#AmericanWriters
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…
A little boy once played so loud That the Thunder, up in a thunder… Said, 'Since I can’t be heard, wh… I’ll never, never thunder again!' And a little girl once kept so sti…
Ah, help me! but her face and brow Are lovelier than lilies are Beneath the light of moon and star That smile as they are smiling now… White lilies in a pallid swoon
Get gone, thou most uncomfortable… Thou really dost annoy me with thy… Impalpable transparency of grin; And the vague, shadowy shape of th… Hath vext me beyond boundary and c…
Wasn’t it pleasant, O brother min… In those old days of the lost suns… Of youth—when the Saturday’s chor… And the 'Sunday’s wood’ in the ki… And we went visiting, ‘me and you,…
Seems like a feller’d ort 'o jes’… Git down and roll and waller, don’… In that-air stubble, and flop up a… Seein’ sich craps! I’ll undertake… There’re no wheat’s ever turned ou…
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
A quite convincing axiom Is, 'Life is like a play’; For, turning back its pages some Few dog-eared years away, I find where I
Iry an’ Billy an’ Jo!— Iry an’ Billy’s _the boys_, An’ _Jo’s_ their _dog_, you know,… Their pictures took all in a row. Bet they kin kick up a noise—
I’ve ben thinkin’ back, of late, S’prisin’!—And I’m here to state I’m suspicious it’s a sign Of _age_, maybe, or decline Of my faculties,—and yit
Oh, the Circus-Day parade! How t… And how the glossy horses tossed t… As the rattle and the rhyme of the… Filled all the hungry hearts of us… How the grand band-wagon shone wit…
Let us be thankful—not only becaus… Since last our universal thanks we… We have grown greater in the world… And fortune’s newer smiles surpass… But thankful for all things that c…
Ho! it’s come, kids, come! 'With a bim! bam! bum! Here’s little Billy bangin’ on hi… He’s a-marchin’ round the room, With his feather-duster plume
This Pan is but an idle god, I gu… Since all the fair midsummer of my… He loiters listlessly by woody str… Soaking the lush glooms up with la… Or drowsing while the maiden-winds…
A languid atmosphere, a lazy breez… With labored respiration, moves th… From distant reaches, till the gol… Break in crisp whispers at my feet… My book, neglected of an idle mind…