Poems

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Houghton, Mifflin, 1890

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第 78 頁 - I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue, unexercised and unbreathed, that never sallies out and sees her adversary, but slinks out of the race, where that immortal garland is to be run for, not without dust and heat.
第 66 頁 - B. is a sensible man; He stays to his home an' looks arter his folks; He draws his furrer ez straight ez he can, An' into nobody's tater-patch pokes; — But John P. Robinson he Sez he wunt vote fer Guvener B. My! aint it terrible? Wut shall we du? We can't never choose him, o...
第 10 頁 - An' yit she gin her cheer a jerk Ez though she wished him furder, An' on her apples kep' to work, Parin
第 10 頁 - There warn't no stoves (tell comfort died) To bake ye to a puddin'. The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out Towards the pootiest, bless her, An' leetle flames danced all about The chiny on the dresser.
第 67 頁 - An' Presidunt Polk, you know, he is our country. An' the angel thet writes all our sins in a book Puts the debit to him, an' to us the per contry; An' John P. Robinson he Sez this is his view o
第 46 頁 - Ez fer war, I call it murder, — There you hev it plain an' flat; I don't want to go no furder Than my Testyment fer that; God hez sed so plump an' fairly, It's ez long ez it is broad, An' you've gut to git up airly Ef you want to take in God.
第 374 頁 - For the gret prize o' death in battle ? To him who, deadly hurt, agen Flashed on afore the charge's thunder, Tippin' with fire the bolt of men Thet rived the Rebel line asunder? 'T ain't right to hev the young go fust, All throbbin...
第 274 頁 - It is a shameful and unblessed thing to take the scum of people, and wicked condemned men, to be the people with whom you plant; and not only so, but it spoileth the plantation; for they will ever live like rogues, and not fall to work, but be lazy, and do mischief, and spend victuals, and be quickly weary, and then certify over to their country to the discredit of the plantation.
第 372 頁 - With Grant or Sherman oilers present ; The chimbleys shudder in the gale, Thet lulls, then suddin takes to flappin' Like a shot hawk, but all 's ez stale To me ez so much sperit-rappin'. Under the yaller-pines I house, When sunshine makes 'em all sweet-scented, An' hear among their furry boughs The baskin...
第 245 頁 - Perhaps it was right to dissemble your love, But why did you kick me down stairs...

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