#AmericanWriters
By her white bed I muse a little… She fell asleep—not very long ago,… And yet the grass was here and not… The leaf, the bud, the blossom, an… Midsummer’s heaven above us, and t…
Sing! gangling lad, along the brin… Of wild brook-ways of shoal and de… Where killdees dip, and cattle dri… And glinting little minnows leap! Sing! slimpsy lass who trips above
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…
When Bess gave her Dollies a Tea… 'It’s unpolite, when they’s Compa… To say you’ve drinked _two_ cups,… But say you’ve drinked _a couple_…
The Jaybird he’s my _favorite_ Of all the birds they is! I think he’s quite a stylish sight In that blue suit of his: An’ when he’ lights an’ shuts his…
To William Morris Pierson [1868-1870] Of the wealth of facts and fancies That our memories may recall, The old school-day romances
We must get home—for we have been… So long it seems forever and a day… And O so very homesick we have gr… The laughter of the world is like… In our tired hearing, and its song…
Blossoms crimson, white, or blue, Purple, pink, and every hue, From sunny skies, to tintings drow… In dusky drops of dew, I praise you all, wherever found,
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…
Let us forget. What matters it th… Once reigned o’er happy realms of… And talked of love, and let our vo… And ruled for some brief sessions… What if we sung, or laughed, or we…
But yesterday!... O blooms of May, And summer roses—Where-away? O stars above, And lips of love
Thou drowsy god, whose blurred eye… Muse on me—, drifting out upon thy… I lave my soul as in enchanted str… Where revelling satyrs pipe along… And tipsy with the melody they dri…
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’
It is my dream to have you here wi… Out of the heated city’s dust and… Here where the colts have room to… And kine to graze, in clover to th… I want to see your wan face happil…
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,
