#AmericanWriters
Oft, in the silence of the night, When the lonely moon rides high, When wintry winds are whistling, And we hear the owl’s shrill cry, In the quiet, dusky chamber,
‘In China there lived a little ma… His name was Chingery Wangery Ch… ‘His legs were short, his feet wer… And this little man could not walk… ‘Chingery changery ri co day,
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,
From our happy home Through the world we roam One week in all the year, Making winter spring With the joy we bring,
O flower at my window Why blossom you so fair, With your green and purple cup Upturned to sun and air? ‘I bloom, blithesome Bessie,
‘I wish I had a quiet tomb, Beside a little rill; Where birds, and bees, and butterf… Would sing upon the hill.’
From our happy home Through the world we roam One week in all the year, Making winter spring With the joy we bring
Queen of my tub, I merrily sing, While the white foam raises high, And sturdily wash, and rinse, and… And fasten the clothes to dry; Then out in the free fresh air the…
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…
We mourn the loss of our little pe… And sigh o’er her hapless fate, For never more by the fire she’ll… Nor play by the old green gate. The little grave where her infant…
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 puir auld folk at home, ye mi… Are frail and failing sair; And weel I ken they’d miss me, la… Gin I come hame nae mair. The grist is out, the times are ha…
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…
‘Hello! hello! Come down below,— It’s lovely and cool Out here in the pool; On a lily-pad float
‘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,