O touch me with your hands— For pity’s sake! My brow throbs ever on with such a… As only your cool touch may take a… And so, I pray

Say something to me! I’ve waited… Waited and wondered in vain; Only a sentence would fall like a… Over this listening pain— Over a silence that glowers and fr…

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;

The audience entire seemed pleased… _Extremely_ pleased. And little M… From her task of instructing, ran… Her wondrous colored picture to an… Among the company.

But yesterday!... O blooms of May, And summer roses—Where-away? O stars above, And lips of love

How tired I am! I sink down all a… Here by the wayside of the Presen… Even as a child I hide my face an… A little girl that may no farther… The path above me only seems to gr…

Las’ time 'at Uncle Sidney come, He bringed a watermelon home— An’ half the boys in town, Come taggin’ after him.—An’ he Says, when we et it,—_'Gracious m…

How slight a thing may set one’s f… Upon the dead sea of the Past!—A… Sometimes an odor—or a rooster lif… A far-off ‘OOH! OOH-OOH!’ And suddenly we find ourselves ast…

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!

My father’s halls, so rich and rar… Are desolate and bleak and bare; My father’s heart and halls are on… Since I, their life and light, am… O, valiant knight, with hand of st…

The same old story told again— The maiden droops her head, The ripening glow of her crimson c… Is answering in her stead. The pleading tone of a trembling v…

'When it’s _got_ to be,'—like! alw… As I notice the years whiz past, And know each day is a yesterday, When we size it up, at last,— Same as I said when my _boyhood_…

The Hoosier Folk-Child—all unsun… Unlettered all of mind and tongue; Unmastered, unmolested—made Most wholly frank and unafraid: Untaught of any school—unvexed

A strange life—strangely passed! We may not read the soul When God has folded up the scroll In death at last. We may not—dare not say of one

I want to sing something—but this… I try and I try, but the rhymes a… As though they were damp, and the… Limp and unlovable. Words will not say what I yearn t…