The sextant of the meetinouse, which sweeps And dusts, or is supposed too! and makes fiers, And lites the gas and sometimes leaves a screw loose, in which case it smells orful - worse than lampile;...
Like Bunyan's pilgrim with his pack, Forth went the dreaming youth To seek, to find, and make his own Wisdom, virtue, and truth. Life was his book, and patiently He studied each hard page;...
As a drenched, drowned bee Hangs numb and heavy from a bending flower, So clings to me My baby, her brown hair brushed with wet tears And laid against her cheek;...
I knew that a baby was hid in the house; Though I saw no cradle and heard no cry, But the husband went tiptoeing round like a mouse, And the good wife was humming a soft lullaby;...
When the bare feet of the baby beat across the grass The little white feet nod like white flowers in the wind, They poise and run like ripples lapping across the water;...
A little white soul went up to God, Out of the mire of the city street; It grew like a flower in the highway broad, Close to the trample of heedless feet.
April made me: winter laid me here away asleep. Bright as Maytime was my daytime; night is soft and deep: Though the morrow bring forth sorrow, well are ye that weep....
All that a man can say of woman's charms, Mine eyes have spoken and my lips have told To you a thousand times. Your perfect arms (A replica from that lost Melos mould),...
De axes has been ringin' in de woods de blessid day, An' de chips has been a-fallin' fa' an' thick; Dey has cut de bigges' hick'ry dat de mules kin tote away, An' dey's laid hit down and soaked it in de crik....
It is well when you've lived in clover, To mourn for the days gone by, Would I live the same life over Could I live again? Not I! But, knowing the false from the real, I would strive to ascend:...
As I sat smoking, alone, yesterday, And lazily leaning back in my chair, Enjoying myself in a general way - Allowing my thoughts a holiday From weariness, toil and care, -...
The trees are afraid to put forth buds, And there is timidity in the grass; The plots lie gray where gouged by spuds, And whether next week will pass Free of sly sour winds is the fret of each bush...
Aw'd rayther face a redwut brick, Sent flyin at mi heead; Aw'd rayther track a madman's steps, Whearivver they may leead; Aw'd rayther ventur in a den, An stail a lion's cub;...
Patrick astore,[1] what news upon the town? By my soul there's bad news, for the gold she was pull'd down, The gold she was pull'd down, of that I'm very sure, For I saw'd them reading upon the towlsel[2] doore....
I cannot rest o' the night, Mother, For my heart is cold and wan: I fear the return o' light, Mother, Since my own true love is gone. O winsome aye was his face, Mother,...