#Americans #Women
One bitter time of mourning, I re… When day, and night, my sad heart… My life, I said, was one cold, bl… And all its pleasures, were but wh… Nothing could rouse me from my sul…
To Miss Eva Russell. The spring time is deaf to our ple… The meadows are brown as can be. The hilltops are bleak and unlovel… No thrush sits and sings on the tr…
Time flies. The swift hours hurr… And speed us on to untried ways; New seasons ripen, perish, die, And yet love stays. The old, old love– like sweet at f…
I will paint you a sign, rumseller… And hang it above your door; A truer and better signboard Than ever you had before. I will paint with the skill of a m…
The Poker proposed to the shovel That they should be man and wife, ‘I think,’ said he, ‘that we could… As we journey along through life.’ The Shovel blushed as she answere…
I am troubled to-night with a curi… It is not of the flesh, it is not… Nor yet of a heart that is breakin… But down still deeper, and out of… In the place where the soul and th…
She leaned out into the soft June… With her long loose tresses the ni… Her eyes were as blue as the bells… Oh, what is so fair as a fair youn… She folded her hands, like the lea…
Begin each morning with a talk to… And ask for your divine inheritanc… Of usefulness, contentment, and su… Resign all fear, all doubt, and al… The stars doubt not, and they are…
Wherever my feet may wander Wherever I chance to be, There comes, with the coming of ev… A vision sweet to me. I see my mother sitting
As the ambitious sculptor, tireles… Chisel and hammer to the block at… Before my half-formed character I… And ply the shining tools of menta… I’ll cut away a huge, unsightly si…
In his great cushioned chair by th… An old man sits dreaming to-night, His withered hands, licked by the… Warm rays of the red anthracite, Are folded before him, all listles…
There is something in the sound of… That stirs all the savage instinct… In the old times of peace we went… Through proper days Of little joys and tasks. Lonely…
God and I in space alone And nobody else in view. “And where are the people, O Lord… “The earth below, and the sky o’er… And the dead whom once I knew?”
Who thinks how desolate and strang… To me must seem the autumn’s chang… When housed in attic or in chest, A lonely and unwilling guest, I lie through nights of bleak Dec…
I think that the bitterest sorrow… Of love unrequited, or cold death’… Is sweet compared to that hour whe… That some grand passion is on the… When we see that the glory and glo…
