery-Whee-Kum-Wheez… Lives 'way up in the leaves o’ tre… An’ wunst I slipped up-stairs to… In Aunty’s room, while she 'uz aw… An’ I clumbed up in her cushion-c…
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…
A quite convincing axiom Is, 'Life is like a play’; For, turning back its pages some Few dog-eared years away, I find where I
A monument for the Soldiers! And what will ye build it of? Can ye build it of marble, or bras… Outlasting the Soldiers’ love? Can ye glorify it with legends
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…