#AmericanWriters
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,
Parunts knows lots more than us, But they don’t know _all_ things,— ‘Cause we ketch ’em, lots o’ times… Even on little small things. One time Winnie ask’ her Ma,
They walk here with us, hand-in-ha… We gossip, knee-by-knee; They tell us all that they have pl… Of all their joys to be,— And, laughing, leave us: And, to-…
Dreamer, say, will you dream for m… A wild sweet dream of a foreign la… Whose border sips of a foaming sea With lips of coral and silver sand… Where warm winds loll on the shady…
I cannot say, and I will not say That he is dead– . He is just awa… With a cheery smile, and a wave of… He has wandered into an unknown la… And left us dreaming how very fair
I hail thee, Nessmuk, for the lof… Yet simple grace that marks thy po… True forester thou art, and still… Even in happier fields than thou h… Thus, in glad visions, glimpses am…
Neglected now is the old guitar And moldering into decay; Fretted with many a rift and scar That the dull dust hides away, While the spider spins a silver st…
Some sings of the lily, and daisy,… And the pansies and pinks that the… throws In the green grassy lap of the med… Blinkin’ up at the skyes through t…
What is it in old fiddle-chunes 'a… And ripples up my backbone tel I’… Kindo’ like that sweet-sick feelin… The first you ever swung in, with… Yer first picnic—yer first ice-cre…
The Beautiful City! Forever Its rapturous praises resound; We fain would behold it—but never A glimpse of its dory is found: We slacken our lips at the tender
The rain! the rain! the rain! It gushed from the skies and strea… Like awful tears; and the sick man… How pitiful it seemed! And he turned his face away,
There! little girl; don’t cry! They have broken your doll, I kno… And your tea-set blue, And your play-house, too, Are things of the long ago;
The Town Karnteel—! It’s who’ll… Its praises jushtifiable? For who can sing av anything So lovely and reliable? Whin Summer, Spring, or Winter l…
I come upon it suddenly, alone— A little pathway winding in the we… That fringe the roadside; and with… I wander as it leads. Full wistfully along the slender w…
‘The voice of One hath spoken, And the bended reed is bruised— The golden bowl is broken, And the silver cord is loosed.’ Over the eyes of gladness