I have sung my songs to my own tunes

There were three great Virginia poets in the very beginning — George Washington, Patrick Henry, Thomas Jefferson. "What!" you say. "We do not even know the names of their publishers. They were not poets!" Well, how do you know? Did you …

The fact that you can write verse is in itself a certificate that you can write prose.

I am still making my living reciting my verses for crowds who refuse to buy my books. I must do this, as all American rhymers must, however sick I may be of the sound of my own voice.

They gore no more, they bellow no more, They trundle around the hills no more:— With the Blackfeet, lying low, With the Pawnees, lying low, Lying low.

The flower-fed buffaloes of the spring In the days of long ago, Ranged where the locomotives sing And the prairie flowers lie low.

The scene was changed. It was a bark that slowly held its way, And o'er its lee the coast of France in the light of evening lay; And on its deck a lady sat, who gazed with tearful eyes Upon the fast receding hills that dim and distant rise.