#AmericanWriters
DINAH stan’ befo’ de glass, Lookin’ moughty neat, An’ huh purty shadder sass At huh haid an’ feet. While she sasshay 'roun’ an’ bow,
LOVE used to carry a bow, you kn… But now he carries a taper; It is either a length of wax aglow… Or a twist of lighted paper. I pondered a little about the scam…
Prometheus stole from Heaven the… And swept to earth with it o’er la… He lit the vestal flames of poesy, Content, for this, to brave celest… Wroth were the gods, and with eter…
The sun is low, The waters flow, My boat is dancing to and fro. The eve is still, Yet from the hill
YESTERDAY I held your hand, Reverently I pressed it, And its gentle yieldingness From my soul I blessed it. But to—day I sit alone,
Heel and toe, heel and toe, That is the song we sing; Turn to your partner and curtsey l… Balance and forward and swing. Corners are draughty and meadows a…
Caught Susanner whistlin’; well, It’s most nigh too good to tell. ‘Twould ’a’ b’en too good to see Ef it had n’t b’en fur me, Comin’ up so soft an’ sly
ALONG by the river of ruin They dally —the thoughtless ones, They dance and they dream By the side of the stream, As long as the river runs.
W’en daih’s chillun in de house, Dey keep on a—gittin’ tall; But de folks don’ seem to see Dat dey’s growin’ up at all, 'Twell dey fin’ out some fine day
BY the stream I dream in calm del… How the clouds like crowds of snow… And the water into ripples breaks… Like a host of armored knights wit… And I deem the stream an emblem f…
Hyeah dat singin’ in de medders Whaih de folks is mekin’ hay? Wo’k is pretty middlin’ heavy Fu’ a man to be so gay. You kin tell dey 's somep’n specia…
She sang, and I listened the whol… (It was sweet, so sweet, the singi… The stars were out and the moon it… From a wee soft glimmer way out in… To a bird thro’ the heavens wingin…
Bones a—gittin’ achy, Back a—feelin’ col’, Han’s a—growin’ shaky, Jes’ lak I was ol’. Fros’ erpon de meddah
‘LIAS! ’Lias! Bless de Lawd! Don’ you know de day’s erbroad? Ef you don’ git up, you scamp, Dey’ll be trouble in dis camp. Tink I gwine to let you sleep
I am the mother of sorrows, I am the ender of grief; I am the bud and the blossom, I am the late—falling leaf. I am thy priest and thy poet,