While any day was notable and dear That gave the children Noey, history here Records his advent emphasized indeed With sharp italics, as he came to feed The stock one special morning, fair and bright,...
I caught, for a second, across the crowd - Just for a second, and barely that - A face, pox-pitted and evil-browed, Hid in the shade of a slouch-rim'd hat - With small gray eyes, of a look as keen...
He faced his canvas (as a seer whose ken Pierces the crust of this existence through) And smiled beyond on that his genius knew Ere mated with his being. Conscious then...
I want to sing something - but this is all - I try and I try, but the rhymes are dull As though they were damp, and the echoes fall Limp and unlovable.
There's a space for good to bloom in Every heart of man or woman, - And however wild or human, Or however brimmed with gall, Never heart may beat without it; And the darkest heart to doubt it...
O here's a little rhyme for the Spring- or Summer-time - An a-ho-winky-tooden-an-a-ho! - Just a little bit o' tune you can twitter, May or June, An a-ho-winky-tooden-an-a-ho!...
Uncle he says 'at 'way down in the sea Ever'thing's ist like it used to be: - He says they's mermaids, an' mermens, too, An' little merchildern, like me an' you - Little merboys, with tops an' balls,...
Now, Tudens, you sit on this knee - and 'scuse It having no side-saddle on; - and, Jeems, You sit on this - and don't you wobble so And chug my old shins with your coppertoes; -...
I've thought a power on men and things, As my uncle ust to say, - And ef folks don't work as they pray, i jings! W'y, they ain't no use to pray! Ef you want somepin', and jes dead-set...
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear; There is ever a something sings alway: There's the song of the lark when the skies are clear, And the song of the thrush when the skies are gray....
O were I not a clod, intent On being just an earthly thing, I'd be that rare embodiment Of Heart and Spirit, Voice and Wing, With pure, ecstatic, rapture-sent, Divinely-tender twittering...
A song of Long Ago: Sing it lightly - sing it low - Sing it softly - like the lisping of the lips we used to know When our baby-laughter spilled From the glad hearts ever filled...
Sing! gangling lad, along the brink Of wild brook-ways of shoal and deep, Where killdees dip, and cattle drink, And glinting little minnows leap! Sing! slimpsy lass who trips above...
Herein are blown from out the South Songs blithe as those of Pan's pursed mouth - As sweet in voice as, in perfume, The night-breath of magnolia-bloom....