It doesn't pay to say too much when you are mad enough to choke. For the word that stings the deepest is the word that is never spoke, Let the other fellow wrangle till the storm has blown away, then he'll do a heap of thinking about the things you didn't say.
My bride hath need of no disguise.--But rather, let her come to me In such a form as bent above My pillow when, in infancy, I knew not anything but love.--
O let her come from out the lands Of Womanhood--not fairy isles, And let her come with Woman's hands And Woman's eyes of tears and smiles,--With Woman's hopefulness and grace
Of patience lighting up her face.
A monument for the Soldiers! Built of a people's love, And blazoned and decked and panoplied With the hearts ye build it of! And see that ye build it stately, In pillar and niche and gate, And high in pose as the souls of those It would commemorate!
Sing in the tones of prayer, Sing till the soaring soul Shall float above the world's control In Freedom everywhere! Sing for the good that is to be, Sing for the eyes that are to see The land where man at last is free, O sing for Liberty!
Good-by, Old Year! Good-by! We have seen sorrow--you and I--Such hopeless sorrow, grief and care That now, that you have come to die, Remembering our old despair, Tis sweet to say, "Good-by--Good-by, Old Year! Good-by!"
Poverty compels me To face the snow and sleet,--For pore wife and children
Must have a crust to eat.--The sad wail of hunger It would drive me insane,
If it wasn't for Blue-Monday When I git to work againe!
Midst the wealth of facts and fancies
That our memories may recall, Thus the old school-day romances Are the dearest, after all!--When some sweet thought revises The half-forgotten tune
That opened "Exercises," On "Friday Afternoon."
When coughs are changed to laughs, and when Our frowns melt into smiles of glee, And all our blood thaws out again In streams of ecstasy, And poets wreak their roundelay, The Spring is coming round this way.
. . . while you gasp and pant And try to cool yourself--and can't--With soda, cream and lemonade, The heat at ninety in the shade,--Just calmly sit and ponder o'er These same degrees, with ninety more On top of them, and so concede The weather now is cool indeed!
But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days Is a pictur' that no painter has the
colorin' to mock--When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.