How many of my selves are dead? The ghosts of many haunt me: Lo, The baby in the tiny bed With rockers on, is blanketed And sleeping in the long ago;

When little Dickie Swope’s a man, He’s go’ to be a Sailor; An’ little Hamey Tincher, he’s A-go’ to be a Tailor: Bud Mitchell, he’s a-go’ to be

Time of crisp and tawny leaves, And of tarnished harvest sheaves, And of dusty grasses—weeds— Thistles, with their tufted seeds Voyaging the Autumn breeze

Where do you go when you go to sle… Little Boy! Little Boy! where? ‘Way—’way in where’s Little Bo-P… And Little Boy Blue, and the Cow… A-wandering ‘way in there;—in ther…

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…

1 Our hired girl, she’s 'Liza… 2 An’ she can cook best thin… 3 She ist puts dough in our pi… 4 An’ pours in somepin’ 'at’… 5 An’ nen she salts it all on…

I dreamed I was a spider; A big, fat, hungry spider; A lusty, rusty spider With a dozen palsied limbs; With a dozen limbs that dangled

‘Hey, Bud! O Bud!’ rang out a gl… '_The Loehrs is come to your hous… But very much elated little chap, In snowy linen-suit and tasseled c… Leaped from the back-fence just ac…

Wunst I sassed my Pa, an’ he Won’t stand that, an’ punished me,… Nen when he was gone that day, I slipped out an’ runned away. I tooked all my copper-cents,

Wunst I looked our pepper-box lid An’ cut little pie-dough biscuits,… And cooked 'em on our stove one da… When our hired girl she said I ma… _Honey’s_ the goodest thing—Oo-_o…

In the jolly winters Of the long-ago, It was not so cold as now— O! No! No! Then, as I remember,

Mellow hazes, lowly trailing Over wood and meadow, veiling Somber skies, with wildfowl sailin… Sailor-like to foreign lands; And the north-wind overleaping

I am looking for Love. Has he pas… With eyes as blue as the skies of… And a face as fair as the summer d… You answer back, but I wander on,… For you say: ‘Oh, yes; but his ey…

‘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;

In youth he wrought, with eyes abl… Lorn-faced and long of hair— In youth—in youth he painted her A sister of the air— Could clasp her not, but felt the…