DEY was oncet a awful quoil 'twix… De pot was des a—bilin’ an’ de ski… Dey slurred each othah’s colah an’… W’ile de coal—oil can des gu—gled,… De pot, hit called de skillet des…

THE young queen Nature, ever swe… Once on a time fell upon evil days… From hearing oft herself discussed… There grew within her heart the lo… To see herself; and every passing…

STEP wid de banjo an’ glide wid… Dis ain’ no time fu’ to pottah an’… Fu’ Christmas is comin’, it’s rig… An’ dey’s houahs to dance 'fo’ de… What if de win’ is taihin’ an’ whi…

SO we, who’ve supped the self—sam… To—night must lay our friendship b… Your wrath has burned your judgmen… Hot breath has blown the ashes hig… You say that you are wronged —ah,…

Because you love me I have much a… Had you despised me then I must h… But since I knew you trusted and… I could not disappoint you and so…

The sun has slipped his tether And galloped down the west. (Oh, it’s weary, weary waiting, lo… The little bird is sleeping In the softness of its nest.

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’…

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…

TO F. N. Like sea—washed sand upon the shor… So fine and clean the tale, So clear and bright I almost see, The flashing of a sail.

(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;

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

She told her beads with down—cast… Within the ancient chapel dim; And ever as her fingers slim Slipt o’er th’ insensate ivories, My rapt soul followed, spaniel—wis…

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,

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,