The merriment that followed was su… As though the story-teller’s attit… Were dual, in a sense, appealing q… As much to sorrow as to mere delig… According, haply, to the listener’…

I hain’t no hand at tellin’ tales, Er spinnin’ yarns, as the sailors… Someway o’ 'nother, language fails To slide fer me in the oily way That LAWYERS has; and I wisht…

Who am I but the Frog—the Frog! My realm is the dark bayou, And my throne is the muddy and mos… That the poison-vine clings to— And the blacksnakes slide in the s…

It was a man of many parts, Who in his coffer mind Had stored the Classics and the A… And Sciences combined; The purest gems of poesy

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,

Such was the Child-World of the l… The little world these children us… Johnty, the oldest, and the best,… Of the five happy little Hoosier… Inhabiting this wee world all thei…

Tommy’s alluz playin’ jokes, An’ actin’ up, an’ foolin’ folks; An’ wunst one time he creep In Pa’s big chair, he did, one ni… An’ squint an’ shut his eyes bofe…

Fold the little waxen hands Lightly. Let your warmest tears Speak regrets, but never fears,— Heaven understands! Let the sad heart, o’er the tomb,

O her eyes are amber-fine— Dark and deep as wells of wine, While her smile is like the noon Splendor of a day of June. If she sorrow—lo! her face

As one who cons at evening o’er an… And muses on the faces of the frie… So I turn the leaves of Fancy, ti… I find the smiling features of an… The lamplight seems to glimmer wit…

What intuition named thee?—Throug… Of the awed soul came the command… Into the mother-heart, foretelling… Should palpitate with his whose ra… Sing on while daisies bloom and la…

Tell you what I like the best— ‘Long about knee-deep in June, ’Bout the time strawberries melts On the vine,—some afternoon Like to jes’ git out and rest,

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;

Time is so long when a man is dead… Some one sews; and the room is mad… Very clean; and the light is shed Soft through the window-shade. Yesterday I thought: ‘I know

'Write me a rhyme of the present t… And the poet took his pen And wrote such lines as the miser… Hide in the hearts of men. He grew enthused, as the poets use…