#Americans #Blacks #XIXCentury
Bones a—gittin’ achy, Back a—feelin’ col’, Han’s a—growin’ shaky, Jes’ lak I was ol’. Fros’ erpon de meddah
Lucy done gone back on me, Dat’s de way wif life. Evaht’ing was movin’ free, T’ought I had my wife. Den some dahky comes along,
DINAH stan’ befo’ de glass, Lookin’ moughty neat, An’ huh purty shadder sass At huh haid an’ feet. While she sasshay 'roun’ an’ bow,
WHAT says the wind to the waving… What says the wave to the river? What means the sigh in the passing… Why do the rushes quiver? Have you not heard the fainting cr…
The moon begins her stately ride Across the summer sky; The happy wavelets lash the shore,… The tide is rising high. Beneath some friendly blade of gra…
Key and bar, key and bar, Iron bolt and chain! And what will you do when the Kin… To enter his domain? Turn key and lift bar,
BEYOND the years the answer lie… Beyond where brood the grieving sk… And Night drops tears. Where Faith rod—chastened smiles… And doff its fears,
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…
The sun has slipped his tether And galloped down the west. (Oh, it’s weary, weary waiting, lo… The little bird is sleeping In the softness of its nest.
It is as if a silver chord Were suddenly grown mute, And life’s song with its rhythm wa… Against a silver lute. It is as if a silence fell
THE air is dark, the sky is gray, The misty shadows come and go, And here within my dusky room Each chair looks ghostly in the gl… Outside the rain falls cold and sl…
SWEETEST of the flowers a—bloo… In the fragrant vernal days Is the Lily of the Valley With its soft, retiring ways. Well, you chose this humble blosso…
Men may sing of their Havanas, el… The real or fancied virtues of the… But I worship Nicotina at a diffe… And she sits enthroned in glory in… It ‘s as fragrant as the meadows w…
Bedtime 's come fu’ little boys. Po’ little lamb. Too tiahed out to make a noise, Po’ little lamb. You gwine t’ have to—morrer sho’?
'Tis an old deserted homestead On the outskirts of the town, Where the roof is all moss—covered… And the walls are tumbling down; But around that little cottage