Complete poetical works

Front Cover
George P. Putnam, 1862

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Page 147 - ... Plying her needle and thread — Stitch — stitch — stitch ! In poverty, hunger and dirt, And still, with a voice of dolorous pitch, She sang the "Song of the Shirt!
Page 149 - Oh! but to breathe the breath Of the cowslip and primrose sweet. With the sky above my head. And the grass beneath my feet ; For only one short hour To feel as I used to feel, Before I knew the woes of want And the walk that costs a meal!
Page 178 - I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. I REMEMBER, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn ; He never came a wink too soon. Nor brought too long a day ; But now I often wish the night Had borne my breath away...
Page 179 - Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow. I remember, I remember The...
Page xxvii - ... to and fro. So silently we seemed to speak, So slowly moved about, As we had lent her half our powers To eke her living out. Our very hopes belied our fears, Our fears our hopes belied — We thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping when she died. For when the morn came dim and sad, And chill with early showers, Her quiet eyelids closed — she had Another morn than ours.
Page 144 - Oozing so clammily. Loop up her tresses, Escaped from the comb — Her fair auburn tresses; Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home? Who was her father? Who was her mother? Had she a sister? Had she a brother? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet than all other?
Page 361 - But could not though he tried : His head was turned, and so he chewed His pigtail till he died. His death, which happened in his berth, At forty-odd befell: They went and told the sexton, and The sexton toll'd the bell.
Page 149 - WITH fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread, — • Stitch— stitch— stitch ! In poverty, hunger, and dirt; And still with a voice of dolorous pitch She sang the "Song of the Shirt!
Page 164 - She went away with song, With music waiting on her steps, And shoutings of the throng; But some were sad, and felt no mirth, But only music's wrong, In sounds that sang Farewell, Farewell, To her you've loved so long.
Page 431 - With antic toys so funnily bestuck, Light as the singing bird that wings the air, (The door, the door ! he'll tumble down the stair !) Thou darling of thy sire ! (Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore afire!) Thou imp of mirth and joy...

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