They walk here with us, hand-in-ha… We gossip, knee-by-knee; They tell us all that they have pl… Of all their joys to be,— And, laughing, leave us: And, to-…

Parunts knows lots more than us, But they don’t know _all_ things,— ‘Cause we ketch ’em, lots o’ times… Even on little small things. One time Winnie ask’ her Ma,

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…

Blossoms crimson, white, or blue, Purple, pink, and every hue, From sunny skies, to tintings drow… In dusky drops of dew, I praise you all, wherever found,

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

Hi and whoop-hooray, boys! Sing a song of cheer! Here’s a holiday, boys, Lasting half a year! Round the world, and half is

Lay away the story,— Though the theme is sweet, There’s a lack of something yet, Leaves it incomplete:— There’s a nameless yearning—

A was an elegant Ape Who tied up his ears with red tape… And wore a long veil Half revealing his tail Which was trimmed with jet bugles…

_Piped to the Spirit of John Kea… Would that my lips might pour out… A fitting melody—an air sublime,— A song sun-washed and draped in dr… The floss and velvet of luxurious…

It was a Jolly Miller lived on th… He looked upon his piller, and the… 'O Mr. Flea! you have bit’ me, And you shall shorely die!' So he scrunched his bones against…

No song is mine of Arab steed— My courser is of nobler blood, And cleaner limb and fleeter speed… And greater strength and hardihood Than ever cantered wild and free

Noey Bixler ketched him, and fetc… When he’s ist a little teenty-ween… 'Bout as big as little pups, an’ t… An’ Pa gived Noey fifty cents, wh… Nen he buyed a chain fer him, an’…

So lone I stood, the very trees s… In conference with themselves.—In… Seemed everything;—the summer sple… The sight,—magnificence! A babe’s life might not lighter fa…

Thou Poet, who, like any lark, Dost whet thy beak and trill From misty morn till murky dark, Nor ever pipe thy fill: Hast thou not, in thy cheery note,

A goddess, with a siren’s grace,— A sun-haired girl on a craggy plac… Above a bay where fish-boats lay Drifting about like birds of prey. Wrought was she of a painter’s dre…