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  2. Samuel Minturn Peck
Sassafras

Fringing cypress forests dim
  Where the owl makes weird abode,
Bending down with spicy limb
  O’er the old plantation road,
Through the swamp and up the hill,
  Where the dappled byways run,
Round the gin-house, by the mill,
  Floats its...

Poet: Samuel Minturn Peck
A Southern Girl

Her dimpled cheeks are pale;
She ’s a lily of the vale,
      Not a rose.
In a muslin or a lawn
She is fairer than the dawn
      To her beaux.

Her boots are slim and neat,—
She is vain about her feet,
      It is said.
...

Poet: Samuel Minturn Peck
The Captain's Feather

The dew is on the heather,
  The moon is in the sky,
And the captain’s waving feather
  Proclaims the hour is nigh
When some upon their horses
  Shall through the battle ride,
And some with bleeding corses
  Must on the heather bide.

...
Poet: Samuel Minturn Peck
My Little Girl

My little girl is nested
  Within her tiny bed,
With amber ringlets crested
  Around her dainty head;
She lies so calm and stilly,
  She breathes so soft and low,
She calls to mind a lily
  Half-hidden in the snow.

A weary little...

Poet: Samuel Minturn Peck
“My little Girl”

My little girl is nested
  Within her tiny bed,
With amber ringlets crested
  Around her dainty head;
She lies so calm and stilly,
  She breathes so soft and low,
She calls to mind a lily
  Half-hidden in the snow.

A weary little...

Poet: Samuel Minturn Peck
A Knot of Blue

For the Boys of Yale
SHE hath no gems of lustre bright
  To sparkle in her hair;
No need hath she of borrowed light
  To make her beauty fair.
Upon her shining locks afloat
  Are daisies wet with dew,
And peeping from her lissome throat...

Poet: Samuel Minturn Peck
Dollie

She sports a witching gown,
With a ruffle up and down
          On the skirt;
She is gentle, she is shy,
But there ’s mischief in her eye,—
          She ’s a flirt!

She displays a tiny glove,
And a dainty little love
          Of...

Poet: Samuel Minturn Peck
Sassafras

Fringing cypress forests dim
  Where the owl makes weird abode,
Bending down with spicy limb
  O’er the old plantation road
Through the swamp and up the hill,
  Where the dappled byways run,
Round the gin-house, by the mill,
  Floats its...

Poet: Samuel Minturn Peck