Yo've heeard tell abaat th new railrooad aw dar say? It's an age o' steeam is this! Smook nuisance and boilers brustin are ivery-day affairs, an' ivery thing an' ivery body seem to be on at full speed. Aw wonder 'at noabdy inve...
Aw'll nivver get druffen noa mooar, It's th' last time is this, an that's trew,-- For mi booans is all shakkin an sooar, Throo th' craan o' mi hat, to mi shoe.
Tho' humble the banquet to which I invite thee, Thou'lt find there the best a poor bard can command: Eyes, beaming with welcome, shall throng round, to light thee,...
Tho' lightly sounds the song I sing to thee, Tho' like the lark's its soaring music be, Thou'lt find even here some mournful note that tells How near such April joy to weeping dwells....
Very well, you liberals, And navigators into realms intellectual, You sailors through heights imaginative, Blown about by erratic currents, tumbling into air pockets, You Margaret Fuller Slacks, Petits,...
This I saw with my own eyes: A cliff - swallow Made her nest in a hole of the high clay-bank There near Miller's Ford. But no sooner were the young hatched Than a snake crawled up to the nest...
The great work laid upon his twoscore years Is done, and well done. If we drop our tears, Who loved him as few men were ever loved, We mourn no blighted hope nor broken plan...
Tommy's alluz playin' jokes, An' actin' up, an' foolin' folks; An' wunst one time he creep In Pa's big chair, he did, one night, An' squint an' shut his eyes bofe tight, An' say, "Now I 'm asleep."...
Reading in Ovid the sorrowful story of Itys, Son of the love of Tereus and Procne, slain For the guilty passion of Tereus for Philomela, The flesh of him served to Tereus by Procne,...
Sage of the silver pen! Wherever thy thought was heard, Thou wert a leader of men. Poet of honored word! Knight of the eagle glance, Piercing the depths of wrong, "Justice" thy cry, and thy lance...
It is the story of Thompson of Thompson, the hero of Angels. Frequently drunk was Thompson, but always polite to the stranger; Light and free was the touch of Thompson upon his revolver;...
We severed in autumn early, Ere the earth was torn by the plough; The wheat and the oats and the barley Are ripe for the harvest now. We sunder'd one misty morning,...
There's no wind along these seas, Out oars for Stavanger! Forward all for Stavanger! So we must wake the white-ash breeze. Let fall for Stavanger! A long pull for Stavanger! ...
Those days have gone, those happy days, When we two loved to roam, Beside the rivulet that strays, Near by my rustic home. Yes, they have fled, and in the past, We've left them far behind,...