OH, who would be sad tho’ the sky… And meadow and woodlands are empty… For softly and merrily now there c… The little white birds thro’ the w… The squirrel’s enjoying the rest o…

THOU art the soul of a summer’s… Thou art the breath of the rose. But the summer is fled And the rose is dead Where are they gone, who knows, wh…

AIN’T it nice to have a mammy W’en you kin’ o’ tiahed out Wid a—playin’ in de meddah, An’ a—runnin’ roun’ about Till hit’s made you mighty hongry,

Just whistle a bit, if the day be… And the sky be overcast: If mute be the voice of the piping… Why, pipe your own small blast. And it’s wonderful how o’er the gr…

When winter covering all the groun… Hides every sign of Spring, sir. However you may look around, Pray what will then you sing, sir? The Spring was here last year I k…

A MAIDEN wept and, as a comfort… Came one who cried, ‘I love thee,… Her in his arms and kissed her wit… That dried the tears upon her flam… While evermore his boldly blazing…

IT’s all a farce, —these tales th… About the breezes sighing, And moans astir o’er field and del… Because the year is dying. Such principles are most absurd, —

Folks is talkin’ ‘bout de money, ’… All de time de season 's changin’… An’ dey 's wond’rin’ 'bout de meta… While de price o’ coal is risin’ a… Some folks says dat gold ’s de onl…

“I am but clay,” the sinner plead, Who fed each vain desire. “Not only clay,” another said, “But worse, for thou art mire.”

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…

De way t’ings come, hit seems to m… Is des’ one monst’ous mystery; De way hit seem to strike a man, Dey ain’t no sense, dey ain’t no p… Ef trouble sta’ts a pilin’ down,

All hot and grimy from the road, Dust gray from arduous years, I sat me down and eased my load Beside the Fount of Tears. The waters sparkled to my eye,

October is the treasurer of the ye… And all the months pay bounty to h… The fields and orchards still thei… And fill her brimming coffers more… But she, with youthful lavishness,

Oh, the day has set me dreaming In a strange, half solemn way Of the feelings I experienced On another long past day,— Of the way my heart made music

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.