#AmericanWriters
‘Here is the bracelet For good little May To wear on her arm By night and by day. When it shines like the sun,
Four little chests all in a row, Dim with dust, and worn by time, All fashioned and filled, long ago… By children now in their prime. Four little keys hung side by side…
‘In China there lived a little ma… His name was Chingery Wangery Ch… ‘His legs were short, his feet wer… And this little man could not walk… ‘Chingery changery ri co day,
‘Bright shines the summer sun, Soft is the summer air; Gayly the wood-birds sing, Flowers are blooming fair. ’But, deep in the dark, cold rock,
‘Gingerbread, Go to the head. Your task is done; A soul is won. Take it and go
A little kingdom I possess where thoughts and feelings dwell, And very hard I find the task of governing it well; For passion tempts and troubles me…
We sighing said, “Our Pan is dead… His pipe hangs mute beside the riv… Around it wistful sunbeams quiver, But Music’s airy voice is fled. Spring mourns as for untimely fros…
Brighter shone the golden shadows; On the cool wind softly came The low, sweet tones of happy flow… Singing little Violet’s name. ‘Mong the green trees was it whisp…
Oh! a bare, brown rock Stood up in the sea, The waves at its feet Dancing merrily. A little bubble
Queen of my tub, I merrily sing, While the white foam raises high, And sturdily wash, and rinse, and… And fasten the clothes to dry; Then out in the free fresh air the…
‘Beds to the front of them, Beds to the right of them, Beds to the left of them, Nobody blundered. Beamed at by hungry souls,
GLEAMING through the silent ch… Winter sunlight seemed to shed Golden shadows like soft blessings O’er a quiet little bed, Where a pale face lay unheeding
O flower at my window Why blossom you so fair, With your green and purple cup Upturned to sun and air? ‘I bloom, blithesome Bessie,
‘I write about the butterfly, It is a pretty thing; And flies about like the birds, But it does not sing. ’First it is a little grub,
‘We are sending you, dear flowers, Forth alone to die, Where your gentle sisters may not… O’er the cold graves where you lie… But you go to bring them fadeless…