This is to—day, a golden summer’s… And yet—and yet My vengeful soul will not forget The past, forever now forgot, you… From that half height where I had…

DIS is gospel weathah sho’ — Hills is sawt o’ hazy. Meddahs level ez a flo’ Callin’ to de lazy. Sky all white wif streaks o’ blue,

FOUR hundred years ago a tangled… Lay sleeping on the west Atlantic… Their devious ways the Old World’… Content, and loved, and labored, d… While students still believed the…

The moon begins her stately ride Across the summer sky; The happy wavelets lash the shore,… The tide is rising high. Beneath some friendly blade of gra…

The November sun invites me, And although the chill wind smites… I will wander to the woodland Where the laden trees await; And with loud and joyful singing

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…

THOUGH the winds be dank, And the sky be sober, And the grieving Day In a mantle gray Hath let her waiting maiden robe h…

I HAD not known before Forever was so long a word. The slow stroke of the clock of ti… I had not heard. 'Tis hard to learn so late;

When I come in f’om de co’n—fiel’… It 's amazin’ nice to fin’ my supp… An’ it 's nice to smell de coffee… An’ it 's fine to see de meat a—si… But when suppah—time is ovah, an’…

Oh, wind of the spring—time, oh, f… When blossoms and bird—song are ri… Oh, joy for the season, and joy fo… That gave me the roses of life, of… That gave me the roses of life.

I’ve been list’nin’ to them lawyer… In the court house up the street, An’ I’ve come to the conclusion That I’m most completely beat. Fust one feller riz to argy,

“I am but clay,” the sinner plead, Who fed each vain desire. “Not only clay,” another said, “But worse, for thou art mire.”

At the golden gate of song Stood I, knocking all day long, But the Angel, calm and cold, Still refused and bade me, ‘Hold.… Then a breath of soft perfume,

UNDERNEATH the autumn sky, Haltingly, the lines go by. Ah, would steps were blithe and ga… As when first they marched away, Smile on lip and curl on brow,

PLACE this bunch of mignonette In her cold, dead hand; When the golden sun is set, Where the poplars stand, Bury her from sun and day,