#AmericanWriters
A BEE that was searching for swe… Through the gate of a rose garden… In the heart of a rose he hid away… And forgot in his bliss the light… As sipping his honey he buzzed in…
IF 'twere fair to suppose That your heart were not taken, That the dew from the rose Petals still were not shaken, I should pluck you,
WHAT are the things that make li… A star gleam in the night. What hearts us for the coming fray… The dawn tints of the day. What helps to speed the weary mile…
AN angel, robed in spotless white… Bent down and kissed the sleeping… Night woke to blush; the sprite wa… Men saw the blush and called it D…
MY heart to thy heart, My hand to thine; My lips to thy lips, Kisses are wine Brewed for the lover in sunshine a…
SO we, who’ve supped the self—sam… To—night must lay our friendship b… Your wrath has burned your judgmen… Hot breath has blown the ashes hig… You say that you are wronged —ah,…
TWO little boots all rough an’ wo… Two little boots! Laws, I’s kissed 'em times befo’, Dese little boots! Seems de toes a—peepin’ thoo
FOLKS ain’t got no right to cens… Him dat giv’ de squir’ls de bushta… Him dat built de gread big mountai… Him dat made de streets an’ drivew… We is all constructed diff’ent, d’…
YOUR spoken words are roses fine… The songs you sing are perfect pea… How lavish nature is about your fe… To scatter flowers and jewels both… Blushing the stream of petal beaut…
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,
Love of home, sublimest passion That the human heart can know! Changeless still, though fate and… Rise and fall and ebb and flow, To the glory of our nation,
THE air is dark, the sky is gray, The misty shadows come and go, And here within my dusky room Each chair looks ghostly in the gl… Outside the rain falls cold and sl…
Shadder in de valley Sunlight on de hill, Sut’ny wish dat locus’ Knowed how to be still. Don’t de heat already
DE win’ is blowin’ wahmah, An hit’s blowin’ f’om de bay; Dey’s a so’t o’ mist a—risin’ All erlong de meddah way; Dey ain’t a hint o’ frostin’
THOU art the soul of a summer’s… Thou art the breath of the rose. But the summer is fled And the rose is dead Where are they gone, who knows, wh…