RAGWEED AND FENNEL
WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE.
A DOS'T O' BLUES.
THE BAT.
THE WAY IT WUZ.
THE DRUM.
TOM JOHNSON'S QUIT.
LULLABY.
IN THE SOUTH.
THE OLD HOME BY THE MILL.
A LEAVE-TAKING.
WAIT FOR THE MORNING.
WHEN JUNE IS HERE.
THE GILDED ROLL.
A BACKWARD LOOK.
PIPES O' PAN AT ZEKESBURY
The pipes of Pan! Not idler now are they Than when their cunning fashioner first blew The pith of music from them: Yet for you And me their notes are blown in many a way Lost in our murmurings for that old day That fared so well, without us.—Waken to The pipings here at hand:—The clear halloo Of truant-voices, and the roundelay The waters warble in the solitude Of blooming thickets, where the robin's breast Sends up such ecstacy o'er dale and dell, Each tree top answers, till in all
Prev.
Back
Top