#AmericanWriters
De win’ is hollahin’ 'Daih you’ t… De snow’s a—sayin’ 'Got you’ to d… Fu’ de wintah weathah 's come wido… An’ he 's laughin’ in his sleeve a… Fu’ dey ain’t nobody ready wid dey…
THE little bird sits in the nest… A shy, soft song to the morning li… And it flutters a little and prune… The song is halting and poor and b… And the fluttering wings scarce st…
MOTHER’s gone a—visitin’ to spe… An’, oh, the house is lonesome ez… To other trees to build ag’in; the… That the echoes run like sperrits… The shetters flap more lazy—like '…
How’s a man to write a sonnet, can… How’s he going to weave the dim, p… When a—toddling on the floor Is the muse he must adore, And this muse he loves, not wisely…
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…
I think that though the clouds be… That though the waves dash o’er th… Yet after while the light will com… And in calm waters safe at home The bark will anchor.
Little brown baby wif spa’klin’ ey… Come to yo’ pappy an’ set on his k… What you been doin’, suh —makin’ s… Look at dat bib —you’s es du’ty ez… Look at dat mouf —dat’s merlasses,…
THE trees bend down along the str… Where anchored swings my tiny boat… The day is one to drowse and dream And list the thrush’s throttling n… When music from his bosom bleeds
AFTER READING ‘LEAD,… Lead gently, Lord, and slow, For oh, my steps are weak, And ever as I go, Some soothing sentence speak;
She sang, and I listened the whol… (It was sweet, so sweet, the singi… The stars were out and the moon it… From a wee soft glimmer way out in… To a bird thro’ the heavens wingin…
SINCE I left the city’s heat For this sylvan, cool retreat, High upon the hill—side here Where the air is clean and clear, I have lost the urban ways.
A LITTLE bird, with plumage bro… Beside my window flutters down, A moment chirps its little strain, Then taps upon my window—pane, And chirps again, and hops along,
By rugged ways and thro’ the night We struggle blindly toward the lig… And groping, stumbling, ever pray For sight of long delaying day. The cruel thorns beside the road
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’…
WHAT if the wind do howl without… And turn the creaking weather—vane… What if the arrows of the rain Do beat against the window—pane? Art thou not armored strong and fa…