The sunflowers and the hollyhawks droops over the garden fence; The old path down the garden-walks still holds her footprints' dents; And the well-sweep's swingin' bucket seems to wait fer her to come And start it on its wortery errant down the old bee-gum. The bee-hives all is quiet; and the little Jersey steer, When any one comes nigh it, acts so lonesome-like and queer; And the little Banty chickens kindo' cutters faint and low, Like the hand that now was feedin' 'em was one they did n't know. They's sorrow in the wavin' leaves of all the apple-trees; And sorrow in the harvest-sheaves, and sorrow in the breeze; And sorrow in the twitter of the swallers 'round the shed; And all the song her red-bird sings is "Little Haly's dead!" The medder 'pears to miss her, and the pathway through the grass, Whare the dewdrops ust to kiss her little bare feet as she passed; And the old pin in the gate-post seems to kindo'-sorto' doubt That Haly's little sunburnt hands 'll ever pull it out. Did her father er her mother ever love her more 'n me, Er her sisters er her brother prize her love more tendurly? I question-and what answer ? - only tears, and tears alone, And ev'ry neghbor's eyes is full o' teardrops as my own. "Little Haly! Little Haly!" cheeps the robin in the tree; "Little Haly!" sighs the clover; "Little Haly!" moans the bee; "Little Haly! Little Haly!" calls the, kill-deer at twilight, And the katydids and crickets hollers "Haly!" all the night. LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE LITTLE Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay, An' wash the cups and saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away, An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep, An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep; An' all us other children, when the supper things is done, We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about, An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue, An' the lampwick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo! An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray, An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away, You better mind yer parents, and yer teachers fond and dear, An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear, An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about, Er the Gobble-uns 'll git you FROM Ef you Don't Watch Out! DWAINIE "THE FLYING ISLANDS OF THE NIGHT" AY, Dwainie! - My Dwainie ! The lurloo ever sings, A tremor in his flossy crest And in his glossy wings. And Dwainie! - My Dwainie! The winno-welvers call;But Dwainie hides in Spirkland And answers not at all. The teeper twitters Dwainie ! — The tcheucker on his spray Teeters up and down the wind, And will not fly away: And Dwainie! - My Dwainie ! The drowsy oovers drawl; But Dwainie hides in Spirkland And answers not at all. I bit an apple but a moment since, spurned, had Yet hidden in the taste were happy hints Of good old days returned. And so my heart, like some enraptured lute, Tinkles a tune so tender and complete, God's blessing must be resting on the fruit own; And every flock that on thy hillsides grazes, And every breeze from thy fair rivers blown, And all the nestlings from thy branches flown, Are eloquent in thy praises, Demeter, mother of truth. Thy seasons of grief, thy winters white with snowing, More lovely make thy face, adorn thy head, Add beauty to thy sweet eyes, ever glowing With love and strength and godhead; and thy tread Sweetens the earth; and all the gods are dead But thee, thee only, strowing Ever the land with youth. And all the dead gods are in thee united, Woman and girl and lover and friend and queen; And this tame, time-worn world is full requited For that the Christ has cost us, and the teen Bred of swift time. And thy kissed palms between Thy dear kissed hands are righted The heart-knot and the ruth. WHAT THOUGH THE GREEN LEAF GROW? WHAT though the green leaf grow? |