Growing Old
Little by little the year grows old,
The red leaves drop from the maple boughs;
The sun grows dim, and the winds blow cold,
Down from the distant arctic seas
Little by little the year grows old,
The red leaves drop from the maple boughs;
The sun grows dim, and the winds blow cold,
Down from the distant arctic seas
Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own
I'm sick of "musn'ts," said Dorothy D
Sick of musn'ts, as I can be
From early dawn till the close of dayI hear a musn't, and never a may
It's "you musn't lie there like a sleepy head,"And "you musn't sit up ...
The queerest languages known to man,
Sanscrit,
Hebrew,
Hindoostan,
In France I saw a hill—a gentle
Rising above old tombs to greet the
From soft spring skies
Beyond these skies dwells hope,
Oh, not for the great departed,
Who formed our country's laws,
And not for the
Who died in freedom's cause,
Lightly they hold him and lightly they sway him—Soft as a pillow are somebody's arms
Down he goes slowly, ever so
Over the rim of the cradle they lay him—Baby's first journey is free from alarms
Baby is growing while Mama sings by-lo,
An infant wailing in nameless fear;
A shadow, perchance, in the quiet room,
Or the hum of an insect flying near,
Or the screech-owl's cry, in the outer gloom
Sit still,
I say, and dispense with heroics
I hurt your wrists
Well, you have hurt me
Methought a great wind swept across the earth,
And all the toilers perished
Then I
Pale terror blanch the rosy face of mirth,
Flowers of France in the Spring,
Your growth is a beautiful thing;
But give us your fragrance and bloom,
Yea, give us your lives in truth,
If all the ships I have at sea Should come a-sailing home to me,
From sunny lands, and lands of cold,
Ah well
the harbor could not hold So many sails as there would be If all my ships came in from sea