She sang a song of May for me, Wherein once more I heard The mirth of my glad infancy— The orchard’s earliest bird— The joyous breeze among the trees

Where are they?—the friends of my… The clear, laughing eyes looking b… And the warm, chubby fingers my pa… As when we raced over Pink pastures of clover,

Sweet little myth of the nursery s… Earliest love of mine infantile br… Be something tangible, bloom in th… Into existence, as thou art addres… Hasten! appear to me, guileless an…

AFTER LEE O. HARRIS The master-hand whose pencils trac… This wondrous landscape of the mor… Is but the sun, whose glowing face Reflects the rapture and the grace

Who shall sing a simple ditty abou… Dainty-fine and delicate as any be… That dandles high the dainty bird… Tremulously tender song of greetin… Bravest, too, of all the trees!—no…

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,…

Just the airiest, fairiest slip of… With a Gainsborough hat, like a b… Tilted up at one side with the jau… And a knot of red roses sown in un… Where the shadows are lost in her…

There’s a habit I have nurtured, From the sentimental time When my life was like a story, And my heart a happy rhyme,— Of clipping from the paper,

Jap Miller down at Martinsville’s… When _he_ starts in a-talkin’ othe… 'Pears like that mouth o’ his’n wu… But jes’ to argify 'em down and ge… He’ll talk you down on tariff; er…

The dawn of the day was dreary, And the lowering clouds o’erhead Wept in a silent sorrow Where the sweet sunshine lay dead; And a wind came out of the eastwar…

'I’m home again, my dear old Room… I’m home again, and happy, too, As, peering through the brightenin… I find myself alone with you: Though brief my stay, nor far away…

The world is turned ag’in’ me, And people says, 'They guess That nothin’ else is in me But pure maliciousness!' I git the blame for doin’

O the days gone by! O the days go… The apples in the orchard, and the… The chirrup of the robin, and the… As he piped across the meadows swe… When the bloom was on the clover,…

Uncle Sidney, when he wuz here, Maked me a squirtgun out o’ some Elder-bushes ‘at growed out near Where wuz the brickyard—’way out c… To where the toll-gate come!

Right here at home, boys, in old… Where strangers allus joke us when… And brag o’ _their_ old States an… Yit _settle_ here; and 'fore they… They’re 'hoosier’ as the rest of u…