#Americans
Wunst, 'way West in Illinoise, Wuz two Bears an’ their two boys: An’ the two boys’ names, you know, Wuz—like _ours_ is,—Jim an’ Jo; An’ their _parunts’_ names wuz sam…
When Old Folks they wuz young lik… An’ little as you an’ me Them wuz the best times ever wuz Er ever goin’ to be!
A languid atmosphere, a lazy breez… With labored respiration, moves th… From distant reaches, till the gol… Break in crisp whispers at my feet… My book, neglected of an idle mind…
The air falls chill; The whippoorwill Pipes lonesomely behind the Hill: The dusk grows dense, The silence tense;
So lone I stood, the very trees s… In conference with themselves.—In… Seemed everything;—the summer sple… The sight,—magnificence! A babe’s life might not lighter fa…
I want to be a Soldier!— A Soldier!— A Soldier!— I want to be a Soldier, with a sa… Or a little carbine rifle, or a mu…
Dawn, noon and dewfall! Bluebird… Up and at it airly, and the orchar… Peekin’ from the winder, half-awak… I could go to sleep agin as well a… II.
Bud, come here to your uncle a spe… And I’ll tell you something you m… For it’s a secret and shore-'nuf t… And maybe I oughtn’t to tell it t… But out in the garden, under the s…
Of all the doctors I could cite y… Doc Sifers is my favorite, jes’ t… Count in the Bethel Neighberhood,… And Sifers’ standin’s jes’ as goo… There’s old Doc Wick, and Glenn,…
She will not smile; She will not stir; I marvel while I look on her. The lips are chilly
'Write me a rhyme of the present t… And the poet took his pen And wrote such lines as the miser… Hide in the hearts of men. He grew enthused, as the poets use…
DIED—Early morning of September… in the gleaming dawn of ‘name and… Hamilton J. Dunbar. Dead! Dead! Dead! We thought him ours alone;
Our three cats is Maltese cats, An’ they’s two that’s white,— An’ bofe of 'em’s _deef_—an’ that’… 'Cause their _eyes_ ain’t right.— Uncle say that _Huxley_ say
Who shall sing a simple ditty abou… Dainty-fine and delicate as any be… That dandles high the dainty bird… Tremulously tender song of greetin… Bravest, too, of all the trees!—no…
There is a princess in the South About whose beauty rumors hum Like honey-bees about the mouth Of roses dewdrops falter from; And O her hair is like the fine