#AmericanWriters
A little kingdom I possess where thoughts and feelings dwell, And very hard I find the task of governing it well; For passion tempts and troubles me…
THE moon upon the wide sea Placidly looks down, Smiling with her mild face, Though the ocean frown. Clouds may dim her brightness,
Thistledown in prison sings: Bright shines the summer sun, Soft is the summer air; Gayly the wood-birds sing, Flowers are blooming fair.
From our happy home Through the world we roam One week in all the year, Making winter spring With the joy we bring
O lesson well and wisely taught Stay with me to the last, That all my life may better be For the trial that is past. O vanity, mislead no more!
‘And if your Nancy frowns, my lad… And scorns a jacket blue, Just hoist your sails for other po… And find a maid more true.’
‘Bright shines the summer sun, Soft is the summer air; Gayly the wood-birds sing, Flowers are blooming fair. ’But, deep in the dark, cold rock,
Queen of my tub, I merrily sing, While the white foam raises high, And sturdily wash, and rinse, and… And fasten the clothes to dry; Then out in the free fresh air the…
We sighing said, “Our Pan is dead… His pipe hangs mute beside the riv… Around it wistful sunbeams quiver, But Music’s airy voice is fled. Spring mourns as for untimely fros…
CHEERFUL voices by the sea-sid… Echoed through the summer air, Happy children, fresh and rosy, Sang and sported freely there, Often turning friendly glances,
Brighter shone the golden shadows; On the cool wind softly came The low, sweet tones of happy flow… Singing little Violet’s name. ‘Mong the green trees was it whisp…
O flower at my window Why blossom you so fair, With your green and purple cup Upturned to sun and air? ‘I bloom, blithesome Bessie,
We are sending you, dear flowers Forth alone to die, Where your gentle sisters may not… O’er the cold graves where you lie… But you go to bring them fadeless…
‘The puir auld folk at home, ye mi… Are frail and failing sair; And weel I ken they’d miss me, la… Gin I come hame nae mair. The grist is out, the times are ha…
‘Beds to the front of them, Beds to the right of them, Beds to the left of them, Nobody blundered. Beamed at by hungry souls,