Edmund C. Stedman

No clouds are in the morning sky,
The vapors hug the stream,
Who says that life and read more

No clouds are in the morning sky,
The vapors hug the stream,
Who says that life and love can die
In all this northern gleam?
At every turn the maples burn,
The quail is whistling free,
The partridge whirs, and the frosted burs
Are dropping for you and me.
Ho! hillyho! heigh O!
Hillyho!
In the clear October morning.

When buttercups are blossoming,
The poets sand, 'tis best to wed:
So all for love we paired read more

When buttercups are blossoming,
The poets sand, 'tis best to wed:
So all for love we paired in Spring--
Blanche and I--ere youth had sped.

No, he was no such charlatan--
Count de Hoboken Flash-in-the-Pan--
Full of gasconade and bravado,
read more

No, he was no such charlatan--
Count de Hoboken Flash-in-the-Pan--
Full of gasconade and bravado,
But a regular, rich Don Rataplane,
Santa Claus de la Muscavado,
Senor Grandissimo Bastinado!
His was the rental of half Havana
And all Matanzas; and Santa Ana,
Rich as he was, could hardly hold
A candle to light the mines of gold
Our Cuban owned.

Just where the Treasury's marble front
Looks over Wall Street's mingled nations,--
Where Jews and Gentiles most read more

Just where the Treasury's marble front
Looks over Wall Street's mingled nations,--
Where Jews and Gentiles most are wont
To throng for trade and last quotations;
Where, hour, by hour, the rates of gold
Outrival, in the ears of people,
The quarter-chimes, serenely tolled
From Trinity's undaunted steeple.

Alas, by what rude fate
Our lives, like ships at sea, an instant meet,
Then part forever read more

Alas, by what rude fate
Our lives, like ships at sea, an instant meet,
Then part forever on their courses fleet.