Foster, S. Conant · New York, White, Stokes, & Allen · leaf 70
That Bicycle Bugle. Air — “ The Old Oaken Bucket How near to my ear are the notes of that trumpet! They float on the breeze with the dawn’s early light ; I swallow them down with my Sunday tea crumpet, And dream of their din in the dead of the night. How often when trying some rhythmic inditing,…
Cycling -- Poetry
Internet Archive · Smithsonian Libraries · Public domain (published before 1931). Free to use for anything.
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