Property:Has text

<div class="poem"> <p>Motor buggy passin' by,<br /> Sendin' dus' up to de sky;<br /> P'licemen, posted diffran' place,<br /> Buy dem ticket on de race:<br /> Look now for de anxious faces<br /> At de Knutsford Park big races! </p> </div> +

<div class="poem"> <p>Ladies, 'teppin' up quite cool,<br /> Buy dem tickets at de pool;<br /> Dough 'tis said he's got a jerk,<br /> Dere's no harse like Billie Burke:<br /> Look roun' at de cock-sure faces<br /> At de Knutsford Park big races. </p> </div> +

<div class="poem"> <p>Ge'men wid dem smart spy-glass,<br /> Well equip' fe spot dem harse,<br /> Dress' in Yankee-fashion clo'es,<br /> Watch de flag as do'n it goes:<br /> Oh! de eager, eager faces<br /> At de Knutsford Park big races! </p> </div> +

<div class="poem"> <p>Ladies white an' brown an' black,<br /> Fine as fine in gala frock,<br /> Wid dem race-card in dem han'<br /> Pass 'long to de dollar stan':<br /> Happy-lookin' lady faces<br /> At de Knutsford Park big races. </p> </div> +

<div class="poem"> <p>Batch o' p'licemen, lookin' fine,<br /> Tramp away to de car line;<br /> No more pólicemen can be<br /> Smart as those from Half Way Tree:<br /> Happy, all have happy faces,<br /> For 'tis Knutsford Park big races. </p> </div> +

<div class="poem"> <p>Hey! de flag is gone do'n, oh!<br /> Off at grips de harses go!<br /> Dainty's leadin' at a boun',<br /> Stirrup-cup is gainin' ground':<br /> Strainin', eager strainin' faces<br /> At de Knutsford Park big races. </p> </div> +

<div class="poem"> <p>Last day o' de race—all's done,<br /> An' de course is left alone;<br /> Everybody's goin' home,<br /> Some more light dan when dey'd come:<br /> Oh! de sad, de bitter faces<br /> After Knutsford Park big races! </p> </div> +

L

<div class="poem"> <p>Lockerbie Street is a little street,<br /> Only one block long,<br /> A little apart, yet near the heart<br /> Of the city's throng.<br /> If you are a stranger looking to find<br /> Respite and cheer for soul and mind,<br /> And have lost your way, and would inquire<br /> For a street that will lead to Heart's Desire,—<br /> To a place where the spirit is never old,<br /> And gladness and love are worth more than gold, —<br /> Ask the first boy or girl you meet!<br /> Everyone knows where is Lockerbie Street. </p> </div> +

<div class="poem"> <p>Lockerbie Street is a little street,<br /> Only one block long;<br /> But the moonlight there is strange and fair<br /> All the year long,<br /> As ever it was in old romance,<br /> When fairies would sing and fauns would dance,<br /> Proving this earth is subject still<br /> To a blithesome wonder-working Will,<br /> Spreading beauty over the land,<br /> That every beholder may understand<br /> How glory shines round the Mercy-seat.<br /> That is the gospel of Lockerbie Street. </p> </div> +

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<div class="poem"> <p>Lockerbie Street is a little street,<br /> Just one block long;<br /> But the days go there with a magical air,<br /> The whole year long.<br /> The sun in his journey across the sky<br /> Slows his car as he passes by;<br /> The sighing wind and the grieving rain<br /> Change their tune and cease to complain;<br /> And the birds have a wonderful call that seems<br /> Like a street-cry out of the land of dreams;<br /> For there the real and the make-believe meet.<br /> Time does not hurry in Lockerbie Street. </p> </div> +

<div class="poem"> <p>Lockerbie Street is a little street,<br /> Only one block long;<br /> But never a street in all the world,<br /> In story or song,<br /> Is better beloved by old and young;<br /> For there a poet has lived and sung,<br /> Wise as an angel, glad as a bird,<br /> Fearless and fond in every word,<br /> Many a year. And if you would know<br /> The secret of joy and the cure of woe,—<br /> How to be gentle and brave and sweet,—<br /> Ask your way to Lockerbie Street. </p> </div> +

<div class="poem"> <p>For the birthday of James Whitcomb Riley, October 7, 1914. </p> </div> +

M

<div class="poem"> <p>Now, Main Street bordered with autumn leaves, it was a pleasant thing,<br /> And its gutters were gay with dandelions early in the Spring;<br /> I like to think of it white with frost or dusty in the heat,<br /> Because I think it is humaner than any other street. </p> </div> +

<div class="poem"> <p>The truck and the motor and trolley car and the elevated train<br /> They make the weary city street reverberate with pain:<br /> But there is yet an echo left deep down within my heart<br /> Of the music the Main Street cobblestones made beneath a butcher's cart. </p> </div> +

<div class="poem"> <p>God be thanked for the Milky Way that runs across the sky,<br /> That's the path that my feet would tread whenever I have to die.<br /> Some folks call it a Silver Sword, and some a Pearly Crown,<br /> But the only thing I think it is, is Main Street, Heaventown. </p> </div> +

<div class="poem"> <p>There were only about a hundred teams on Main Street in a day,<br /> And twenty or thirty people, I guess, and some children out to play.<br /> And there wasn't a wagon or buggy, or a man or a girl or a boy<br /> That Main Street didn't remember, and somehow seem to enjoy. </p> </div> +

<div class="poem"> <p>I like to look at the blossomy track of the moon upon the sea,<br /> But it isn't half so fine a sight as Main Street used to be<br /> When it all was covered over with a couple of feet of snow,<br /> And over the crisp and radiant road the ringing sleighs would go. </p> </div> +