#AmericanWriters
THE YOUNG MASTER ASKS… Whut you say, dah? huh, uh! chile, You 's enough to dribe me wile. Want a sto’y; jes’ hyeah dat! Whah’ 'll I git a sto’y at?
'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
‘In the fight at Brandywine, Blac… a scythe, sweeps his way through t… '_Myths and Legends of Our Own L… Gray are the pages of record, Dim are the volumes of eld;
The world is a snob, and the man w… Is the chap for its money’s worth: And the lust for success causes ha… That are cursing this brave old ea… For it 's fine to go up, and the w…
Ther’ ain’t no use in all this str… An’ hurryin’, pell—mell, right thr… I don’t believe in goin’ too fast To see what kind o’ road you’ve pa… It ain’t no mortal kind o’ good,
AH, Nora, my Nora, the light fad… While Night like a spirit steals… The thrash from his tree where he… No longer his music in ecstasy tri… Then, Nora, be near me; thy prese…
DAYS git wa’m and wa’mah, School gits mighty dull, Seems lak dese hyeah teachahs Mus’ feel mussiful. Hookey’s wrong, I know it
W’EN de evenin’ shadders Come a—glidin’ down, Fallin’ black an’ heavy Ovah hill an’ town, Ef you listen keerful,
In the east the morning comes, Hear the rollin’ of the drums On the hill. But the heart that beat as they be… In the battle’s raging day heat
Oh for the breath of the briny dee… And the tug of the bellying sail, With the sea—gull’s cry across the… And a passing boatman’s hail. For, be she fierce or be she gay,
Out of the sunshine and out of the… Out of the dust of the grimy stree… A song fluttered down in the form… And it bore me a message, the one… Ah, I was toiling, and oh, I was…
Ah me, it is cold and chill And the fire sobs low in the grate… While the wind rides by on the hil… And the logs crack sharp with hate… And she, she is cold and sad
This is to—day, a golden summer’s… And yet—and yet My vengeful soul will not forget The past, forever now forgot, you… From that half height where I had…
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,
'T is better to sit here beside th… Here on the spray—kissed beach, In silence, that between such frie… Is full of deepest speech.