#AmericanWriters
I want to sing something—but this… I try and I try, but the rhymes a… As though they were damp, and the… Limp and unlovable. Words will not say what I yearn t…
O we go down to sea in ships— But Hope remains behind, And Love, with laughter on his li… And Peace, of passive mind; While out across the deeps of nigh…
But yesterday!... O blooms of May, And summer roses—Where-away? O stars above, And lips of love
He was jes a plain ever’-day, all-… Consumpted-Iookin’—but la! The jokeiest, wittiest, story-tell… Feller you ever saw! Worked at jes coarse work, but you…
My little story, Cousin Rufus sai… Is not so much a story as a fact. It is about a certain willful boy— An aggrieved, unappreciated boy, Grown to dislike his own home very…
When snow is here, and the trees l… And the knuckled twigs are gloved… When the breath congeals in the dr… And the old pathway to the barn is… When the rooster’s crow is sad to…
The harp has fallen from the maste… Mute is the music, voiceless are t… Save such faint discord as the wil… In sad aeolian murmurs through the… The tide of melody, whose billows…
The Hoosier Folk-Child—all unsun… Unlettered all of mind and tongue; Unmastered, unmolested—made Most wholly frank and unafraid: Untaught of any school—unvexed
_(Grandfather, musing.)_ In childish days! O memory, You bring such curious things to m… Laughs to the lip—tears to the eye… In looking on the gifts that lie
Take a feller 'at’s sick and laid… All shaky, and ga’nted, and pore— Jes all so knocked out he can’t ha… With a stiff upper-lip any more; Shet him up all alone in the gloom…
I hold your trembling hand to-nigh… I may not know what wealth of blis… My heart is such a curious design Of trust and jealousy! Your eyes… So must I think they jewel some r…
To William Morris Pierson [1868-1870] Of the wealth of facts and fancies That our memories may recall, The old school-day romances
I know all about the Sphinx— I know even what she thinks, Staring with her stony eyes Up forever at the skies. For last night I dreamed that she
The air falls chill; The whippoorwill Pipes lonesomely behind the Hill: The dusk grows dense, The silence tense;
The warm pulse of the nation has g… The muffled heart of Freedom, lik… Throbs solemnly for one whose eart… Wrought every mission well. Whose glowing reason towered above…