With the lore of winds and skies. 
  Mine the song whose soft refrain
  Is the sigh of summer rain. 
  Seek you where the woods are cool,
  Would you know the shady pool
  Where, throughout the lazy day,
  Speckled beauties drowse or play? 
  Would you find in rest or peace
  Sorrow’s permanent release?—­
  Leave the city, grim and gray,
  Come with me, ah, come away. 
  Do you fear the winter chill,
  Deeps of snow upon the hill? 
  ’Tis a mantle, kind and warm,
  Shielding tender shoots from harm. 
  Do you dread the ice-clad streams,—­
  They are mirrors for your dreams. 
  Here’s a rouse, when summer’s past
  To the raging winter’s blast. 
  Let him roar and let him rout,
  We are armored for the bout. 
  How the logs are glowing, see! 
  Who sings louder, they or he? 
  Could the city be more gay? 
  Burn your bridges!  Come away!

WHEN A FELLER’S ITCHIN’ TO BE SPANKED

  W’en us fellers stomp around, makin’ lots o’ noise,
  Gramma says, “There’s certain times come to little boys
  W’en they need a shingle or the soft side of a plank;”
  She says “we’re a-itchin’ for a right good spank.” 
    An’ she says, “Now thes you wait,
    It’s a-comin’—­soon or late,
  W’en a feller’s itchin’ fer a spank.”

  W’en a feller’s out o’ school, you know how he feels,
  Gramma says we wriggle ‘roun’ like a lot o’ eels. 
  W’y it’s like a man that’s thes home from out o’ jail. 
  What’s the use o’ scoldin’ if we pull Tray’s tail? 
    Gramma says, tho’, “Thes you wait,
    It’s a-comin’—­soon or late,
  You’se the boys that’s itchin’ to be spanked.”

  Cats is funny creatures an’ I like to make ’em yowl,
  Gramma alwus looks at me with a awful scowl
  An’ she says, “Young gentlemen, mamma should be thanked
  Ef you’d get your knickerbockers right well spanked.” 
    An’ she says, “Now thes you wait,
    It’s a-comin’—­soon or late,”
  When a feller’s itchin’ to be spanked.

  Ef you fin’ the days is gettin’ awful hot in school
  An’ you know a swimmin’ place where it’s nice and cool,
  Er you know a cat-fish hole brimmin’ full o’ fish,
  Whose a-goin’ to set around school and wish? 
    ’Tain’t no use to hide your bait,
    It’s a-comin,—­soon or late,
  Wen a feller’s itchin’ to be spanked.

  Ol’ folks know most ever’thing ’bout the world, I guess,
  Gramma does, we wish she knowed thes a little less,
  But I alwus kind o’ think it ’ud be as well
    Ef they wouldn’t alwus have to up an’ tell;
    We kids wish ’at they’d thes wait,
    It’s a-comin’—­soon or late,
  Wen a feller’s itchin’ to be spanked.

THE RIVER OF RUIN

  Along by the river of ruin
  They dally—­the thoughtless ones,
  They dance and they dream
  By the side of the stream,
  As long as the river runs.