Wait For The Morning (James Whitcomb Riley Poems)
Wait for the morning:--It will come, indeed, As surely as the night hath given need. The yearning eyes, at last, will strain ...
Wait for the morning:--It will come, indeed, As surely as the night hath given need. The yearning eyes, at last, will strain ...
The landscape, like the awed face of a child,Grew curiously blurred; a hush of deathFell on the fields, and in ...
The Jaybird he's my _favorite_ Of all the birds they is! I think he's quite a stylish sight In that blue suit of ...
Last night-- how deep the darkness was!And well I knew its depths, becauseI waded it from shore to shore,Thinking to ...
The beauty of her hair bewilders me--Pouring adown the brow, its cloven tideSwirling about the ears on either sideAnd storming ...
O we go down to sea in ships-- But Hope remains behind,And Love, with laughter on his lips, And Peace, of passive ...
Close the book and dim the light, I shall read no more to-night. No--I am not sleepy, dear-- Do not go: sit by ...
Ah, help me! but her face and browAre lovelier than lilies areBeneath the light of moon and starThat smile as ...
Time is so long when a man is dead!Some one sews; and the room is madeVery clean; and the light ...
My father's halls, so rich and rare,Are desolate and bleak and bare;My father's heart and halls are one,Since I, their ...
Who has not wanted, does not guess What plenty is.--Who has not groped In depths of doubt and hopelessness, Has ...
While skies glint bright with bluest light Through clouds that race o'er fields and town, And leaves go dancing left ...
Our hired girl, she's 'Lizabuth Ann; An' she can cook best things to eat! She ist puts dough in our ...
Neglected now is the old guitar And moldering into decay; Fretted with many a rift and scar That the dull ...
New Castle, July 4, 1878 or a hundred years the pulse of time Has throbbed for Liberty; For a hundred ...
Her hair was, oh, so dense a blur Of darkness, midnight envied her; And stars grew dimmer in the skies ...
I woo'd a woman once, But she was sharper than an eastern wind. Tennyson "What may I do to make ...
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