Pa he bringed me here to stay 'Til my Ma she’s well.—An’ nen He’s go’ hitch up, Chris’mus-day, An’ come take me back again Wher’ my Ma’s at! Won’t I be

O the drum! There is some Intonation in thy grum Monotony of utterance that strikes… As we hear

Out of the hitherwhere into the Y… The land that the Lord’s love res… Where one may rely on the friends… And the smiles that greet him alon… Where the mother that left you yea…

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…

The old days—the far days— The overdear and fair!— The old days—the lost days— How lovely they were! The old days of Morning,

I am not prone to moralize In scientific doubt On certain facts that Nature trie… To puzzle us about,— For I am no philosopher

There was a curious quiet for a sp… Directly following: and in the fac… Of one rapt listener pulsed the fl… Of the heat-lightning that pent pa… Long ere the crash of speech.—He…

They’s nothin’ in the name to stri… A feller more’n common like! 'Taint liable to git no praise Ner nothin’ like it nowadays; An’ yit that name o’ her’n is jest

The greeting of the company throug… Was like a jubilee,—the children’s… And fusillading hand-claps, with g… And detonations of the older ones, Raged to such tumult of tempestuou…

If I knew what poets know, Would I write a rhyme Of the buds that never blow In the summer-time? Would I sing of golden seeds

O The Little Lady’s dainty As the picture in a book, And her hands are creamy-whiter Than the water-lilies look; Her laugh’s the undrown’d music

O the waiting in the watches of th… In the darkness, desolation, and c… The awful hush that holds us shut… The ever weary memory that ever we… Recounting ever over every aching…

They called him Mr. What’s-his-na… From where he was, or why he came, Or when, or what he found to do, Nobody in the city knew. He lived, it seemed, shut up alone

Bud, come here to your uncle a spe… And I’ll tell you something you m… For it’s a secret and shore-'nuf t… And maybe I oughtn’t to tell it t… But out in the garden, under the s…

Last Thanksgivin’-dinner we Et at Granny’s house, an’ she Had—ist like she alluz does— Most an’ best pies ever wuz. Canned _black_ burry-pie an’ _goos…