#AmericanWriters
In the heavy earth the miner Toiled and laboured day by day, Wrenching from the miser mountain Brilliant treasure where it lay. And the artist worn and weary
A MAIDEN wept and, as a comfort… Came one who cried, ‘I love thee,… Her in his arms and kissed her wit… That dried the tears upon her flam… While evermore his boldly blazing…
I HAD not known before Forever was so long a word. The slow stroke of the clock of ti… I had not heard. 'Tis hard to learn so late;
When Phyllis sighs and from her e… The light dies out; my soul replie… With misery of deep—drawn breath, E’en as it were at war with death. When Phyllis smiles, her glance b…
Love hath the wings of the butterf… Oh, clasp him but gently, Pausing and dipping and fluttering… Inconsequently. Stir not his poise with the breath…
You ask why I am sad to—day, I have no cares, no griefs, you sa… Ah, yes, 't is true, I have no gr… But—is there not the falling leaf? The bare tree there is mourning le…
Yes, my ha’t’s ez ha’d ez stone— Go 'way, Sam, an’ lemme 'lone. No; I ain’t gwine change my min’; Ain’t gwine ma’y you—nuffin’ de ki… Phiny loves you true an’ deah?
‘GOOD-BYE,’ I said to my consc… ‘Good-bye for aye and aye,’ And I put her hands off harshly, And turned my face away; And conscience smitten sorely
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
He was a poet who wrote clever ver… And folks said he had a fine poeti… But his father, a practical farmer… Of letting the strength of his arm… He called on his sweetheart each…
LOVE used to carry a bow, you kn… But now he carries a taper; It is either a length of wax aglow… Or a twist of lighted paper. I pondered a little about the scam…
DEY was oncet a awful quoil 'twix… De pot was des a—bilin’ an’ de ski… Dey slurred each othah’s colah an’… W’ile de coal—oil can des gu—gled,… De pot, hit called de skillet des…
Out of the sunshine and out of the… Out of the dust of the grimy stree… A song fluttered down in the form… And it bore me a message, the one… Ah, I was toiling, and oh, I was…
They please me not—these solemn so… That hint of sermons covered up. 'T is true the world should heed i… But in a poem let me sup, Not simples brewed to cure or ease
Storm and strife and stress, Lost in a wilderness, Groping to find a way, Forth to the haunts of day Sudden a vista peeps,