Will some one go to the village newspaper,Īnd gather into a book the verses I wrote?. Like one stepping deeper and deeper into a stream of ice. He left me to my fate with Doctor Meyers Īnd I sank into death, growing numb from the feet up, Hooted at, jeered at by the Yahoos of the streetįor my heavy body, cock-eye, and rolling walk, Of the horse-races of long ago at Clary's Grove, Lo! he babbles of the fish-frys of long ago, Who played with life all his ninety years,ĭrinking, rioting, thinking neither of wife nor kin, They brought them dead sons from the war, Was brought to her little space by Ella and KateĪnd old Towny Kincaid and Sevigne Houghton, One after life in far-away London and Paris One of a broken pride, in the search for heart's desire, One at the hands of a brute in a brothel, The tender heart, the simple soul, the loud, the proud, Where are Ella, Kate, Mag, Lizzie and Edith, One fell from a bridge toiling for children and wife-Īll, all are sleeping, sleeping, sleeping on the hill. The weak of will, the strong of arm, the clown, Where are Elmer, Herman, Bert, Tom and Charley, Written by people who wish to remain anonymous We are thankful for their contributions and encourage you to make your own. These notes were contributed by members of the GradeSaver community.
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