#AmericanWriters
When Dicky was sick In the night, and the clock, As he listened, said ‘Tick– Atty—tick-atty—tock!’ He said that _it_ said,
The old days—the far days— The overdear and fair!— The old days—the lost days— How lovely they were! The old days of Morning,
I woo’d a woman once, But she was sharper than an easter… Tennyson “What may I do to make you glad, To make you glad and free,
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…
‘My grandfather Squeers,’ said Th… As he solemnly lighted his pipe an… ‘The most indestructible man, for… And the grandest on earth, was my… ’He said, when he rounded his thre…
A little boy once played so loud That the Thunder, up in a thunder… Said, 'Since I can’t be heard, wh… I’ll never, never thunder again!' And a little girl once kept so sti…
The touches of her hands are like… Of velvet snowflakes; like the tou… The peach just brushes 'gainst the… The flossy fondlings of the thistl… Caught in the crinkle of a leaf of…
We must get home—for we have been… So long it seems forever and a day… And O so very homesick we have gr… The laughter of the world is like… In our tired hearing, and its song…
O touch me with your hands— For pity’s sake! My brow throbs ever on with such a… As only your cool touch may take a… And so, I pray
There’s a space for good to bloom… Every heart of man or woman,— And however wild or human, Or however brimmed with gall, Never heart may beat without it;
Ah, help me! but her face and brow Are lovelier than lilies are Beneath the light of moon and star That smile as they are smiling now… White lilies in a pallid swoon
O love is like an untamed steed!— So hot of heart and wild of speed, And with fierce freedom so in love… The desert is not vast enough, With all its leagues of glimmering…
'They ain’t much 'tale’ about it!'… 'K’tawby grapes wuz gittin’ good-n… I rickollect; and Tubb Kingry and… 'Ud kindo’ browse round town, dayt… What neighbers ‘peared to have the…
A languid atmosphere, a lazy breez… With labored respiration, moves th… From distant reaches, till the gol… Break in crisp whispers at my feet… My book, neglected of an idle mind…
In words like weeds, I’ll wrap me… Like coarsest clothes against the… But that large grief which these e… Is given in outline and no more. —TENNYSON.