#AmericanWriters
(From a Westerner’s Point of Vie… No matter what you call it, Whether genius, or art, He sings the simple songs that com… The closest to your heart.
'Tis fine to play In the fragrant hay, And romp on the golden load; To ride old Jack To the barn and back,
He was a poet who wrote clever ver… And folks said he had a fine poeti… But his father, a practical farmer… Of letting the strength of his arm… He called on his sweetheart each…
IF life were but a dream, my Love… And death the waking time; If day had not a beam, my Love, And night had not a rhyme, — A barren, barren world were this
W’EN us fellers stomp around, mak… Gramma says, 'There’s certain tim… W’en they need a shingle or the so… She says 'we’re a—itchin’ for a ri… An’ she says, 'Now thes you wait,
IF the muse were mine to tempt it And my feeble voice were strong, If my tongue were trained to measu… I would sing a stirring song. I would sing a song heroic
Not they who soar, but they who pl… Their rugged way, unhelped, to Go… Are heroes; they who higher fare, And, flying, fan the upper air, Miss all the toil that hugs the so…
Wen I git up in de mo’nin’ an’ de… Dey’s a kin’ o’ wa’nin’ shivah goe… Den I says to my ol’ ooman ez I w… 'Don’t you so’t o’ reckon, Lizy,… ‘Go on, man,’ my Lizy answah, 'yo…
‘GOOD-BYE,’ I said to my consc… ‘Good-bye for aye and aye,’ And I put her hands off harshly, And turned my face away; And conscience smitten sorely
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
I been t’inkin’ ‘bout de preachah;… ’Bout hit bein’ people’s dooty, fu… How one ought to live so pleasant… Meetin’ evahbody roun’ us wid ouah… Dat 's all right, I ain’t a—sputi…
KNOW you, winds that blow your c… Down the verdant valleys, That somewhere you must, perforce, Kiss the brow of Alice? When her gentle face you find,
The snow lies deep upon the ground… And winter’s brightness all around Decks bravely out the forest sere, With jewels of the brave old year. The coasting crowd upon the hill
YOUR spoken words are roses fine… The songs you sing are perfect pea… How lavish nature is about your fe… To scatter flowers and jewels both… Blushing the stream of petal beaut…
Back to the breast of thy mother, Child of the earth! E’en her caress can not smother What thou hast done. Follow the trail of the westering…
