or, The First Steamboat up the A… You, Dinah! Come and set me whar… De Lord, HE made dese black-jack… Umph, dar! De Lord have mussy on… It 'pear to me dis mornin’ I kin…

As Love will carve dear names upo… Symbol of gravure on his heart to… So thought I thine with loving te… In the growth and substance of my… But, writing it, my tears begin to…

Across the brook of Time man leap… On stepping-stones of epochs, that… Fixed, memorable, midst broad shal… Of neutrals, kill-times, sleeps, i… So twixt each morn and night rise…

So one in heart and thought, I tr… That thou might’st press the strin… And both would meet in music sweet… Thou and I, I trow.

Written for the “Martha Washingto… Down cold snow-stretches of our bi… When windy shams and the rain-mock… Of Trade have cased us in such ic… That hearts are scarcely hot enoug…

He’s fast asleep. See how, O Wi… Night’s finger on the lip of life Bids whist the tongue, so prattle-… Of busy Baby Charley. One arm stretched backward round h…

Well: Death is a huge omnivorous… Grim squatting on a twilight road. He catcheth all that Circumstance Hath tossed to him. He curseth all who upward glance

Presenting a portrait-bust of the… Since you, rare friend! have tied… With thanks more large than man e’… So let the dumbness of this image… My eloquence, and still interpret…

Death, thou’rt a cordial old and r… Look how compounded, with what car… Time got his wrinkles reaping thee Sweet herbs from all antiquity. David to thy distillage went,

From cold Norse caves or buccanee… Oft come repenting tempests here t… Bewailing old-time wrecks and robb… They shrive to priestly pines with… Breathe salutary balms through lan…

Sail fast, sail fast, Ark of my hopes, Ark of my dreams… Sweep lordly o’er the drowned Pas… Fly glittering through the sun’s s… Sail fast, sail fast.

I knowed a man, which he lived in… Which Jones is a county of red hi… And he lived pretty much by gittin… And his mules was nuthin’ but skin… And his hogs was flat as his corn-…

Light rain-drops fall and wrinkle… Then vanish, and die utterly. One would not know that rain-drops… If the round sea-wrinkles did not… So souls come down and wrinkle lif…

Of fret, of dark, of thorn, of chi… Complain no more; for these, O he… Direct the random of the will As rhymes direct the rage of art. The lute’s fixt fret, that runs at…

Look off, dear Love, across the s… And mark yon meeting of the sun an… How long they kiss in sight of all… Ah! longer, longer, we. Now in the sea’s red vintage melts…