Break me my bounds, and let me fly To regions vast of boundless sky; Nor I, like piteous Daphne, be Root—bound. Ah, no! I would be fr… As yon same bird that in its fligh…

COVER him over with daisies whit… And eke with the poppies red, Sit with me here by his couch to—n… For the First—Born, Love, is dea… Poor little fellow, he seemed so f…

I NEVER shall furgit that night… An’ all us youngsters clambered in… To school where we was kep’ at wor… But where that night a spellin’—be… 'Twas one o’ Heaven’s banner nigh…

OH, de grubbin’—hoe’s a—rustin’ i… An’ de plow’s a—tumblin’ down in d… While de whippo’will’s a—wailin’ l… When his stubbo’n hea’t is tryin’… In de furrers whah de co’n was all…

Summah night an’ sighin’ breeze, 'Long de lovah’s lane; Frien’ly, shadder—mekin’ trees, 'Long de lovah’s lane. White folks’ wo’k all done up gran…

W’EN de evenin’ shadders Come a—glidin’ down, Fallin’ black an’ heavy Ovah hill an’ town, Ef you listen keerful,

I STOOD by the shore at the dea… As the sun sank flaming red; And the face of the waters that sp… Was as gray as the face of the dea… And I heard the cry of the wanton…

She told the story, and the whole… At wrongs and cruelties it had not… But for this fearless woman’s voic… She spoke to consciences that long… Her message, Freedom’s clear reve…

WINTAH time hit comin’ Stealin’ thoo de night; Wake up in the mo’nin’ Evah ting is white; Cabin lookin’ lonesome

ON ITS NEW SLAVERY Heart of the Southland, heed me p… Who bearest, unashamed, upon my br… The long kiss of the loving tropic… And yet, whose veins with thy red…

In the east the morning comes, Hear the rollin’ of the drums On the hill. But the heart that beat as they be… In the battle’s raging day heat

SHE wrapped her soul in a lace of… With a prime deceit to pin it; And I thought I was gaining a fea… So I staked my soul to win it. We wed and parted on her complaint…

'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,

BREEZES blowin’ middlin’ brisk, Snow-flakes thro’ the air a-whisk, Fallin’ kind o’ soft an’ light, Not enough to make things white, But jest sorter siftin’ down

Within a London garret high, Above the roofs and near the sky, My ill—rewarding pen I ply To win me bread. This little chamber, six by four,