My Mollie, O!

    'Twas in the summer's sweet perfume,
        When roses bloomed and holly, O,
    That in the brightness of her bloom,
        I first did meet my Mollie, O.

    Although she said for lives to love
        Was nothing but pure folly, O,
    My heart was lit with light above,
        And I true loved my Mollie, O.

    O, swift and fast the days did flee
        And seemed most bright and jolly, O,
    For evermore was near to me
        My fair and lovely Mollie, O.

    Now I doth sit through all the day
        And nurse my melancholy, O,
    For from me she has turned away,
        O, false and fickle Mollie, O!

Freeman Edwin Miller

Freeman Edwin Miller was an American poet, journalist, and teacher, best known for his work in Oklahoma. Born on November 9, 1864, in New Jersey, Miller moved to Oklahoma in 1894, where he became a prominent figure in the literary and educational communities. He is remembered for his contributions to early Oklahoma literature, as well as his work in promoting education and journalism in the region. He passed away on July 14, 1951.

Freeman Edwin Miller

Love, Thou Gayest Fancy-Weaver.

Freeman Edwin Miller, Simple Poetry

If We Don't Or If We Do.

Freeman Edwin Miller, Simple Poetry

Away, Away, From The Sultry Ways.

Freeman Edwin Miller, Simple Poetry

The Songs That Mother Used To Sing.

Freeman Edwin Miller, Simple Poetry

English

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"Ingenuous trust, and confidence of Love."


The Bat began with giddy wing
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'Turn, gentle hermit of the dale,
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Ex Anima.
The gloomy hours of silence wake
Remembrance and her train,
And phantoms through the fancies chase
The mem'ries that remain;
And hidden in the dark embrace
Of days that now are gone,
I see a form, a fairy form,
And fancy hurries on!

I see the old familiar smile,
I hear the tender tone,
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I still can know, I still can feel,
As they were felt before.

I name the vows, the fresh young vows,
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She slumbers with the dead!
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Freeman Edwin Miller

To Mollie
O Mollie, I would I possessed such a heart;
It enchants me so gentle and true;
I would I possessed all its magical art,
Then, Mollie, I would enchant you.

Those dear, rosy lips tho' I never caressed them(?)
Are as sweet as the wild honey-dew;
Your cheeks all the angels in Heaven have blessed them,
But not one is as lovely as you.

Then give me that heart, O that innocent heart!
For mine own is cold and perdu;
It enchants me, but give me its magical art,
Then, Mollie, I will enchant you.
Hanford Lennox Gordon

Ode - 'On A Distant Prospect' Of Making A Fortune.
Now the "rosy morn appearing"
Floods with light the dazzled heaven;
And the schoolboy groans on hearing
That eternal clock strike seven:-
Now the waggoner is driving
Towards the fields his clattering wain;
Now the bluebottle, reviving,
Buzzes down his native pane.

But to me the morn is hateful:
Wearily I stretch my legs,
Dress, and settle to my plateful
Of (perhaps inferior) eggs.
Yesterday Miss Crump, by message,
Mentioned "rent," which "p'raps I'd pay;"
And I have a dismal presage
That she'll call, herself, to-day.

Once, I breakfasted off rosewood,
Smoked through silver-mounted pipes -
Then how my patrician nose would
Turn up at the thought of "swipes!"
Ale, - occasionally claret, -
Graced my luncheon then:- and now
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First Love.
O my earliest love, who, ere I number'd
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To its one green spot I aye recur:
Never, never - although three times married -
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There I saw her first, our landlord's oldest
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Thou, O Sun, - who (so they say) beholdest
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