He had his dream, and all through… Worked up to it through toil and s… Afloat fore’er before his eyes, It colored for him all his skies: The storm—cloud dark

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,

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

Come when the nights are bright wi… Or when the moon is mellow; Come when the sun his golden bars Drops on the hay—field yellow. Come in the twilight soft and gray…

This poem must be done to—day; Then, I 'll e’en to it. I must not dream my time away,— I ‘m sure to rue it. The day is rather bright, I know

A BLUE—BELL springs upon the l… A lark sits singing in the hedge; Sweet perfumes scent the balmy air… And life is brimming everywhere. What lark and breeze and bluebird…

SOME folks t’inks hit’s right an… Soon ez bedtime come erroun’, Fu’ to scramble to de kiver, Lak dey’d hyeahed de trumpet soun’… But dese people day all misses

I don’t believe in 'ristercrats An’ never did, you see; The plain ol’ homelike sorter folk… Is good enough fur me. O’ course, I don’t desire a man

Ah, love, my love is like a cry in… A long, loud cry to the empty sky, The cry of a man alone in the dese… With hands uplifted, with parching… Oh, rescue me, rescue me,

OH, de grubbin’—hoe’s a—rustin’ i… An’ de plow’s a—tumblin’ down in d… While de whippo’will’s a—wailin’ l… When his stubbo’n hea’t is tryin’… In de furrers whah de co’n was all…

THE night is dewy as a maiden’s m… The skies are bright as are a maid… Soft as a maiden’s breath the wind… Up from the perfumed bosom of the… Like sentinels, the pines stand in…

Oh, the day has set me dreaming In a strange, half solemn way Of the feelings I experienced On another long past day,— Of the way my heart made music

DE night creep down erlong de lan… De shadders rise an’ shake, De frog is sta’tin’ up his ban’, De cricket is awake; My wo’k is mos’ nigh done, Celes’…

THE sky of brightest gray seems d… To one whose sky was ever white. To one who never knew a spark, Thro’ all his life, of love or lig… The grayest cloud seems over—brigh…

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…