Harry The First (Marietta Holley Poems)
In his arm-chair, warmly cushioned,In the quiet earned by labor,Life's reposeful Indian summer,Grandpa sits; and lets the paperLie upon his ...
In his arm-chair, warmly cushioned,In the quiet earned by labor,Life's reposeful Indian summer,Grandpa sits; and lets the paperLie upon his ...
A SONG. Come to me when I'm dying; Gaze on my wasted form, Tired with so ...
A SONG. Come to me when I'm dying; Gaze on my wasted form, Tired with so ...
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