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Cheerful, Sarah A. Heinzerling, in English Clear filters

CheerfulSarah A. Heinzerling

Song of the Road

Oh, here’s to highways broad and smooth, Fit for a king to travel; And here’s to narrow, winding roads Of sand-clay flecked with gravel. Oh, here’s to cars with speed to spare, And here’s to saucy flivvers, That fly along the fine highways And dawdle by the rivers. Oh, here’s to shady spots and cool, Where waters are inviting; And here’s to skill with hook and line When hungry fish are biting. Oh, here’s to wayside fires that glow Through shades of night, advancing; And here’s to good friends gathered round In fellowship entrancing.
CheerfulSarah A. Heinzerling

Campfire Song

When fires are burning brightly, And good friends gather nightly Around the cheerful blaze ; The songs they sing are lusty— The tales they tell are gusty And full of camping praise. But when the fire is smoky, The crowd is cross and poky, And will not be amused ; Then, songs are always flat, And friends begin to spat And feel themselves abused. With eye-lids red and smarty, They name the campfire party As man has done before ; And go home quoting loudly,
CheerfulSarah A. Heinzerling

In Carolina It Is Spring

A violet, tiny, frail and sweet, Held up her dainty head to meet The Southwind’s kiss upon her brow; He whispered, ‘‘Winter’s over now.’’ She trembled at his bold caress, And loved him not one bit the less Because he tarried but a day, Then sought new fields in which to play. Her beauty caught my roving eye As I went idly strolling by ; I watched her proudly bend and preen, In purple robe and mantle green; I said, ‘‘My lady, you shall go, A-journeying to the land of snow; Tell them the message that you bring Is—In Carolina it is spring.’’
CheerfulSarah A. Heinzerling

Spring Fancies

The Northwind and the Southwind sought Fair, fickle Springtime’s favor ; Through March they blustered, raged and fought, Till blowing lost its savor. The Northwind sighed and whisked aside, He knew his day was over ; Though now and then he came again, A gallant world-wide rover. The Southwind lingered and caressed His love in sylvan bower ; A saucy breeze sprang from the west, And drenched him with a shower. Fair Springtime’s smile sought to beguile, This lover brisk and daring; Through April days he went her ways, Then to fresh loves went faring.
CheerfulSarah A. Heinzerling

Flowing Water

Flows the brook with cadence mellow, Warbling like some gallant fellow, Tender love songs as it passes Through the tangled reeds and grasses; Stealing kisses, brief, delicious, From the lilies, fair, capricious; Bringing blushes to their faces With bold, amorous embraces. Wooing dainty wildwood flowers Leaning from secluded bowers, With the music, soft and thrilling, Of swift waters gaily trilling; Reaching higher notes, and sweeter, Where the downward flow is fleeter; Always joyful—always dancing, Crooning melody entrancing.
CheerfulSarah A. Heinzerling

Marvels of Spring

All along the woodland’s edge Runs a star be-spangled hedge, Where the dogwood blossoms scatter Snowy flakes among the sedge, And about it waves a line In a marvelous design, Of azaleas, gayly flaunting Feathered crowns of rose and wine. Down below that hedge, serene In their bowers safe and green, Violets, perhaps, were peeping At the wonders to be seen, When the swelling buds uncurled, And the sprites of spring unfurled, Dainty fabrics for the garments Of a naked, wintry world.
CheerfulSarah A. Heinzerling

Rondelet

When roses bloom My senses throb with keen delight; When roses bloom Their beauty soon dispels the gloom Of cares that worry and affright; On wings of joy my soul takes flight, When roses bloom.
CheerfulSarah A. Heinzerling

Corn Song

When the corn’s in tassel, Walk through the rows, And hear the blades whisper As the wind blows; Of tall, plumed lovers Who bend to woo, Silken clad ladies As true knights do. When the corn’s in tassel The brown bees come, To sing in the chorus With musical hum; While butterflies flashing In raiment gay, Attend the corn maidens On their bridal day.
CheerfulSarah A. Heinzerling

Autumn Days

Oh, the glory of the days When the misty, golden haze, Of the autumn-time is hanging Over all our earthly ways; What a joy to see it rest On each vale and mountain crest, Like a gossamer extending From the east unto the west. Oh, the spicy tang and sweet, Of the wafting winds that meet From the lowlands and the highlands, All these matchless days to greet ; How delightful, rich and rare, Are the odors which they bear, Scenting robes of night and morning For the season’s queen to wear.
CheerfulSarah A. Heinzerling

Willow Whistles

Oh, it’s time for making whistles! Let us go—let us go, To the wild secluded places Where lilting streamlets flow; Where graceful pussy-willows In a shining silver throng, Are dancing by the waters To the music of their song. It is time for making whistles That will blow—that will blow; For the green is on the upland, The woods and hedges glow; The South Wind wafts a greeting— The birds a welcome sing; Oh, it’s time for willow whistles To pipe in praise of Spring!

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