SILENTLY without my window, Tapping gently at the pane, Falls the rain. Through the trees sighs the breeze Like a soul in pain.

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…

COVER him over with daisies whit… And eke with the poppies red, Sit with me here by his couch to—n… For the First—Born, Love, is dea… Poor little fellow, he seemed so f…

OH, who would be sad tho’ the sky… And meadow and woodlands are empty… For softly and merrily now there c… The little white birds thro’ the w… The squirrel’s enjoying the rest o…

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,

Within a London garret high, Above the roofs and near the sky, My ill—rewarding pen I ply To win me bread. This little chamber, six by four,

I know a little country place Where still my heart doth linger, And o’er its fields is every grace Lined out by memory’s finger. Back from the lane where poplars g…

A lilt and a swing, And a ditty to sing, Or ever the night grow old; The wine is within, And I’m sure t’were a sin

THESE are the days of elfs and f… Who says that with the dreams of m… These imps and elves disport thems… Ah no, along the paths of song Do all the tiny folk belong.

W’EN de colo’ed ban’ comes ma’chi… Don’t you people stan’ daih starin… Ain’t dey playin’? Hip, hooray! Stir yo’ stumps an’ cleah de way, Fu’ de music dat dey mekin’ can’t…

I stand above the city’s rush and… And gaze far down with calm and un… To where the misty smoke wreath gr… Above the myriad roofs and spires… Still is my heart and vacant is my…

I BE’N down in ole Kentucky Fur a week er two, an’ say, 'T wuz ez hard ez breakin’ oxen Fur to tear myse’f away. Allus argerin’ 'bout fren’ship

TUSKEGEE, ALA., APRIL 22,… Not to the midnight of the gloomy… Do we revert to—day; we look upon The golden present and the future… Whose vistas show us visions of th…

A YOUTH went faring up and down… Alack and well—a—day. He fared him to the market town, Alack and well—a—day. And there he met a maiden fair,

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