I’VE been watchin’ of 'em parson, An’ I’m sorry fur to say 'At my mind is not contented With the loose an’ keerless way ‘At the young folks treat the musi…

'T is better to sit here beside th… Here on the spray—kissed beach, In silence, that between such frie… Is full of deepest speech.

THE BLACK TROOPS IN CUBA Round the wide earth, from the red… Blown with the breath of the far—s… Goes the word. Bravely you spoke through the batt…

IF 'twere fair to suppose That your heart were not taken, That the dew from the rose Petals still were not shaken, I should pluck you,

Back to the breast of thy mother, Child of the earth! E’en her caress can not smother What thou hast done. Follow the trail of the westering…

Bones a—gittin’ achy, Back a—feelin’ col’, Han’s a—growin’ shaky, Jes’ lak I was ol’. Fros’ erpon de meddah

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

As some rapt gazer on the lowly ea… Looks up to radiant planets, rangi… So I, whose soul doth know thy wo… Look longing up to thee as to a st…

MY cot was down by a cypress grov… And I sat by my window the whole… And heard well up from the deep da… A mocking—bird’s passionate song. And I thought of myself so sad an…

As in some dim baronial hall restr… A prisoner sits, engirt by secret… And waving tapestries that argue f… Strange passages into the outer ai… So in this dimmer room which we ca…

Why was it that the thunder voice… Should call thee, studious, from t… Where calm—eyed Pallas with still… And charge thee seek the turmoil o… What bade thee hear the voice and…

I like to hear of wealth and gold, And El Doradoes in their glory; I like for silks and satins bold To sweep and rustle through a stor… The nightingale is sweet of song;

What dreams we have and how they f… Like rosy clouds across the sky; Of wealth, of fame, of sure succes… Of love that comes to cheer and bl… And how they wither, how they fade…

(Lines on reading ‘Driftwood.’) Driftwood gathered here and there Along the beach of time; Now and then a chip of truth ‘Mid boards and boughs of rhyme;