‘How did you rest, last night?’— I’ve heard my gran’pap say Them words a thousand times—that’s… Jes them words thataway! As punctchul-like as morning dast

Where do you go when you go to sle… Little Boy! Little Boy! where? ‘Way—’way in where’s Little Bo-P… And Little Boy Blue, and the Cow… A-wandering ‘way in there;—in ther…

To all the little children:—The h… The sober and the silent ones; the… The good ones—Yes, the good ones,… Little Orphant Annie’s come to ou… An’ wash the cups an’ saucers up,…

The warm pulse of the nation has g… The muffled heart of Freedom, lik… Throbs solemnly for one whose eart… Wrought every mission well. Whose glowing reason towered above…

One 's the pictur’ of his Pa, And the _other_ of her Ma— Jes the bossest pair o’ babies ‘at… And we love ’em as the bees Loves the blossoms of the trees,

‘He is my friend,’ I said,— ‘Be patient!’ Overhead The skies were drear and dim; And lo! the thought of him Smited on my heart—and then

Her heart knew naught of sorrow, Nor the vaguest taint of sin— 'Twas an ever-blooming blossom Of the purity within: And her hands knew only touches

But yesterday I looked away O’er happy lands, where sunshine l… In golden blots, Inlaid with spots

Bound and bordered in leaf-green, Edged with trellised buds and flow… And glad Summer-gold, with clean White and purple morning-glories Such as suit the songs and stories

‘Why do I sing—Tra-la-la-la-la! Glad as a King?—Tra-la-la-la-la! Well, since you ask,— I have such a pleasant task, I can not help but sing!

Wunst I looked our pepper-box lid An’ cut little pie-dough biscuits,… And cooked 'em on our stove one da… When our hired girl she said I ma… _Honey’s_ the goodest thing—Oo-_o…

Las’ July—an’, I persume 'Bout as hot As the ole Gran’-Jury room Where they sot!— Fight 'twixt Mike an’ Dock McGri…

This Pan is but an idle god, I gu… Since all the fair midsummer of my… He loiters listlessly by woody str… Soaking the lush glooms up with la… Or drowsing while the maiden-winds…

Back from a two-years’ sentence! And though it had been ten, You think, I were scarred no deep… In the eyes of my fellow-men. ‘My fellow-men—?’ Sounds like a s…

He was a Dreamer of the Days: Indolent as a lazy breeze Of midsummer, in idlest ways Lolling about in the shade of tree… The farmer turned—as he passed him…