Where hast thou been since round the walls of Troy The sons of God fought in that great emprise? Why dost thou walk our common earth again? Hast thou forgotten that impassioned boy,...
Brother that ploughs the furrow I late ploughed, God give thee grace, and fruitful harvesting, Tis fair sweet earth, be it under sun or cloud, And all about it ever the birds sing. ...
Comrade, yet a little further I would go before the night Closes round and chills in darkness all the glorious sunset light - Yet a little, by the cliff there, till the stately home I see...
I was gaun to my supper richt hungert an' tired, A' day I'd been hard at the pleugh; The snaw wi' the dark'nin' was fast dingin' on, An' the win' had a coorse kin' o' sough....
Here is the soundless cypress on the lawn: It listens, listens. Taller trees beyond Listen. The moon at the unruffled pond Stares. And you sing, you sing.
I come like an Eastern monarch dight In my crown of beams, in my robe of light; And nature droops at my ardent gaze, And wraps the woods in a purple haze; From my fiery glance the strong man shrinks,...
I. Red glows the forge in Striguil's bounds, And hammers din, and anvil sounds, And armourers, with iron toil, Barb many a steed for battle's broil, Foul fall the hand which bends the steel...
Oh, my name is Bob the Swagman, before you all I stand, And I've had many ups and downs while travelling through the land. I once was well-to-do, my boys, but now I am stumped up,...
Moss-grown, and venerable it stands, From the way-side dust and noise aloof, And the great elms stretch their sheltering hands To bless its grey old roof.
O don't you remember those days so divine, Around which the heart-strings all tenderly twine, When with sapling pole and a painted cork We fished up and down the old Hanging Fork--...
On the barren hillside lone he sat; On his head he wore a tattered hat; In his hand he bore a crooked staff; Never heard I laughter like his laugh, On the barren hillside, thistle-hoar. ...
An old lane, an old gate, an old house by a tree; A wild wood, a wild brook they will not let me be: In boyhood I knew them, and still they call to me.
Down deep in my heart's core I hear them and my eyes...
This is "The old Home by the Mill" - far we still call it so, Although the old mill, roof and sill, is all gone long ago. The old home, though, and old folks, and the old spring, and a few...
Such was the Child-World of the long-ago - The little world these children used to know: - Johnty, the oldest, and the best, perhaps, Of the five happy little Hoosier chaps...
'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 Do my brightest mem'ries cling,...
Jest as atween the awk'ard lines a hand we love has penn'd Appears a meanin' hid from other eyes, So, in your simple, homespun art, old honest Yankee friend, A power o' tearful, sweet seggestion lies....
A very, very old house I know- And ever so many people go, Past the small lodge, forlorn and still, Under the heavy branches, till Comes the blank wall, and there's the door....