#AmericanWriters
I caught, for a second, across the… Just for a second, and barely that… A face, pox-pitted and evil-browed… Hid in the shade of a slouch-rim’d… With small gray eyes, of a look as…
‘Now who shall say he loves me not… He wooed her first in an atmospher… Of tender and low-breathed sighs; But the pang of her laugh went cut… To the soul of the enterprise;
Ho! green fields and running brook… Knotted strings and fishing-hooks Of the truant, stealing down Weedy backways of the town. Where the sunshine overlooks,
What delightful hosts are they— Life and Love! Lingeringly I turn away, This late hour, yet glad enough They have not withheld from me
Oh luxury! Beyond the heat And dust of town, with dangling fe… Astride the rock below the dam, In the cool shadows where the calm Rests on the stream again, and all
Who am I but the Frog—the Frog! My realm is the dark bayou, And my throne is the muddy and mos… That the poison-vine clings to— And the blacksnakes slide in the s…
'Mylo Jones’s wife’ was all I heerd, mighty near, last Fall— Visitun relations down T’other side of Morgantown! Mylo Jones’s wife she does
Just drifting on together— He and I— As through the balmy weather Of July Drift two thistle-tufts imbedded
_Curly Locks! Curly Locks! wilt… Thou shalt not wash the dishes, no… But sit on a cushion and sew a fin… And feast upon strawberries, sugar… Curly Locks! Curly Locks! wilt t…
I heard the bells at midnight Ring in the dawning year; And above the clanging chorus Of the song, I seemed to hear A choir of mystic voices
There’s a space for good to bloom… Every heart of man or woman,— And however wild or human, Or however brimmed with gall, Never heart may beat without it;
Iry an’ Billy an’ Jo!— Iry an’ Billy’s _the boys_, An’ _Jo’s_ their _dog_, you know,… Their pictures took all in a row. Bet they kin kick up a noise—
He faced his canvas (as a seer who… Pierces the crust of this existenc… And smiled beyond on that his geni… Ere mated with his being. Conscio… Of his high theme alone, he smiled…
The summer winds is sniffin’ round… locus’ trees; And the clover in the pastur is a… And they been a-swiggin’ honey, ab… sly,
A day of torpor in the sullen heat Of Summer’s passion: In the slugg… The panting cattle lave their lazy… With drowsy eyes, and dream. Long since the winds have died, an…