A lover whom duty called over the wave, With himself communed: "Will my love be true If left to herself? Had I better not sue Some friend to watch over her, good and grave?...
There's a memory keeps a-runnin' Through my weary head to-night, An' I see a picture dancin' In the fire-flames' ruddy light; 'Tis the picture of an orchard Wrapped in autumn's purple haze,...
A song is but a little thing, And yet what joy it is to sing! In hours of toil it gives me zest, And when at eve I long for rest; When cows come home along the bars, And in the fold I hear the bell,...
How's a man to write a sonnet, can you tell,-- How's he going to weave the dim, poetic spell,-- When a-toddling on the floor Is the muse he must adore, And this muse he loves, not wisely, but too well? ...
'Twas the apple that in Eden Caused our father's primal fall; And the Trojan War, remember-- 'Twas an apple caused it all. So for weeks I've hesitated, You can guess the reason why,...
I stood by the shore at the death of day, As the sun sank flaming red; And the face of the waters that spread away Was as gray as the face of the dead.
Dear critic, who my lightness so deplores, Would I might study to be prince of bores, Right wisely would I rule that dull estate-- But, sir, I may not, till you abdicate.
Thy tones are silver melted into sound, And as I dream I see no walls around, But seem to hear A gondolier Sing sweetly down some slow Venetian stream.
Belated wanderer of the ways of spring, Lost in the chill of grim November rain, Would I could read the message that you bring And find in it the antidote for pain. ...
To me, like hauntings of a vagrant breath From some far forest which I once have known, The perfume of this flower of verse is blown. Tho' seemingly soul-blossoms faint to death,...
W'en us fellers stomp around, makin' lots o' noise, Gramma says, "There's certain times come to little boys W'en they need a shingle or the soft side of a plank;"...
When all is done, and my last word is said, And ye who loved me murmur, "He is dead," Let no one weep, for fear that I should know, And sorrow too that ye should sorrow so. ...
Slow de night 's a-fallin', An' I hyeah de callin, Out erpon de lonesome hill; Soun' is moughty dreary, Solemn-lak an' skeery, Sayin' fu' to "whip po' Will."
Why fades a dream? An iridescent ray Flecked in between the tryst Of night and day. Why fades a dream?-- Of consciousness the shade Wrought out by lack of light and made Upon life's stream....