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Samuel Hardman Poems
The sun yet warmed the western sky, But night fell fast; The Whippoorwill began its solemn cry; And fragrance of flowers, drawn up by the sun,
Around a simple altar there, Hidden in the Wildwood fair, Comes a rushing, comes a hushing Of all worldly cares.
Moore's Ford Lynching I
The Appalachee ran red the day The Klan used its shameful mace! A bloody heap, cold ebony clay: Roger, Dorothy, George, and Mae.
House of Frameless Rooms
The house of frameless rooms is long, Empty at its center am I; Footsteps fall at evensong; The wind is up, nightbirds whoop and cry.
Confederate Soldier Wilson S. Hardman
In yon Pleasant Grove is sleeping One beloved the county wide, When the North and South contended And poor lads bled and died.
I yet see Patience's chiseled face, Her eye awyr; And I never saw one of her race That didn't make me cry.
If I were Pope of Rome, My head Unlikely Red, I'd send missives back home Telling my friends I'm dead.
The DayStar sends his beaming rays Toward Mother and her Rising Day!
Will America's rich enter The peace of heaven's gate, Or go to hell shrieking their Sin? Poverty is reason to fear and hate!
Old Home Place
The simple grace of Bessie's lace And children singing a round Are memories of the old home place, Forty acres of new ground.
Prospect of Dreams
There are flowers in the wildwood, Deep within the emerald wall, Where the ancient Temple stood High above the forest pall.
Glad Day, Reunion Day
Ere comes the first faint morning rays Above the woodland ride, All the glories of the spring Gather to the Wildwood Side.
My Heart Sings
It makes my heart sing, That's the sweetest sound; The glory of the coming spring, My Wildwood Flower crown.
Come My Darling
Come lie down my darling near me When the day has lost its eye And the veil of night has covered Leagues beyond the western sky.
Comments about Samuel Hardman
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
The sun yet warmed the western sky,
But night fell fast;
The Whippoorwill began its solemn cry;
And fragrance of flowers, drawn up by the sun,
Fell as a mist over forest and field.