Edmund C. Stedman Quotes

Just where the Treasury's marble front
Looks over Wall Street's mingled nations,--
Where Jews and Gentiles most read more

Just where the Treasury's marble front
Looks over Wall Street's mingled nations,--
Where Jews and Gentiles most are wont
To throng for trade and last quotations;
Where, hour, by hour, the rates of gold
Outrival, in the ears of people,
The quarter-chimes, serenely tolled
From Trinity's undaunted steeple.

No clouds are in the morning sky,
The vapors hug the stream,
Who says that life and read more

No clouds are in the morning sky,
The vapors hug the stream,
Who says that life and love can die
In all this northern gleam?
At every turn the maples burn,
The quail is whistling free,
The partridge whirs, and the frosted burs
Are dropping for you and me.
Ho! hillyho! heigh O!
Hillyho!
In the clear October morning.

Whither away, Bluebird,
Whither away?
The blast is chill, yet in the upper sky
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Whither away, Bluebird,
Whither away?
The blast is chill, yet in the upper sky
Thou still canst find the color of thy wing,
The hue of May.
Warbler, why speed, thy southern flight? ah, why,
Thou, too, whose song first told us of the Spring?
Whither away?

Alas, by what rude fate
Our lives, like ships at sea, an instant meet,
Then part forever read more

Alas, by what rude fate
Our lives, like ships at sea, an instant meet,
Then part forever on their courses fleet.

No, he was no such charlatan--
Count de Hoboken Flash-in-the-Pan--
Full of gasconade and bravado,
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No, he was no such charlatan--
Count de Hoboken Flash-in-the-Pan--
Full of gasconade and bravado,
But a regular, rich Don Rataplane,
Santa Claus de la Muscavado,
Senor Grandissimo Bastinado!
His was the rental of half Havana
And all Matanzas; and Santa Ana,
Rich as he was, could hardly hold
A candle to light the mines of gold
Our Cuban owned.

When buttercups are blossoming,
The poets sand, 'tis best to wed:
So all for love we paired read more

When buttercups are blossoming,
The poets sand, 'tis best to wed:
So all for love we paired in Spring--
Blanche and I--ere youth had sped.

Bird of the amber beak,
Bird of the golden wing!
Thy dower is thy carolling;
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Bird of the amber beak,
Bird of the golden wing!
Thy dower is thy carolling;
Thou hast not far to seek
Thy bread, nor needest wine
To make thy utterance divine;
Thou art canopied and clothed
And unto Song bethrothed.