#AmericanWriters
A hush is over all the teeming lis… And there is pause, a breath—space… A spirit brave has passed beyond t… And vapors that obscure the sun of… And Ethiopia, with bosom torn,
Oh to have you in May, To talk with you under the trees, Dreaming throughout the day, Drinking the wine—like breeze, Oh it were sweet to think
By Mystic’s banks I held my dream… (I held my fishing rod as well,) The vision was of dace and bream, A fruitless vision, sooth to tell. But round about the sylvan dell
I sit upon the old sea wall, And watch the shimmering sea, Where soft and white the moonbeams… Till, in a fantasy, Some pure white maiden’s funeral p…
GOOD hunting! —aye, good hunting… Wherever the forests call; But ever a heart beats hot with fe… And what of the birds that fall? Good hunting! —aye, good hunting,
Seems lak folks is mighty curus In de way dey t’inks an’ ac’s. Dey jes’ spen’s dey days a—mixin’ Up de t’ings in almanacs. Now, I min’ my nex’ do’ neighbour…
In this sombre garden close What has come and passed, who know… What red passion, what white pain Haunted this dim walk in vain? Underneath the ivied wall,
My lady love lives far away, And oh my heart is sad by day, And ah my tears fall fast by night… What may I do in such a plight. Why, miles grow few when love is f…
I’VE always been a faithful man An’ tried to live for duty, But the stringent mode of life Has somewhat lost its beauty. The story of the generous bread
Love hath the wings of the butterf… Oh, clasp him but gently, Pausing and dipping and fluttering… Inconsequently. Stir not his poise with the breath…
DEY had a gread big pahty down to… Was I dah? You bet! I neveh in m… All de folks f’om fou’ plantations… Dey come troopin’ thick ez chillun… Evahbody dressed deir fines’—Heis…
SEEN you down at chu’ch las’ nig… Nevah min’, Miss Lucy. What I mean? oh, dat 's all right… Nevah min’, Miss Lucy. You was sma’t ez sma’t could be,
FOLKS ain’t got no right to cens… Him dat giv’ de squir’ls de bushta… Him dat built de gread big mountai… Him dat made de streets an’ drivew… We is all constructed diff’ent, d’…
THE sand—man he’s a jolly old fel… His face is kind and his voice is… But he makes your eyelids as heavy… And then you got to go off to bed; I don’t think I like the sand—man…
THOUGH the winds be dank, And the sky be sober, And the grieving Day In a mantle gray Hath let her waiting maiden robe h…