#AmericanWriters
There is naught in the pathless re… Of the pale, blue sky above, There is naught that the stars tel… As over the heavens they rove; That I have not felt, or have not…
O, Little David, play on your har… That ivory harp with the golden st… And sing as you did in Jewry Land… Of the Prince of Peace and the G… And the coming Christ Immanuel.
Out of the silence I come to you, Bringing a love Free as the dew. I come and sing
Forget? Ah, never! Your eyes, your voice, your lips. Those little ways of love, Half-childish yet all-wise
The slender moon in its silvery sh… The golden stars with the blue bet… Of a dreamy, summer sky; And still the night winds sigh. With the silvery moon to whisper t…
Old memories come trooping down The vistas of the years; In blue-girt robes of pleasure cla… Or garbed in tears. Down from the days when hope was y…
Were you to come, With your clear, gray eyes As calmly placid as, in summer’s h… At noontide lie the sultry skies; With your dark, brown hair
I know not why or whence he came Or how he chanced to go; I only know he brought me love, And going, left me woe. I do not ask that he turn back
I would not tarry if I could be g… Adown the path where calls my eage… That fate which knows naught but t… Holds me within its grasp, a helpl… And checks my steps when I would…
I’m a-waiting and a-watching for t… For the sun that’s ever shining, f… For the light that casts no shadow… For the rose that’s ever blooming… I’m a-waiting and a watching for t…
I plucked a rose from out a bower… That overhung my garden seat; And wondered I if, e’er before, b… A rose so sweet. Enwrapt in beauty I scarce felt t…
Old November, sere and brown, Clothes the country, haunts the to… Sheds its cloak of withered leaves… Brings its sighing, soughing breez… Prophet of the dying year,
Now with the dust that bore him he… Silent, into into earth’s silent m… Dimmed is his light, as with the s… He folds his steps unto the God w… When shall the weak stand and rejo…
The little child crosses the stree… Why does she wave to me? What sees she in my wasted form To hail so joyously? Her olive face and curly hair
Blue eyes, gray eyes, All the eyes that be, Hold within their changing depths Wealth of charm to me. Dark-eyed maid, of moment’s fancy,