#AmericanWriters
I want to be a Soldier!— A Soldier!— A Soldier!— I want to be a Soldier, with a sa… Or a little carbine rifle, or a mu…
In youth he wrought, with eyes abl… Lorn-faced and long of hair— In youth—in youth he painted her A sister of the air— Could clasp her not, but felt the…
Uncle Sidney, when he wuz here, Maked me a squirtgun out o’ some Elder-bushes ‘at growed out near Where wuz the brickyard—’way out c… To where the toll-gate come!
_The Child-World—long and long si… A Fairy Paradise!— How always fair it was and fresh a… How every affluent hour heaped hea… With treasures of surprise!
O in the depths of midnight What fancies haunt the brain! When even the sigh of the sleeper Sounds like a sob of pain. A sense of awe and of wonder
The Beautiful City! Forever Its rapturous praises resound; We fain would behold it—but never A glimpse of its dory is found: We slacken our lips at the tender
‘Why do I sing—Tra-la-la-la-la! Glad as a King?—Tra-la-la-la-la! Well, since you ask,— I have such a pleasant task, I can not help but sing!
You kin boast about yer cities, an… And brag about yer County-seats,… And railroads, and factories, and… But the little Town o’ Tailholt i… You kin harp about yer churches, w…
You think it is a sorry thing That I am blind. Your pitying Is welcome to me; yet indeed, I think I have but little need Of it. Though you may marvel much
I caught but a glimpse of him. Su… And I strayed from the town and i… And walked in a wood, while the no… Where the shadows were cool, and t… Was misty with fragrances stirred…
For you, I could forget the gay Delirium of merriment, And let my laughter die away In endless silence of content. I could forget, for your dear sake…
Writ in between the lines of his l… We trace the sacred service of a h… Answering the Divine command, in… Bearing on human weal: His love d… The loveless; and his gentle hands…
If I knew what poets know, Would I write a rhyme Of the buds that never blow In the summer-time? Would I sing of golden seeds
Just to be good— This is enough—enough! O we who find sin’s billows wild a… Do we not feel how more than any g… Would be the blameless life we led…
When Dicky was sick In the night, and the clock, As he listened, said ‘Tick– Atty—tick-atty—tock!’ He said that _it_ said,