#AmericanWriters
But yesterday I looked away O’er happy lands, where sunshine l… In golden blots, Inlaid with spots
Las’ time 'at Uncle Sidney come, He bringed a watermelon home— An’ half the boys in town, Come taggin’ after him.—An’ he Says, when we et it,—_'Gracious m…
‘O Printerman of sallow face, And look of absent guile, Is it the ’copy’ on your 'case’ That causes you to smile? Or is it some old treasure scrap
The man that rooms next door to me… Two weeks ago, this very night, He took possession quietly, As any other lodger might— But why the room next mine should…
Dreamer, say, will you dream for m… A wild sweet dream of a foreign la… Whose border sips of a foaming sea With lips of coral and silver sand… Where warm winds loll on the shady…
The rain! the rain! the rain! It gushed from the skies and strea… Like awful tears; and the sick man… How pitiful it seemed! And he turned his face away,
Another hero of those youthful yea… Returns, as Noey Bixler’s name ap… And Noey—if in any special way— Was notably good-natured.—Work or… He entered into with selfsame deli…
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
A Old Tramp slep’ in our stable w… An’ The Raggedy Man he caught An’ roust him up, an’ chased him o… Clean out through our back lot! An’ th’ Old Tramp hollered back a…
He faced his canvas (as a seer who… Pierces the crust of this existenc… And smiled beyond on that his geni… Ere mated with his being. Conscio… Of his high theme alone, he smiled…
I’m bin a-visitun 'bout a week To my little Cousin’s at Nameless… An’ I’m got the hives an’ a new s… An’ I’m come back home where my b…
He seemed so strange to me, every… In manner, and form, and size, From the boy I knew but yesterday… I could hardly believe my eyes! To hear his name called over there…
In the evening of our days, When the first far stars above Glimmer dimmer, through the haze, Than the dewy eyes of love, Shall we mournfully revert
Donn Piatt—of Mac-o-chee,— Not the one of History, Who, with flaming tongue and pen, Scathes the vanities of men; Not the one whose biting wit
There are many things that boys ma… Why this and that are thus and so,… Who made the world in the dark and… The great sun up to lighten it: Boys know new things every day—