#AmericanWriters
MY soul, lost in the music’s mist… Roamed, rapt, 'neath skies of amet… The cheerless streets grew summer… The Son of Phœbus spurred his ste… And, wand’ring down the mazy tune,
W’EN de evenin’ shadders Come a—glidin’ down, Fallin’ black an’ heavy Ovah hill an’ town, Ef you listen keerful,
FU’ de peace o’ my eachin’ heels,… Don’ fiddle dat chune no mo’. Don’ you see how dat melody stuhs… An’ baigs me to tek to de flo’? You knows I’s a Christian, good a…
FOLKS ain’t got no right to cens… Him dat giv’ de squir’ls de bushta… Him dat built de gread big mountai… Him dat made de streets an’ drivew… We is all constructed diff’ent, d’…
The Midnight wooed the Morning S… And prayed her: “Love come nearer… Your swinging coldly there afar To me but makes you dearer.” The Morning Star was pale with do…
A DOWN the west a golden glow Sinks burning in the sea, And all the dreams of long ago Come flooding back to me. The past has writ a story strange
TWO little boots all rough an’ wo… Two little boots! Laws, I’s kissed 'em times befo’, Dese little boots! Seems de toes a—peepin’ thoo
'SUNSHINE on de medders, Greenness on de way; Dat’s de blessed reason I sing all de day.' Look hyeah! Whut you axin’?
THE little bird sits in the nest… A shy, soft song to the morning li… And it flutters a little and prune… The song is halting and poor and b… And the fluttering wings scarce st…
'Tis an old deserted homestead On the outskirts of the town, Where the roof is all moss—covered… And the walls are tumbling down; But around that little cottage
It is as if a silver chord Were suddenly grown mute, And life’s song with its rhythm wa… Against a silver lute. It is as if a silence fell
I’S feelin’ kin’ o’ lonesome in m… An’ my min’s done los’ de minutes… W’ile it teks me back a—flyin’ to… Whaih de Chesapeake goes grumblin… Oh, de ol’ plantation’s callin’ to…
W’EN us fellers stomp around, mak… Gramma says, 'There’s certain tim… W’en they need a shingle or the so… She says 'we’re a—itchin’ for a ri… An’ she says, 'Now thes you wait,
ON THE RECEIPT OF A F… To me, like hauntings of a vagrant… From some far forest which I once… The perfume of this flower of vers… Tho’ seemingly soul—blossoms faint…
THOU art the soul of a summer’s… Thou art the breath of the rose. But the summer is fled And the rose is dead Where are they gone, who knows, wh…