DEAD AT PITTSFIELD, MASS… O poor Romancer—thou whose printe… Filled with rude speech and ruder… Was given to heroes in whose vulga… No trace appears of gentler ways a…

(REFECTORY, MISSION S… Good!—said the Padre,—believe me… ‘Don Giovanni,’ or what you will, The type’s eternal! We knew him h… As Don Diego del Sud. I fear

Over the chimney the night-wind sa… And chanted a melody no one knew; And the Woman stopped, as her bab… And thought of the one she had lon… And said, as her teardrops back sh…

(BIG PINE FLAT, 1871) ‘Something characteristic,’ eh? Humph! I reckon you mean by that Something that happened in our way… Here at the crossin’ of Big Pine…

(SEQUOIA GIGANTEA) Brown foundling of the Western wo… Babe of primeval wildernesses! Long on my table thou hast stood Encounters strange and rude caress…

AN INCIDENT OF THE WAR ‘I was with Grant’—the stranger s… Said the farmer, ‘Say no more, But rest thee here at my cottage p… For thy feet are weary and sore.’

Of all the fountains that poets si… Crystal, thermal, or mineral sprin… Ponce de Leon’s Fount of Youth, Wells with bottoms of doubtful tru… In short, of all the springs of T…

Here’s yer toy balloons! All size… Twenty cents for that. It rises Jest as quick as that ‘ere, Miss, Twice as big. Ye see it is Some more fancy. Make it square

No life in earth, or air, or sky; The sunbeams, broken silently, On the bared rocks around me lie,— Cold rocks with half-warmed lichen… And scales of moss; and scarce a y…

(REPORTED BY TRUTHFUL J… Being asked by an intimate party,— Which the same I would term as a… Though his health it were vain to… Since the mind to deceit it might…

Down the picket-guarded lane Rolled the comfort-laden wain, Cheered by shouts that shook the p… Soldier-like and merry: Phrases such as camps may teach,

When I bought you for a song, Years ago—Lord knows how long!— I was struck—I may be wrong— By your features, And—a something in your air

(NORTHERN MEXICO, 1640) As you look from the plaza at Leo… You can see her house, but the vie… From the porch of the church where… Where much of her past still lives…

They ran through the streets of th… They peered from the decks of the… The cold sea-fog that came whiteni… Was never as cold or white as they… ‘Ho, Starbuck and Pinckney and T…

Say there! P’r’aps Some on you chaps Might know Jim Wild? Well,—no offense: Thar ain’t no sense