dots-menu
×

Home  »  An American Anthology, 1787–1900  »  1142 Dwainie

Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

By James WhitcombRiley

1142 Dwainie

AY, Dwainie!—My Dwainie!

The lurloo ever sings,

A tremor in his flossy crest

And in his glossy wings.

And Dwainie!—My Dwainie!

The winno-welvers call;—

But Dwainie hides in Spirkland

And answers not at all.

The teeper twitters Dwainie!—

The tcheucker on his spray

Teeters up and down the wind,

And will not fly away:

And Dwainie!—My Dwainie!

The drowsy oovers drawl;—

But Dwainie hides in Spirkland

And answers not at all.

O Dwainie!—My Dwainie!

The breezes hold their breath,—

The stars are pale as blossoms,

And the night as still as death;

And Dwainie!—My Dwainie!

The fainting echoes fall;—

But Dwainie hides in Spirkland

And answers not at all.