#AmericanWriters
A KNOCK is at her door, but she… Strange dews have washed the paint… She does not rise, but, ah, this f… And knows that he will find her al… So opens he the door, and with sof…
DE dog go howlin’ 'long de road, De night come shiverin’ down; My back is tiahed of its load, I cain’t be fu’ f’om town. No mattah ef de way is long,
WHO dat knockin’ at de do’? Why, Ike Johnson, —yes, fu’ sho! Come in, Ike. I’s mighty glad You come down. I t’ought you’s mad
The sun has slipped his tether And galloped down the west. (Oh, it’s weary, weary waiting, lo… The little bird is sleeping In the softness of its nest.
A BEE that was searching for swe… Through the gate of a rose garden… In the heart of a rose he hid away… And forgot in his bliss the light… As sipping his honey he buzzed in…
'Tis fine to play In the fragrant hay, And romp on the golden load; To ride old Jack To the barn and back,
Night is for sorrow and dawn is fo… Chasing the troubles that fret and… Darkness for sighing and daylight… Cheery and chaste the strain, hear… All the night through, though I m…
THE night is dewy as a maiden’s m… The skies are bright as are a maid… Soft as a maiden’s breath the wind… Up from the perfumed bosom of the… Like sentinels, the pines stand in…
THE lake’s dark breast Is all unrest, It heaves with a sob and a sigh. Like a tremulous bird, From its slumber stirred,
The world is a snob, and the man w… Is the chap for its money’s worth: And the lust for success causes ha… That are cursing this brave old ea… For it 's fine to go up, and the w…
WINTAH time hit comin’ Stealin’ thoo de night; Wake up in the mo’nin’ Evah ting is white; Cabin lookin’ lonesome
Hurt was the nation with a mighty… And all her ways were filled with… Wailed loud the South with unremi… And wept the North that could not… Then madness joined its harshest t…
Dey 's a so’t o’ threatenin’ feeli… An’ I 's feelin’ kin’ o’ squeamis… I 's a—walkin’ 'roun’ a—lookin’ at… An’ a—measurin’ dey thickness an’… Fu’ dey 's somep’n mighty 'spiciou…
THE trees bend down along the str… Where anchored swings my tiny boat… The day is one to drowse and dream And list the thrush’s throttling n… When music from his bosom bleeds
THE wind told the little leaves t… And chased them down the way, While the mother tree laughed loud… For she thought her babes at play. The cruel wind and the rain laughe…