#AmericanWriters
I want to sing something—but this… I try and I try, but the rhymes a… As though they were damp, and the… Limp and unlovable. Words will not say what I yearn t…
‘Scurious-like,’ said the tree-toa… 'I’ve twittered far rain all day; And I got up soon, And I hollered till noon— But the sun, hit blazed away,
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…
To the Elect of Love,—or side-by-… In raptest ecstasy, or sundered wi… By seas that bear no message to or… Between the loved and lost of long… So were I but a minstrel, deft
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…
By her white bed I muse a little… She fell asleep—not very long ago,… And yet the grass was here and not… The leaf, the bud, the blossom, an… Midsummer’s heaven above us, and t…
The warm pulse of the nation has g… The muffled heart of Freedom, lik… Throbs solemnly for one whose eart… Wrought every mission well. Whose glowing reason towered above…
Leonainie—Angels named her; And they took the light Of the laughing stars and framed h… In a smile of white; And they made her hair of gloomy
A barefoot boy! I mark him at his… For May is here once more, and so… His dusty trousers, rolled half to… And his bare ankles grimy, too, as… Cross-hatchings of the nettle, in…
Thou drowsy god, whose blurred eye… Muse on me—, drifting out upon thy… I lave my soul as in enchanted str… Where revelling satyrs pipe along… And tipsy with the melody they dri…
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…
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…
Young Philiper Flash was a promis… His intentions were good—but oh, h… For a person to think How the veriest pink And bloom of perfection may turn o…
At Union Station 'Ll where in the world my eyes has… Ef I hain’t missed that train ag’… Chuff! And whistle! And toot! An… But blast and blister the dasted t…
Her heart knew naught of sorrow, Nor the vaguest taint of sin— 'Twas an ever-blooming blossom Of the purity within: And her hands knew only touches