A Reverie.
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Oh! pretty little pink geraniums, tell me
Where shall I find them? Tender are your eyes,
You bend down from your vases, and impel me
To stop and listen to your low replies.
Where shall I find them? Tender are your eyes,
You bend down from your vases, and impel me
To stop and listen to your low replies.
I hear the words you whisper in my ear,
Words gentle, yet with bitter meaning fraught—
"Thy little dream-loves, they are gone, we fear,
Dead, frozen by the icy breath of Thought."
Words gentle, yet with bitter meaning fraught—
"Thy little dream-loves, they are gone, we fear,
Dead, frozen by the icy breath of Thought."
What the Overseer Told Me.
You want to know something of Billy? You hear there's a story to tell,
Let's heap on the fire, for it's chilly, and this room is as cold as a well.
I thought him the worst little nigger I'd had the misfortune to meet,
Though even before he was bigger than the kangaroo-pup at your feet,
He could ride any horse on the station, we'd plenty of buckjumpers, too,
But he stuck on—the black incarnation of reckless defiance—like glue.
Let's heap on the fire, for it's chilly, and this room is as cold as a well.
I thought him the worst little nigger I'd had the misfortune to meet,
Though even before he was bigger than the kangaroo-pup at your feet,
He could ride any horse on the station, we'd plenty of buckjumpers, too,
But he stuck on—the black incarnation of reckless defiance—like glue.
