#AmericanWriters
“I am but clay,” the sinner plead, Who fed each vain desire. “Not only clay,” another said, “But worse, for thou art mire.”
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…
She gave a rose, And I kissed it and pressed it. I love her, she knows, And my action confessed it. She gave me a rose,
Oh, what shall I do? I am wholly… I am sure I ‘ll be jailed for a l… I ’ll be out of a job—it’s the thi… When I ‘m letting my duty go by w… You may judge the extent and degre…
The smell of the sea in my nostril… The sound of the sea in mine ears; The touch of the spray on my burni… Like the mist of reluctant tears. The blue of the sky above me,
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…
O LORD, the hard—won miles Have worn my stumbling feet: Oh, soothe me with thy smiles, And make my life complete. The thorns were thick and keen
VILLAIN shows his indiscretion, Villain’s partner makes confession… Juvenile, with golden tresses, Finds her pa and dons long dresses… Scapegrace comes home money—laden,
(Lines on reading ‘Driftwood.’) Driftwood gathered here and there Along the beach of time; Now and then a chip of truth ‘Mid boards and boughs of rhyme;
SHE wrapped her soul in a lace of… With a prime deceit to pin it; And I thought I was gaining a fea… So I staked my soul to win it. We wed and parted on her complaint…
'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
GOODNIGHT, my love, for I hav… In walking dreams, until my soul i… Is lost in passion’s wide and shor… Where, like a ship unruddered, it… Hither and thither at the wild wav…
WHEN you and I were young, the d… Were filled with scent of pink and… And full of joy from dawn till clo… From morning’s mist till evening’s… And when the robin sung his song
Come, drink a stirrup cup with me, Before we close our rouse. You ‘re all aglow with wine, I kn… The master of the house, Unmindful of our revelry,
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…