#AmericanWriters
From our happy home Through the world we roam One week in all the year, Making winter spring With the joy we bring,
We sighing said, “Our Pan is dead… His pipe hangs mute beside the riv… Around it wistful sunbeams quiver, But Music’s airy voice is fled. Spring mourns as for untimely fros…
‘Bright shines the summer sun, Soft is the summer air; Gayly the wood-birds sing, Flowers are blooming fair. ’But, deep in the dark, cold rock,
‘I write about the butterfly, It is a pretty thing; And flies about like the birds, But it does not sing. ’First it is a little grub,
We are sending you, dear flowers Forth alone to die, Where your gentle sisters may not… O’er the cold graves where you lie… But you go to bring them fadeless…
Hither, hither, from thy home, Airy sprite, I bid thee come! Born of roses, fed on dew, Charms and potions canst thou brew… Bring me here, with elfin speed,
He that is down need fear no fall, He that is low no pride. He that is humble ever shall Have God to be his guide. I am content with what I have,
Swallow, swallow, neighbor swallow… Starting on your autumn flight, Pause a moment at my window, Twitter softly your good-night; For the summer days are over,
Awake! Awake! for the earliest gl… Of golden sunlight shines On the rippling waves, that bright… Beneath the flowering vines. Awake! Awake! for the low, sweet…
The moonlight fades from flower an… And the stars dim one by one; The tale is told, the song is sung… And the Fairy feast is done. The night-wind rocks the sleeping…
Long ago in a poultry yard One dull November morn, Beneath a motherly soft wing A little goose was born. Who straightway peeped out of the…
Brighter shone the golden shadows; On the cool wind softly came The low, sweet tones of happy flow… Singing little Violet’s name. ‘Mong the green trees was it whisp…
Oh! a bare, brown rock Stood up in the sea, The waves at its feet Dancing merrily. A little bubble
Four little chests all in a row, Dim with dust, and worn by time, All fashioned and filled, long ago… By children now in their prime. Four little keys hung side by side…
‘And if your Nancy frowns, my lad… And scorns a jacket blue, Just hoist your sails for other po… And find a maid more true.’