Category: Poetry
You called the old farm Bramble Brae, And loved it till your hair was gray And footsteps faltered while you trod The sloping upland bright with sod. It blossomed in your quiet life With gowans from the Neuk of Fife; And while you walked the waving wheat You dreamed of heather...
A handy bunch of men are round the stove At Yancey’s--hunters back from Jackson’s Hole, And Ed Hough telling of a mighty drove Of elk that he ran down to Teton Bowl.
1. Part 1You called the old farm Bramble Brae, And loved it till your hair was gray And footsteps faltered while you trod The sloping upland bright with sod. It blossomed in your quiet l...
3. Part 3We met her first in Arcady, Where visions fair are apt to be, Roaming beneath the arching trees-- Her laughter cheering up the breeze; Sometimes as gay as _Colinette_, Then fond...