#Americans #Women
‘Healfast, healfast, ye hero wound… O knight, be quickly strong! Beloved strife For fame and life, Oh, tarry not too long!’
‘Here is the bracelet For good little May To wear on her arm By night and by day. When it shines like the sun,
‘Beds to the front of them, Beds to the right of them, Beds to the left of them, Nobody blundered. Beamed at by hungry souls,
From our happy home Through the world we roam One week in all the year, Making winter spring With the joy we bring
‘I write about the butterfly, It is a pretty thing; And flies about like the birds, But it does not sing. ’First it is a little grub,
Love comes to all soon or late, And maketh gay or sad; For every bird will find its mate, And every lass a lad,
Hither, hither, from thy home, Airy sprite, I bid thee come! Born of roses, fed on dew, Charms and potions canst thou brew… Bring me here, with elfin speed,
I am the monarch of the Sea, The ruler of the Queen’s Navee,— When at anchor here I ride, My bosom swells with pride, And I snap my fingers at a foeman…
In a quiet, pleasant meadow, Beneath a summer sky, Where green old trees their branch… And winds went singing by; Where a little brook went rippling
‘I wish I had a quiet tomb, Beside a little rill; Where birds, and bees, and butterf… Would sing upon the hill.’
A little kingdom I possess where thoughts and feelings dwell, And very hard I find the task of governing it well; For passion tempts and troubles me…
Four little chests all in a row, Dim with dust, and worn by time, All fashioned and filled, long ago… By children now in their prime. Four little keys hung side by side…
Oh! a bare, brown rock Stood up in the sea, The waves at its feet Dancing merrily. A little bubble
Long ago in a poultry yard One dull November morn, Beneath a motherly soft wing A little goose was born. Who straightway peeped out of the…
From our happy home Through the world we roam One week in all the year, Making winter spring With the joy we bring,